I am deeply grateful to say that tonite was a really enjoyable Halloween.
By God's Grace I had resolved ahead of time to proceed as if Mom were still here. And of course for all I know she still is in a way. I can only hope and pray that she might have been here and seen and enjoyed our Halloween. There were very young children, little girls in princess outfits and little cowboys ... that I know Mom would have simply adored. How she would have cooed over them. There was a Spiderman and a vampire and a few ghosts and a Teenage Ninja Mutant Turtle and a Barney ... and more that I just didn't recognize. I know Mom would have enjoyed ... as did I ... seeing the little kids, and their young parents ...
I carved a large pumpkin and have started stripping its meat in order to make a pumpking pie. For the first time ever. So if this blog suddenly falls silent, you'll know I managed to poison myself and may or may not rejoin this site.
But it was so much fun. I took pictures ... lots of pictures ... and gave out lots of candy ... and found Mom's old little pumpkin, in ceramic, and set it up with a candle in it. And I imagined her sitting in her chair, and watching the little kids coming to the door, hollering "Trick or Treat" and carrying on as they do. Mom would have loved it.
And so did I.
I love you Mom. I love you Jesus.
And Jesus please take good care of my Momma.
Charles Delacroix
Halloween
Eve of the Feast of All Saints
Wednesday, October 31, 2007
Tuesday, October 30, 2007
It's the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown
I'm watching It's the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown" tonite. The ad says this is the 40th Anniversary of this traditional annual presentation. See http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0060550/ ... which gives the original air date as 1966.
Oh how I miss my Mom. We both loved watching all these Charlie Brown TV programs. Now her chair is empty. And she is gone.
This morning I saw a whole lot of those little bitty purple flowers on the front lawn again. These have gold centers and are simply exquisite ... and exquisitely shy, as Mom and I both affected to consider them, because they are so small and grow so close to the ground. She's gone though. And I can't talk to her as before about these wonderful little flowers.
I can only hope and pray she can still see Charlie Brown and Snoopy and Linus ... and all these wonderful, delightful little flowers ... and even her son who sits here praying ... yet again ... that she might be happy where she is now with Our Lord.
Oh my. I still plan to go forward with our "usual" Halloween night tomorrow night. The pumpkin is here, though yet to be carved; and there is lots of candy on hand, although, alas, I've been having trouble staying out of it.
I was planning to try to cook up a pumpkin pie, too. I think I'll try to look up how to do this without burning the house down.
Oh Lord my God ... please ... please ... please ... take good care of my Momma.
I love you Lord and I love you Momma.
Charles Delacroix
Tuesday of the 30th Week in Ordinary Time
Oh how I miss my Mom. We both loved watching all these Charlie Brown TV programs. Now her chair is empty. And she is gone.
This morning I saw a whole lot of those little bitty purple flowers on the front lawn again. These have gold centers and are simply exquisite ... and exquisitely shy, as Mom and I both affected to consider them, because they are so small and grow so close to the ground. She's gone though. And I can't talk to her as before about these wonderful little flowers.
I can only hope and pray she can still see Charlie Brown and Snoopy and Linus ... and all these wonderful, delightful little flowers ... and even her son who sits here praying ... yet again ... that she might be happy where she is now with Our Lord.
Oh my. I still plan to go forward with our "usual" Halloween night tomorrow night. The pumpkin is here, though yet to be carved; and there is lots of candy on hand, although, alas, I've been having trouble staying out of it.
I was planning to try to cook up a pumpkin pie, too. I think I'll try to look up how to do this without burning the house down.
Oh Lord my God ... please ... please ... please ... take good care of my Momma.
I love you Lord and I love you Momma.
Charles Delacroix
Tuesday of the 30th Week in Ordinary Time
Saturday, October 27, 2007
Aeneas and Seeking for a Home
I read some more in the Aeneid, Book III this time. We have Aeneas, with his father and his son and the Trojans fleeing from their destoyed homeland, guiding themselves to Thrace. At Delos they seek the guidance of the gods in seeking a new home. They are sent to the land of their ancestors, meaning Italia; but at first they thought that the Oracle meant Crete, another ancestral home of the Trojans. All in all, Aeneas and the Trojans labor ... and work hard ... and err ... but keep seeking their new divinely ordained Home.
I too O Lord. For tonight I returned home ... home! The Home that has long been my home and Mom's. Now she is gone .. and her absence is painful indeed ... yet it felt good to come to this home even with ... or because it's with ... Mom's memories everywhere.
It felt good. I made linguini, and watched TV. MASH and Cheers ... Mom would have loved them. And I saw those little bitty purple flowers with the gold centers in the front yard again this evening. Mom ... and I ... loved these shy, beautiful, exquisite bits of God's Glory. All in all, I am very, very grateful for this home ... even without Mom .. even alone ... but still a home away from home in this sojourn in this world.
And Ohhhhhh ... how I do miss you MOmma ... O Lord Jesus take good care of my Momma ...
Thank you ... o Thank you Lord.
Charles Delacroix
Eve of Sunday 30 in Ordinary Time
I too O Lord. For tonight I returned home ... home! The Home that has long been my home and Mom's. Now she is gone .. and her absence is painful indeed ... yet it felt good to come to this home even with ... or because it's with ... Mom's memories everywhere.
It felt good. I made linguini, and watched TV. MASH and Cheers ... Mom would have loved them. And I saw those little bitty purple flowers with the gold centers in the front yard again this evening. Mom ... and I ... loved these shy, beautiful, exquisite bits of God's Glory. All in all, I am very, very grateful for this home ... even without Mom .. even alone ... but still a home away from home in this sojourn in this world.
And Ohhhhhh ... how I do miss you MOmma ... O Lord Jesus take good care of my Momma ...
Thank you ... o Thank you Lord.
Charles Delacroix
Eve of Sunday 30 in Ordinary Time
Night Time Visit with Mom
Last night, I was feeling very, very lonely, and missed Mom so very, very much.
