Braced for the Hit

My friend, Chris, and I were among those who celebrated Pope Francis' visit to the United States in 2015. Although it is sad the pope is gone, it is not surprising.

The local priest joked about the fact some people were shocked to hear of his passing despite Pope Francis being 88 years old and recently having spent weeks in the hospital for double pneumonia, God bless him.

“I was more shocked he lived as long as he did,” Father quipped.

I think some people might be put off at the perceived irreverence, but it is just acceptance of death as a part of life. Everything we prize is but lent to us, after all.

It brought to my mind all the people I know who have died. Some of them due to health problems they had suffered over the years, like my cousin and my uncle. Although we grieve, their deaths were not a shock.

For me it is easier to process a death at least if I see it coming.

Papal Drive By, 2015

The earth is the Lord's and the fulness thereof; the world and those who dwell therein

Psalms 24:1

My mother’s passing took my brother and I by complete surprise. It was January of 1996. We were digging ourselves out from under a blizzard that is still regarded as historic. I woke up one morning to my stepdad screaming my mother's name and she not responding. My brother ran down the steps to assist. I went into a panic and put my hands over my hears to block out the sounds until I couldn't deny what was happening anymore. It was a really bad time.

She had been complaining of shortness of breath for months but, other than that, she and my stepdad downplayed how bad off she really was. They didn’t want us kids to worry. The shock, for me, was the worst of it all.

I kept thinking "the least they could have done was brace us for the hit."

Mom had three years left in this picture

For the thing that I fear comes upon me, and what I dread befalls me. Job 3:25

At the funeral a little girl named, Linda*, happened to be standing near me when it was my turn to pay my respects. She was a pretty little girl with blonde hair and blue eyes. Linda went into foster care after she lost her mother when she was two years old. That is how she came to live with some of my family members.

Linda went up with me and knelt beside me in front of my mother’s casket. Of course, I was grief-stricken. Then I looked at Linda, who sat quietly beside me looking at my mother.

“How can I complain that I only had my mother for twenty-three years,” I thought to myself, "when this little girl only had her mother for two?”

I held Linda's hand when we walked away from the casket together.

Back home receiving guests it started snowing again, big fat flakes. I stood alone outside on our front patio watching the snow fall, trying to console myself whatever way I could.

"Six months from now it will be summer," I told myself. "It will still be sad that she’s gone, but at least the shock will have worn off by then.” And so it went.

My babies when they were babies

For since we believe that Jesus died and rose again, even so, through Jesus, God will bring with him those who have fallen asleep. 1 Thessalonians 4:14

My mother's car radio only played the Oldies station. Our favorite song to sing along to together was "Sweet Talking Guy" by the Chiffons. For years I couldn't listen to that song without getting weepy. The years when my kids were small were the toughest. I grieved the fact my kids would never know the love from her that my nieces knew. Now that the children are grown it doesn't sting as much. Memories of my mother now make me laugh instead of cry.

Recently my beloved Uncle Jimmy died after being in generally poor health for many years. He was my godfather. He had an infectious laugh that was so loud some of the kids used to be afraid of him when they were little. I loved my Uncle Jimmy. We all did.

I called my cousin, his oldest daughter, to console her because I knew she was taking it really bad. We talked for a long time. I told her he was probably up in heaven right now laughing, and I imitated his laugh. She laughed too, but there was nothing I could say that was really a comfort to her.

When I said things like “You’ll always miss him but eventually your happy memories will make you laugh again instead of make you sad,” she didn't say so, but I sensed she got aggravated with me. She seemed to feel like I was minimizing her grief.

The things I told myself about my mother only seemed callous to my cousin, but I didn't know what else to say.

Uncle Jimmy's prayer card

Rejoice with those who rejoice, weep with those who weep. Romans 12:15

I always knew my mother would die before me because that is the "natural order of things." I just wish she hadn't died as young as she did. All these years later, the trauma of the shock is still something I live with, but I live with it. My cousin seems like she will proudly grieve for her father for the rest of her life, and that's okay too.

Pope Francis, God bless him, lived a long and fruitful life. His health declined steadily over time. Although we all wish we had more time, there is little question he was prepared for the journey he knew he was about to take. That should give all of us who mourn his passing some degree of comfort.

As for me, all I ask from God is if anyone I care about is going to die to give me time to brace myself for the hit. I got that with my Uncle Jimmy, and I am grateful for that much.

*not her real name