Gaining Some Clarity

For anyone who didn't know, Tom, my biological father, passed away the end of last week. He didn't die from the cancer, but rather from complications due to a massive infection. For him, and for his sister, I think it was truly a blessing. Instead of months of needless suffering, he went quickly and mercifully.

I spent a lot of time thinking that I truly didn't care about his death. Maybe I shouldn't say that I didn't care, but more that I didn't grieve. It doesn't have much effect on my day to day life. I don't feel a loss of love or an emptiness in his passing. I thought my wounds from long ago had healed. Now, I'm not so sure.

My sister and I attended the viewing on Sunday. Going in, I felt as jumpy as a cat on a hot tin roof, although I hope that I did not come across quite that bad. I would say that I knew half of the people in the room. The other half, I didn't recognize. With the exception of one, everyone was very welcoming to both my sister and me. In fact, I was thrilled to see some of my aunt's old friends, Gracie and Bucky. I have truly fond memories of them both, and I have often thought about them over the years.

I did not go to the casket. I glanced at Tom from a distance, but I did not feel the need to see him. That's not something that I think has much to do with him, but more with me. I have always felt a complete emptiness at viewings. I don't visit graves either. It's a just a body, or just a head stone, not truly the person. The loss of a person's soul is always so glaringly apparent to me, that I feel no comfort whatsoever at a wake. It always amazes me how people just sit around and make idle chit-chat, like there isn't a dead person laying on the other side of the room. I suppose many people take comfort in saying their last respects. I don't mean to disrespect the tradition, but I hope I am never laid out. When I die, sit around and have the idle chit-chit, but do it somewhere that I love, in memory of me - go to the ocean, to a park, even in my home, where I love to entertain family and friends. But I digress...

Megan and I had agreed to go to the funeral home and drive with the family to the church today, but after having the night to think about it, we both felt uneasy riding in the funeral procession. I may be his blood, but I don't view him as my dad. I haven't seen or spoken to him for nearly two decades, and I did not feel right sitting with the family, or walking with the casket to the pulpit. It felt hypocritical, and Megan and I decided that we would simply go directly to the church.

It is at the church when my emotions finally began to emerge. I suppose it was God, the comfort and protection of His house, His words spoken through the clergy that allowed me to feel what I had not felt before. No one said a eulogy, but the presiding priest grew up with Tom, knew the family, and had some general words of wisdom and comfort to offer to the congregation. It was during his homily that I truly began to understand my own feelings. I do indeed grieve right now, not the loss of Tom, but rather the loss of hopes and dreams that died with him.

The priest and Tom made their first communion together, and the priest had a photo of the communion class with him. I did not look at it, but I listened as he described it. I thought of Jacob making his first communion this April. It's easy to forget that a grown man, especially one who we view as hard and mean spirited, was once a small child. At one time, someone loved him the way I love my children, and that thought broke my heart. I thought of my grandparents and how they must have felt looking at him 50 years ago. What were their dreams for their young son? I'm certain they did not envision the life, or death, that he had.

I thought of my aunt, who is now the only surviving member of her family. How strange it must feel to be singled out that way. She has friends and cousins, her significant other, but no children of her own, no parents, no siblings. I grieve for her. Mean spirited or not, Tom was her brother, her last living tie to her mother and father.

Then there's my grandparents. They were good people, my grandmother and grandfather. They loved us with fiery intensity. My grandfather's cousin, Ginny, was at the church when we arrived. She greeted us, hugged us, and then smiled as sweetly as only Ginny can. She looked at me and said, "You have Bill's eyes." Yes, I do have his eyes, Anderson eyes. Jacob has my grandfather's eyes too. I felt very aware of my grief for him and for my grandmother at that moment.

To end his homily, the priest recounted a story likening our lives to the weaving of a tapestry, with God being the artist. Much like a weaver, God is the only one able to see the product in its entirety until the end. We do not know what lies ahead of us, and we often do not even understand our current circumstances. What we need to remember throughout our lives is that the dark threads are just as important as the light threads. The contrast of dark and light are needed to balance one another. If we allow God to do his work through us, try not to question His reasons, but rather truly "let go and let God," then we can appreciate the beauty of the final product, the tapestry of our lives. I loved the analogy, and I would like to find the written version of it for myself. It's a principle I have long subscribed to - the need for balance, the necessity of hard times to appreciate the good, and the beauty that can be found even in suffering, when one's heart is open.

At this point, I pray that Tom is no longer suffering. I hope that he has made his peace with God and with his parents and that he is finally able to rest his weary mind. I pray for Mary Catherine, to have the strength to weather this storm until she is able to see the lighter days ahead. I pray for my grandparents, God rest their souls, that they are also at peace.

In the last few days, and in the days to come, I am slowly gaining some clarity. Just in the moments it took me to write this blog entry, I have realized that my wounds from the past have indeed mostly healed. I will forever have questions, but really, what is the point in asking? Would the answers bring me any peace? Probably not. Instead, I choose to move forward and embrace the opportunities that lie ahead of me. I pray for myself, that I never allow myself to live in anger, that I cherish each and every moment with my family and friends, and that I express that gratitude to both God and my family. I thank God for the blessings He has bestowed upon me: my parents, my sisters, my husband and children, my family and friends, the people I hold dear, life's truest blessings. I am surrounded by love and light, enough to carry me through any darkness, and I truly love the tapestry that God is weaving for me.