So I went to visit her. It was late dusk, but there was enough light that I could use a little toothbrush I took with me to clean the dust and dirt from around the lettering on her temporary marker. Then I took a cloth and cleaned her marker off very clean. The cloth roses in her vase are the same that I bought for her the day after her burial, and I arranged them so that I thought she and I both might like them.
While I was doing this I was crying and crying and telling her how much I missed her.
It was getting darker and darker, until it was what Mom used to call "hard dark."
But I talked to her and talked to her and hoped and prayed that she might here me by God's Grace.
I told her that I had that day gone by Walmart, and bought a pumpkin, and a bunch of candy, for Halloween. I told her I was planning to celebrate Halloween just like we had been celebrating it. I told her that I remember so very, very well how much she loved sitting in her chair and watching the little kids come up to the door in their costumes. I told her I would be sure to give those who came some candy as we've always done in the past. I told her I was going to carve a Jack O'Lantern, just as before, and set it on that little outdoor table she and I had bought to sit beside us when we were "settin' a spell." I told her that I miss so so so so much "settin' a spell" with her in the mornings and evenings ... but I told her that I knew she would very much like our using our little table for a Jack O'Lantern to delight the little kids.
I cried and I cried and I told her I know that it's been 2 months but that nothing is right here without her. Yet I know that she's in a better place and I begged that if she can pray for me that she might do so; and told her that I in turn would pray for her in hope of helping her if such prayers might be useful for her; and knowing that if not, they could be applied elsewhere within the Body of Christ in this World of Suffering or in that (Purgatorial) World of Suffering. I told her that I was so very, very, very grateful for her ... that it has been a privilege to be allowed to be with her while she was in this world; and that I miss her very very very very much.
I talked a lot I guess. And cried a lot.
And I got a really strangely peaceful feeling suddenly. And a sense ... not of hearing ... not even of Ezekiel's "image of an image" or "vision of a vision" ... but a sense nonetheless of Jesus being there ... and telling me that Mom's OK.
I balled and balled then and couldn't stop balling.
And I don't know if He was there or not. Well ... of course He was there, He is in all places at all times. But I don't know much more than that I'm sure Mom's OK. I begged Jesus as always to take good care of my Momma. And I think He is.
I left then. The sky was clouded over and the graveyard very dark. But I felt ... what? Both enormous pain ... and enormous gratitude and thanksgiving.
Isn't that somewhere what that Trappist Guestmaster from Holy Ghost Monastery said ... that the Tomb, on Holy Saturday, was filled with the painful melancholia of genuine loss, but also full of thanksgiving and expectancy.
Dark is the night that precedes the Dawn.
Darkness shrouds Mom as darkness shrouded Our Lord.
Darkness enfolds Our Lady of Sorrows and the Man of Sorrows.
Darkness of the Tomb on Holy Saturday.
Holy Mary
Mother of God
Pray for us sinners
Blessed art thou amongst women
And blessed is the fruit of thy womb
Jesus
Holy Mary Mother of God
Pray for us sinners
Now and at the hour of our death
Amen.
So I went to visit her. It was late dusk, but there was enough light that I could use a little toothbrush I took with me to clean the dust and dirt from around the lettering on her temporary marker. Then I took a cloth and cleaned her marker off very clean. The cloth roses in her vase are the same that I bought for her the day after her burial, and I arranged them so that I thought she and I both might like them.
While I was doing this I was crying and crying and telling her how much I missed her.
It was getting darker and darker, until it was what Mom used to call "hard dark."
But I talked to her and talked to her and hoped and prayed that she might here me by God's Grace.
I told her that I had that day gone by Walmart, and bought a pumpkin, and a bunch of candy, for Halloween. I told her I was planning to celebrate Halloween just like we had been celebrating it. I told her that I remember so very, very well how much she loved sitting in her chair and watching the little kids come up to the door in their costumes. I told her I would be sure to give those who came some candy as we've always done in the past. I told her I was going to carve a Jack O'Lantern, just as before, and set it on that little outdoor table she and I had bought to sit beside us when we were "settin' a spell." I told her that I miss so so so so much "settin' a spell" with her in the mornings and evenings ... but I told her that I knew she would very much like our using our little table for a Jack O'Lantern to delight the little kids.
I cried and I cried and I told her I know that it's been 2 months but that nothing is right here without her. Yet I know that she's in a better place and I begged that if she can pray for me that she might do so; and told her that I in turn would pray for her in hope of helping her if such prayers might be useful for her; and knowing that if not, they could be applied elsewhere within the Body of Christ in this World of Suffering or in that (Purgatorial) World of Suffering. I told her that I was so very, very, very grateful for her ... that it has been a privilege to be allowed to be with her while she was in this world; and that I miss her very very very very much.
I talked a lot I guess. And cried a lot.
And I got a really strangely peaceful feeling suddenly. And a sense ... not of hearing ... not even of Ezekiel's "image of an image" or "vision of a vision" ... but a sense nonetheless of Jesus being there ... and telling me that Mom's OK.
I balled and balled then and couldn't stop balling.
And I don't know if He was there or not. Well ... of course He was there, He is in all places at all times. But I don't know much more than that I'm sure Mom's OK. I begged Jesus as always to take good care of my Momma. And I think He is.
I left then. The sky was clouded over and the graveyard very dark. But I felt ... what? Both enormous pain ... and enormous gratitude and thanksgiving.
Isn't that somewhere what that Trappist Guestmaster from Holy Ghost Monastery said ... that the Tomb, on Holy Saturday, was filled with the painful melancholia of genuine loss, but also full of thanksgiving and expectancy.
Dark is the night that precedes the Dawn.
Darkness shrouds Mom as darkness shrouded Our Lord.
Darkness enfolds Our Lady of Sorrows and the Man of Sorrows.
Darkness of the Tomb on Holy Saturday.
Holy Mary
Mother of God
Pray for us sinners
Blessed art thou amongst women
And blessed is the fruit of thy womb
Jesus
Holy Mary Mother of God
Pray for us sinners
Now and at the hour of our death
Amen.
Two Months since her Burial ... on Mary's Watch
Today is October 27, exactly 2 months since Mom was buried.
Saturday. A Holy Saturday as all Saturdays are preeminently Holy Saturdays since the Holy Saturday that Our Lord lay Dead and Waiting for Resurrection in the Darkness of His Tomb.
It is also Saturday, Mary's Day, and I was grateful to see this morning a beautiful full moon in the west as I took the dog for a walk in Woodward Park.
I got up early after a mostly sleepless night ... and it was still very dark. The moon was exquisitely bright and looked like George MacDonald's Moon in Phantastes or Lilith that looks over the earth with such kind solicitude.
The dog and I walked along trees and bushes that were black against a barely emerging light in the east, that gradually turned into a soft, penetrating saffron by the time we were done walking. It was as if Mary the Moon were watching over the earth from the West ... watching over me, then, and the dog ... as she and all Creation awaited the Rising of the Sun in the East.
Hail Holy Queen
Mother of Mercy
Our Life, our sweetness, and our hope
To thee do we cry, poor banished children of Eve
to thee do we send up our sighs
mourning and weeping in this valley of tears.
Turn, then, most gracious advocate, thine eyes of mercy toward us
and after this our exile
show unto us the blessed fruit of thy womb
Jesus
O clement, O loving, O sweet virgin Mary.
Pray for us, O holy Mother of God
That we may be made worthy
of the promises of Christ.
Saturday. A Holy Saturday as all Saturdays are preeminently Holy Saturdays since the Holy Saturday that Our Lord lay Dead and Waiting for Resurrection in the Darkness of His Tomb.
It is also Saturday, Mary's Day, and I was grateful to see this morning a beautiful full moon in the west as I took the dog for a walk in Woodward Park.
I got up early after a mostly sleepless night ... and it was still very dark. The moon was exquisitely bright and looked like George MacDonald's Moon in Phantastes or Lilith that looks over the earth with such kind solicitude.
The dog and I walked along trees and bushes that were black against a barely emerging light in the east, that gradually turned into a soft, penetrating saffron by the time we were done walking. It was as if Mary the Moon were watching over the earth from the West ... watching over me, then, and the dog ... as she and all Creation awaited the Rising of the Sun in the East.
Hail Holy Queen
Mother of Mercy
Our Life, our sweetness, and our hope
To thee do we cry, poor banished children of Eve
to thee do we send up our sighs
mourning and weeping in this valley of tears.
Turn, then, most gracious advocate, thine eyes of mercy toward us
and after this our exile
show unto us the blessed fruit of thy womb
Jesus
O clement, O loving, O sweet virgin Mary.
Pray for us, O holy Mother of God
That we may be made worthy
of the promises of Christ.
Signs of Contradiction
I was thinking of St Augustine's description of our human state of understanding of what's good for us; and of Vergil's description of Aeneas' bearing of Anchises. Both really reflect the Cross as Signs of Contradiction.
St Augustine's Letter to Proba (in OOR) is where he says that our state is one of "enlightened ignorance." Isn't that exactly right? Start with the fact that I know nothing: ignorance. But I am, purely by God's Grace, enlightened enough to know a bit of what I am to do and what I am to pray for. Just a bit though: for all knowledge is vouchesafed by God on a "need to know basis." Enlightened ignorance, though, is my state and the basis for everything I think, say, and do.
Vergil's Aeneid, Book II, is where he describes Aeneas' carrying his aged father, Anchises, on his shoulders as they flee a Troy that is burning behind them. As Aeneas bears his father on his shoulders, he describes this as a "welcome burden." Sure it's a burden; but one he wouldn't give up for anything. As with Mom. I actually miss taking her to the restroom and changing her Depends. This wasn't always, at one level, the most pleasant duty in the world. At another level, though, it was a sheer privilege. It was part of my intimacy with my Mother in her final year of life. And it was a very, very "welcome burden" indeed. Just as I, as a baby, mewling for food or change of diaper, was, I guess, a "welcome burden" to my dear Mother.
Likewise O Lord I do not understand ... O I simply cannot understand ... why oh why oh why my dear Mother is no longer here with me. But I know that in my barely enlightened ignorance that You know what I don't know; and that You know what is best for her, and for me. Likewise too, O Lord, I do not understand why this life ... and why life even can be, with a family that can be wrenched away so quickly; why I am vouchesafed a life that turns to dust and ashes as my life is now. Yet it is a welcome burden, even as my mother was a welcome burden to me, even as I was a welcome burden to my mother. The way of life is the Way of the Cross after all. A cross is in a way a burden to heavy to bear and too horrid to want to bear. At another level, it is a participation in Your Way of the Cross, Dear Love of my Life, O Christ. Your Cross itself is a welcome burden to you as my Cross is a welcome burden to me.
And O Lord what am I but, it seems, a welcome burden to You.
As indeed O Lord You are Yourself a welcome burden to Me.
I love you Lord. Please take good care of my Momma.
Charles Delacroix
Saturday of Week 29 in Ordinary Time
St Augustine's Letter to Proba (in OOR) is where he says that our state is one of "enlightened ignorance." Isn't that exactly right? Start with the fact that I know nothing: ignorance. But I am, purely by God's Grace, enlightened enough to know a bit of what I am to do and what I am to pray for. Just a bit though: for all knowledge is vouchesafed by God on a "need to know basis." Enlightened ignorance, though, is my state and the basis for everything I think, say, and do.
Vergil's Aeneid, Book II, is where he describes Aeneas' carrying his aged father, Anchises, on his shoulders as they flee a Troy that is burning behind them. As Aeneas bears his father on his shoulders, he describes this as a "welcome burden." Sure it's a burden; but one he wouldn't give up for anything. As with Mom. I actually miss taking her to the restroom and changing her Depends. This wasn't always, at one level, the most pleasant duty in the world. At another level, though, it was a sheer privilege. It was part of my intimacy with my Mother in her final year of life. And it was a very, very "welcome burden" indeed. Just as I, as a baby, mewling for food or change of diaper, was, I guess, a "welcome burden" to my dear Mother.
Likewise O Lord I do not understand ... O I simply cannot understand ... why oh why oh why my dear Mother is no longer here with me. But I know that in my barely enlightened ignorance that You know what I don't know; and that You know what is best for her, and for me. Likewise too, O Lord, I do not understand why this life ... and why life even can be, with a family that can be wrenched away so quickly; why I am vouchesafed a life that turns to dust and ashes as my life is now. Yet it is a welcome burden, even as my mother was a welcome burden to me, even as I was a welcome burden to my mother. The way of life is the Way of the Cross after all. A cross is in a way a burden to heavy to bear and too horrid to want to bear. At another level, it is a participation in Your Way of the Cross, Dear Love of my Life, O Christ. Your Cross itself is a welcome burden to you as my Cross is a welcome burden to me.
And O Lord what am I but, it seems, a welcome burden to You.
As indeed O Lord You are Yourself a welcome burden to Me.
I love you Lord. Please take good care of my Momma.
Charles Delacroix
Saturday of Week 29 in Ordinary Time
Friday, October 26, 2007
St Augustine is Right
For about the past week, the Office of Readings has been giving us for a 2nd Reading excerpts from a letter of St Augustine to Proba. And what a wonderful gift this has been. And for that matter what a wonderful gift St Augustine is.
The burden of what he's been saying, if I'm interpreting him aright, is, frankly, we don't know sh*t.
OK, he says this much, much better, but that's how I'm reading him.
St Augustine says that we don't really know what to pray for. We do have desires and wants and these are all connected with God, who is our only true Happiness. He says this again and again. And only a well-ordered desire can give rise to a right prayer for fulfillment of that desire. But since we don't, beyond our sheer wanting, know what to pray for, the Holy Spirit must help us in our weakness (Romans cap 8).
He makes clear that there's really nothing at all wrong with praying very naturally, and asking for what seems plainly and naturally desirable: such as our daily bread.
But in all our prayers we must, as does Jesus in the Garden, append "yet not as I will but as Thou Wilt."
And if we pray for something, and the opposite happens, it an only signify that God knows better than our prayer. A prayer for prosperity will not be granted if prosperity could mean our ruin; or God may answer, but send the truest prosperity that does not fade or flicker or rust in the evening of our sojourn in this vale of tears.
Oh but how hard it is. How hard it is. And thank God Himself, St Augustine, following Our Lord Jesus Christ in His Sacred Humanity, that this much at least is acknowledged.
I have sitting beside me copies of two professional journals, the Catholic Social Science Review and Suicide and Life-Threatening Behavior. Both just came in the mail. And both initially intrigued me ... as is normal ... and the CSSR especially I know will simply be a delight and pleasure to read if I open it up. It always is. But I haven't opened it. I looked at it and then suddenly remembered Mom. And everything suddenly seemed bathed yet again in the grey mist of futility again and I think, "what's the point?"
But the desire, that interest, in these journals are "normal" for me. I would not have felt this at all a month ago. Now I do. And the question looms up, is this the way it's going to be? I'll slowly "regain" my old interests, and I'll "move forward" ... leaving Mom behind?
God how I hate ... *hate* .... that phrase, "move forward". Move forward why? Move forward where? Move forward without Momma? WTF?
But is that what's going to happen? Would Aeneas bear Anchises from burning Troy, bury him in Sicily, and then ... forget? Or remembering as one remembers an old place or old acquaintance that is long gone and rarely remembered or thought of?
I just can't even bear the thought of this kind of "moving forward" even though ... when I think about it ... I guess this is in fact what we humans do.
And that being the case, why not despair of this life?
Horror before me and horror behind me.
Lord Jesus Christ ... please be my light in the darkness
Be with me.
Be with me here and now.
Thy Will not Mine be done.
Bear the weight of this Cross that I cannot bear
And please O Please O please ...
take good care of my Momma, please please please
How I miss you Momma.
God take good care of her.
Hail Mary full of grace
the Lord is with thee
Blessed art thou amongst women
And blessed is the fruit of thy womb
Jesus
Holy Mary Mother of God
Pray for us sinners
now and at the hour of our death
Amen.
Sacred Heart of Jesus, on this Friday in Ordinary Time, have mercy on us.
Charles Delacroix
Friday of the 29th Week of Ordinary Time
The burden of what he's been saying, if I'm interpreting him aright, is, frankly, we don't know sh*t.
OK, he says this much, much better, but that's how I'm reading him.
St Augustine says that we don't really know what to pray for. We do have desires and wants and these are all connected with God, who is our only true Happiness. He says this again and again. And only a well-ordered desire can give rise to a right prayer for fulfillment of that desire. But since we don't, beyond our sheer wanting, know what to pray for, the Holy Spirit must help us in our weakness (Romans cap 8).
He makes clear that there's really nothing at all wrong with praying very naturally, and asking for what seems plainly and naturally desirable: such as our daily bread.
But in all our prayers we must, as does Jesus in the Garden, append "yet not as I will but as Thou Wilt."
And if we pray for something, and the opposite happens, it an only signify that God knows better than our prayer. A prayer for prosperity will not be granted if prosperity could mean our ruin; or God may answer, but send the truest prosperity that does not fade or flicker or rust in the evening of our sojourn in this vale of tears.
Oh but how hard it is. How hard it is. And thank God Himself, St Augustine, following Our Lord Jesus Christ in His Sacred Humanity, that this much at least is acknowledged.
I have sitting beside me copies of two professional journals, the Catholic Social Science Review and Suicide and Life-Threatening Behavior. Both just came in the mail. And both initially intrigued me ... as is normal ... and the CSSR especially I know will simply be a delight and pleasure to read if I open it up. It always is. But I haven't opened it. I looked at it and then suddenly remembered Mom. And everything suddenly seemed bathed yet again in the grey mist of futility again and I think, "what's the point?"
But the desire, that interest, in these journals are "normal" for me. I would not have felt this at all a month ago. Now I do. And the question looms up, is this the way it's going to be? I'll slowly "regain" my old interests, and I'll "move forward" ... leaving Mom behind?
God how I hate ... *hate* .... that phrase, "move forward". Move forward why? Move forward where? Move forward without Momma? WTF?
But is that what's going to happen? Would Aeneas bear Anchises from burning Troy, bury him in Sicily, and then ... forget? Or remembering as one remembers an old place or old acquaintance that is long gone and rarely remembered or thought of?
I just can't even bear the thought of this kind of "moving forward" even though ... when I think about it ... I guess this is in fact what we humans do.
And that being the case, why not despair of this life?
Horror before me and horror behind me.
Lord Jesus Christ ... please be my light in the darkness
Be with me.
Be with me here and now.
Thy Will not Mine be done.
Bear the weight of this Cross that I cannot bear
And please O Please O please ...
take good care of my Momma, please please please
How I miss you Momma.
God take good care of her.
Hail Mary full of grace
the Lord is with thee
Blessed art thou amongst women
And blessed is the fruit of thy womb
Jesus
Holy Mary Mother of God
Pray for us sinners
now and at the hour of our death
Amen.
Sacred Heart of Jesus, on this Friday in Ordinary Time, have mercy on us.
Charles Delacroix
Friday of the 29th Week of Ordinary Time
Thursday, October 25, 2007
Full Moom over Mom's Grave
When I went to visit Mom's grave tonite, there was an incredibly huge moon in the clear sunset skies above her grave. The moon anymore always makes me think of the Moon in George MacDonald's Phantastes ... I think ... or was it Lilith? This is a Moon that watches over the things below her on earth with joy or sadness, depending on what is transpiring here. And this is to me Mary watching over us all.
St Augustine in the Office of Readings for this morning had things to say that I needed ... and need to hear ... again and again. See http://www.universalis.com/20071025/readings.htm:
"So when we are suffering afflictions that might be doing us either good or harm, we do not to know how to pray as we ought. But because they are hard to endure and painful, because they are contrary to our nature (which is weak) we, like all mankind, pray to have our afflictions taken from us. At least, though, we owe this much respect to the Lord our God, that if he does not take our afflictions away we should not consider ourselves ignored and neglected, but should hope to gain some greater good through the patient acceptance of suffering. For my power is at its best in weakness.
"Scripture says this so that we should not be proud of ourselves if our prayer is heard, when we ask for something it would be better for us not to get; and so that we should not become utterly dejected if we are not given what we ask for, despairing of God’s mercy towards us: it might be that what we have been asking for could have brought us some still greater affliction, or it could have brought us the kind of good fortune that brings corruption and ruin. In such cases, it is clear that we cannot know how to pray as we ought.
"Hence if anything is happens contrary to our prayer, we ought to bear the disappointment patiently, give thanks to God, and be sure that it was better for God’s will to be done than our own. The Mediator himself has given us an example of this. When he had prayed, My Father, if it is possible, let this cup pass me by, he transformed the human will that was in him because he had assumed human nature and added Nevertheless, let it be as you, not I, would have it. Thus, truly, By the obedience of one man many have been made righteous."
Let's say that again: "if anything is happens contrary to our prayer, we ought to bear the disappointment patiently, give thanks to God, and be sure that it was better for God’s will to be done than our own."
Yes. Yes.
Amen O Lord.
O but help me bear this Cross for without you I can do nothing ... much less bear even for one moment the loss of my dear Momma.
I went by the Catholic Bookstore and they are going to order me a hard copy of Salvifici Doloris. I also picked up a copy of St Padre Pio's Meditation on Christ's Agony in the Garden. Also saw some possible resources in a section on Lent. All in all, I feel like a good patristic commendtary on the Book of Job and other things like these might help me very much by God's Grace.
I'm really still feeling just tired and worn out though. I look this way and that and things all seem to say, "We are things you would have shared with your Momma at one time. Now you have no one to share us with. You are Alone."
I look and see and think, "Why?" and "So what?"
I know at one level that St Augustine is right. You know, O lord, You know, not me, but You know what is best.
Yet futility seems to swirl all around me. Purposelessness, hopelessness, loneliness and spiritual poverty seem to be my constant companions. And exhaustion. Just feeling bone tired.
O Lord Your Will not mine be done.
And O lord ... O lord ... please, please, please ... please ... take good care of my Momma ...
Momma I miss you so ...
Thy Will O lord not mine be done ...
In Christ and by His Holy Cross,
Charles Delacroix
Thursday of Week 29 of Ordinary Time
St Augustine in the Office of Readings for this morning had things to say that I needed ... and need to hear ... again and again. See http://www.universalis.com/20071025/readings.htm:
"So when we are suffering afflictions that might be doing us either good or harm, we do not to know how to pray as we ought. But because they are hard to endure and painful, because they are contrary to our nature (which is weak) we, like all mankind, pray to have our afflictions taken from us. At least, though, we owe this much respect to the Lord our God, that if he does not take our afflictions away we should not consider ourselves ignored and neglected, but should hope to gain some greater good through the patient acceptance of suffering. For my power is at its best in weakness.
"Scripture says this so that we should not be proud of ourselves if our prayer is heard, when we ask for something it would be better for us not to get; and so that we should not become utterly dejected if we are not given what we ask for, despairing of God’s mercy towards us: it might be that what we have been asking for could have brought us some still greater affliction, or it could have brought us the kind of good fortune that brings corruption and ruin. In such cases, it is clear that we cannot know how to pray as we ought.
"Hence if anything is happens contrary to our prayer, we ought to bear the disappointment patiently, give thanks to God, and be sure that it was better for God’s will to be done than our own. The Mediator himself has given us an example of this. When he had prayed, My Father, if it is possible, let this cup pass me by, he transformed the human will that was in him because he had assumed human nature and added Nevertheless, let it be as you, not I, would have it. Thus, truly, By the obedience of one man many have been made righteous."
Let's say that again: "if anything is happens contrary to our prayer, we ought to bear the disappointment patiently, give thanks to God, and be sure that it was better for God’s will to be done than our own."
Yes. Yes.
Amen O Lord.
O but help me bear this Cross for without you I can do nothing ... much less bear even for one moment the loss of my dear Momma.
I went by the Catholic Bookstore and they are going to order me a hard copy of Salvifici Doloris. I also picked up a copy of St Padre Pio's Meditation on Christ's Agony in the Garden. Also saw some possible resources in a section on Lent. All in all, I feel like a good patristic commendtary on the Book of Job and other things like these might help me very much by God's Grace.
I'm really still feeling just tired and worn out though. I look this way and that and things all seem to say, "We are things you would have shared with your Momma at one time. Now you have no one to share us with. You are Alone."
I look and see and think, "Why?" and "So what?"
I know at one level that St Augustine is right. You know, O lord, You know, not me, but You know what is best.
Yet futility seems to swirl all around me. Purposelessness, hopelessness, loneliness and spiritual poverty seem to be my constant companions. And exhaustion. Just feeling bone tired.
O Lord Your Will not mine be done.
And O lord ... O lord ... please, please, please ... please ... take good care of my Momma ...
Momma I miss you so ...
Thy Will O lord not mine be done ...
In Christ and by His Holy Cross,
Charles Delacroix
Thursday of Week 29 of Ordinary Time
Wednesday, October 24, 2007
Slowing Down ...
I've just been slowing down for the past few days ... slowing down ... very tired, very tired ... really tired.
And I guess really I have to be careful not to overdo I think.
This morning I was working on email; and worked on commenting on IMDb which is something I've liked doing in the past but have gotten away from. Then I went to do clinical supervision (LCSW) of someone. And went by the museum. Then went and got the dog and took her to Woodward Park for a walk. And thought of how Mom would have been watching and smiling to see Spooky chasing after the squirrels. But of course she's not there now to watch. Or is she? I can hope. As Spooky and I walked back through the Rose Garden, we walked down a path that would have led to where Mom often sat in a little alcove, watching us coming back toward her. Oh how I miss seeing her watching for us. She's not there now though. Oh ... or is she?
After that the dog and I drove past two houses where Mom lived in the past.
And then I went to a friend's house to help with her computer there and when I left I simply felt exhausted.
I can do these things and it's OK up to a point but then I feel so tired ... and the thought comes over me that she's gone ... gone ... and everything feels utterly pointless and I wonder, "what am I doing these things for? What's the point? Why even try?"
I've really got to slow down.
Oh Mom. Oh Mom. Oh Mom.
Oh God. Oh God. Oh God.
I saw some of these purple flowers with golden centers out front. Really Mom would have loved them. So do I. But of course she's not here. So what's the point of anything ... even looking at these flowers. They are lovely. No question about that. And God is to be blessed for sending these exquisite beauties to us. I know that at one level. But my gut still asks: "What's the point? She's not here. So what's the point?"
Things seem so pointless. Hopeless. And a part of me fears losing the house because if every time I go to work I come away feeling exhausted and hopeless there's just no way I can sustain going to work. Maybe I'm moving too fast on that then. I don't know.
OOR this morning was really moving. From St Anthony Claret. He says that Love is the motive force for everything we do. And last week the Collect said that Love is the Foundation of all we do.
Yes. Yes.
But still I'm exhausted. And the thought keeps coming through my tears: Oh Lord why O why is Mom not here anymore.
Why. Why.
I am staying home from RCIA tonite. Just sad and so tired out. I think I'll go see a dollar movie. Probably Balls of Fury. I'm usually not up to comedies these days but what the hell.
Oh Lord I do by Your Grace alone ask that if it be according to Your Will may my suffering such as it is be lifted up to You to do with as You will. May this horrible hopeless sense of futility be used for the good first of my dear departed Mom if she can benefit from it. If not please use it as you see fit to fill up what is lacking in the sufferings of Christ.
Oh Lord how it all hurts and hurts and hurts.
Thy will be done.
Just for today.
Oh how it hurts.
Momma ... Momma ... oh why Oh why are you gone ...
Thy will be done O Lord.
OK. On to the movie. I'll check in when I get back. God willing.
I love you Lord. And please oh please oh please ... take good care of my Momma.
Love always,
Charles Delacroix
Feast of St Antony Claret
And I guess really I have to be careful not to overdo I think.
This morning I was working on email; and worked on commenting on IMDb which is something I've liked doing in the past but have gotten away from. Then I went to do clinical supervision (LCSW) of someone. And went by the museum. Then went and got the dog and took her to Woodward Park for a walk. And thought of how Mom would have been watching and smiling to see Spooky chasing after the squirrels. But of course she's not there now to watch. Or is she? I can hope. As Spooky and I walked back through the Rose Garden, we walked down a path that would have led to where Mom often sat in a little alcove, watching us coming back toward her. Oh how I miss seeing her watching for us. She's not there now though. Oh ... or is she?
After that the dog and I drove past two houses where Mom lived in the past.
And then I went to a friend's house to help with her computer there and when I left I simply felt exhausted.
I can do these things and it's OK up to a point but then I feel so tired ... and the thought comes over me that she's gone ... gone ... and everything feels utterly pointless and I wonder, "what am I doing these things for? What's the point? Why even try?"
I've really got to slow down.
Oh Mom. Oh Mom. Oh Mom.
Oh God. Oh God. Oh God.
I saw some of these purple flowers with golden centers out front. Really Mom would have loved them. So do I. But of course she's not here. So what's the point of anything ... even looking at these flowers. They are lovely. No question about that. And God is to be blessed for sending these exquisite beauties to us. I know that at one level. But my gut still asks: "What's the point? She's not here. So what's the point?"
Things seem so pointless. Hopeless. And a part of me fears losing the house because if every time I go to work I come away feeling exhausted and hopeless there's just no way I can sustain going to work. Maybe I'm moving too fast on that then. I don't know.
OOR this morning was really moving. From St Anthony Claret. He says that Love is the motive force for everything we do. And last week the Collect said that Love is the Foundation of all we do.
Yes. Yes.
But still I'm exhausted. And the thought keeps coming through my tears: Oh Lord why O why is Mom not here anymore.
Why. Why.
I am staying home from RCIA tonite. Just sad and so tired out. I think I'll go see a dollar movie. Probably Balls of Fury. I'm usually not up to comedies these days but what the hell.
Oh Lord I do by Your Grace alone ask that if it be according to Your Will may my suffering such as it is be lifted up to You to do with as You will. May this horrible hopeless sense of futility be used for the good first of my dear departed Mom if she can benefit from it. If not please use it as you see fit to fill up what is lacking in the sufferings of Christ.
Oh Lord how it all hurts and hurts and hurts.
Thy will be done.
Just for today.
Oh how it hurts.
Momma ... Momma ... oh why Oh why are you gone ...
Thy will be done O Lord.
OK. On to the movie. I'll check in when I get back. God willing.
I love you Lord. And please oh please oh please ... take good care of my Momma.
Love always,
Charles Delacroix
Feast of St Antony Claret
Monday, October 22, 2007
I Miss You Momma ...
I just can't stop thinking about how much everything's changed since you've been gone.
Everything.
Nothing is right.
Nothing.
Or so it seems. So it feels.
Oh Mom to see you again, to hear your voice.
To see you sipping your tea.
To see you looking out the back door at Spooky romping in the yard
To hear you say anything. Anything. Even that you need to go to the restroom.
I miss you in your chair and your wheelchair.
I miss helping you even in the restroom.
Everything about you. Everything. I miss everything that is you.
Oh Momma ... Oh God ...
why the fuck is the world even going on ...
I know I know.
So did Father Job.
So do I.
But Oh ... why ... why ...why ...
I love you and miss you Momma so much ...
Please Lord Jesus please take good care of my Momma ...
I love you Lord. And I love you Momma.
Always.
Charles Delacroix
Eve of St John Capistrano
Everything.
Nothing is right.
Nothing.
Or so it seems. So it feels.
Oh Mom to see you again, to hear your voice.
To see you sipping your tea.
To see you looking out the back door at Spooky romping in the yard
To hear you say anything. Anything. Even that you need to go to the restroom.
I miss you in your chair and your wheelchair.
I miss helping you even in the restroom.
Everything about you. Everything. I miss everything that is you.
Oh Momma ... Oh God ...
why the fuck is the world even going on ...
I know I know.
So did Father Job.
So do I.
But Oh ... why ... why ...why ...
I love you and miss you Momma so much ...
Please Lord Jesus please take good care of my Momma ...
I love you Lord. And I love you Momma.
Always.
Charles Delacroix
Eve of St John Capistrano
Two Months since Mom Died
Today is the 2 month anniversary of Mom's death on August 22 ... the Feast of the Queenship of Mary.
Here in Tulsa there's a steady, cold rain falling under steel grey skies. To me this is very welcome weather for such a day. Heaven weeps ... and I do not weep alone.
When I visited Mom's grave this morning, the rain had let up into a light sprinkle, so that I could walk up to give her my morning "coo" ... as we both called the kiss on her cheek that was almost always a start of the day. Now I kiss my finger tips, and press them against the cold bronze of the temporary grave marker ... and that must suffice as my "coo" now. But I hope and pray that Mom receives my "coo's" at a deeper level now ... as indeed I think she always did in the past. And she has the love and kisses of God and all the angels and saints, as I hope, for all eternity. The Holy Spirit is named by the Fathers of the Church the Kiss of God. O Holy Spirit, bear my kisses to my dear mother now and always.
The rain picked up fairly quickly, so I sprinted back to my truck, and parked it on the drive in a place that I could see Mom's grave. Then I idled the truck to heat it up a bit, and then, turning it off, said morning Office - Office of Readings (OOR) from Ordinary Time, and Morning Prayer (MP) from the Office for the Dead. I didn't get much sleep last night and kept dozing off; but then I'd wake back up and pick up my prayers by God's Grace. The sound of the rain beating down on the roof of the cab of my truck was really very soothing. The cemetery was otherwise very quiet, very wet, very cold.
I kept thinking of things ... the verse in the Sermon on the Mount where it says that the rain falls on the just and the unjust. The rain beating down reminds me of how truly connected we all are. All of us. And reminds me that in suffering we are all connected as well ... through the World of Suffering of Salvifici Doloris.
Martin Buber in his I and Thou very wisely said of God, "Neither is this Thou; this also is Thou." Yes. But this isn't enough for me now. Likewise it's said by those on the Via Negativa "Gott ist Ganz Anders": "God is wholly Other." Yes. But this doesn't work for me either. Not now.
Now, O Lord, I follow the many who have trod, or crawled along, the Via Positiva. She is here; in the grave; and she is not here, but with You, as I hope. But she is here in a way that she is nowhere else. For her body is here. Here in the Grave. Whether or not Peace is in the Grave, Mom's body is in her grave. Here and now. Awaiting, as I hope, the Resurrection. For she is Body and Soul, as are we all; and her death was, if nothing else, such as cosmic violation of that basic unity that God Himself wept at the Tomb of Lazarus, and chose this violation as the fundamental means by which Christ began treading backwards the fatal dance of Adam.
Yes. She is here. And she is dead. Her soul, I hope. lives elsewhere. But she is dead. Her body is dead and dissolves here below, in the Here and Now of the Vale of Death that is our pilgrim home. Her body ... like all bodies ... lies in the Tomb with the Dead Body of Christ in the Holy Saturday that is the history of our Here and Now.
Oh Momma how I miss you ... I miss you so much ... I made you Earl Grey tea this morning, but will have to bring it to you a little later. Oh I love you and I miss you ... oh oh oh ... and oh please Jesus ... Man of Sorrows ... and Mary ... Our Lady of Sorrows ... please, please, please take good care of my Momma.
I love you all,
Charles Delacroix
Eve of the Feast of St John Capistrano
Here in Tulsa there's a steady, cold rain falling under steel grey skies. To me this is very welcome weather for such a day. Heaven weeps ... and I do not weep alone.
When I visited Mom's grave this morning, the rain had let up into a light sprinkle, so that I could walk up to give her my morning "coo" ... as we both called the kiss on her cheek that was almost always a start of the day. Now I kiss my finger tips, and press them against the cold bronze of the temporary grave marker ... and that must suffice as my "coo" now. But I hope and pray that Mom receives my "coo's" at a deeper level now ... as indeed I think she always did in the past. And she has the love and kisses of God and all the angels and saints, as I hope, for all eternity. The Holy Spirit is named by the Fathers of the Church the Kiss of God. O Holy Spirit, bear my kisses to my dear mother now and always.
The rain picked up fairly quickly, so I sprinted back to my truck, and parked it on the drive in a place that I could see Mom's grave. Then I idled the truck to heat it up a bit, and then, turning it off, said morning Office - Office of Readings (OOR) from Ordinary Time, and Morning Prayer (MP) from the Office for the Dead. I didn't get much sleep last night and kept dozing off; but then I'd wake back up and pick up my prayers by God's Grace. The sound of the rain beating down on the roof of the cab of my truck was really very soothing. The cemetery was otherwise very quiet, very wet, very cold.
I kept thinking of things ... the verse in the Sermon on the Mount where it says that the rain falls on the just and the unjust. The rain beating down reminds me of how truly connected we all are. All of us. And reminds me that in suffering we are all connected as well ... through the World of Suffering of Salvifici Doloris.
Martin Buber in his I and Thou very wisely said of God, "Neither is this Thou; this also is Thou." Yes. But this isn't enough for me now. Likewise it's said by those on the Via Negativa "Gott ist Ganz Anders": "God is wholly Other." Yes. But this doesn't work for me either. Not now.
Now, O Lord, I follow the many who have trod, or crawled along, the Via Positiva. She is here; in the grave; and she is not here, but with You, as I hope. But she is here in a way that she is nowhere else. For her body is here. Here in the Grave. Whether or not Peace is in the Grave, Mom's body is in her grave. Here and now. Awaiting, as I hope, the Resurrection. For she is Body and Soul, as are we all; and her death was, if nothing else, such as cosmic violation of that basic unity that God Himself wept at the Tomb of Lazarus, and chose this violation as the fundamental means by which Christ began treading backwards the fatal dance of Adam.
Yes. She is here. And she is dead. Her soul, I hope. lives elsewhere. But she is dead. Her body is dead and dissolves here below, in the Here and Now of the Vale of Death that is our pilgrim home. Her body ... like all bodies ... lies in the Tomb with the Dead Body of Christ in the Holy Saturday that is the history of our Here and Now.
Oh Momma how I miss you ... I miss you so much ... I made you Earl Grey tea this morning, but will have to bring it to you a little later. Oh I love you and I miss you ... oh oh oh ... and oh please Jesus ... Man of Sorrows ... and Mary ... Our Lady of Sorrows ... please, please, please take good care of my Momma.
I love you all,
Charles Delacroix
Eve of the Feast of St John Capistrano
Sunday, October 21, 2007
"Into the Wild" - Nuclear Family and Hyperindividualism
I managed to stay for a little more than half of the 10:00 Mass this morning. I sat in the back of the Church till my feelings grew too strong; then I retired into the vestibule and looked in on the Mass till I could bear it no longer, and left, begging God's forgiveness. But looking at all those people, families, talking animatedly, praying together ... Oh Lord. I ought not to Envy them so. But I do. And Oh how I miss my Momma.
After I left Mass, I went to a movie theatre, and saw Into the Wild. See http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0758758/
Much could be said about this remarkable movie. What most struck me was the depiction of (yet another) fragile, dysfunctional nuclear family; and a "spin-off" of a refugee from that family who seeks his meaning in hyperindividualism.
Naturally I could not help looking at both "poles" - nuclear family vs individual - and feeling acutely the absence of other more traditional alternatives, like the extended family, and the community.
One character - Mr Franz, played by the always fine actor, Hal Holbrook - especially touched a chord in my heart. Mr Franz is Catholic, and is the only child of his parents. In fact, he's the sole successor of a series of only children. He has experienced grief - his wife and daughter long dead. And he feels acutely that he is the end of his line; with him, he tearfully acknowledges, his succession is at an end. He is without legacy, without successors, without family.
Oh my ... me as well, Mr. Franz, me as well.
On the whole I liked this movie very much. But Mr Franz ... and the whole tragic story, for that matter ... sure brought forth my tears once again.
After the movie I visited Mom's grave and wept and wept and told her how much I missed her and how I loved her ... and also I told her how very, very, very grateful I am for the time I was allowed with her in this sad, brief vale of tears we call life.
What is there to say. Nothing; or everything.
I looked back at OOR from last Sunday and was once again reminded that I think that despite the bleakness and darkness that seems all around me, I am called to Courage and Work, and to Follow Christ, with Love the Foundation of Life, as the Collect for Week 28 of Ordinary Time says. I am only a walking dead man anyway; and any time I spend in this world is sheerest gift. Sheer agony as well. But gift all the same.
Thank you God for Mom. Thank you God for a world in which Mom and I were allowed some time together. Thank you for ... everything. For everything truly matters. Even if everything is stamped with the mark of Death; even if everything is futile and hopeless and pointless for such as me; even if there is nothing left for me here but to mourn and to remember and to grieve and to honor my Mother, while gratefully Following You till You Call me from this brief sojourn in this life ... even then, I am grateful, by Your Grace O Lord.
Thank you with all my heart O Lord.
Thy will be done.
Charles Delacroix
Sunday 29 in Ordinary Time
After I left Mass, I went to a movie theatre, and saw Into the Wild. See http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0758758/
Much could be said about this remarkable movie. What most struck me was the depiction of (yet another) fragile, dysfunctional nuclear family; and a "spin-off" of a refugee from that family who seeks his meaning in hyperindividualism.
Naturally I could not help looking at both "poles" - nuclear family vs individual - and feeling acutely the absence of other more traditional alternatives, like the extended family, and the community.
One character - Mr Franz, played by the always fine actor, Hal Holbrook - especially touched a chord in my heart. Mr Franz is Catholic, and is the only child of his parents. In fact, he's the sole successor of a series of only children. He has experienced grief - his wife and daughter long dead. And he feels acutely that he is the end of his line; with him, he tearfully acknowledges, his succession is at an end. He is without legacy, without successors, without family.
Oh my ... me as well, Mr. Franz, me as well.
On the whole I liked this movie very much. But Mr Franz ... and the whole tragic story, for that matter ... sure brought forth my tears once again.
After the movie I visited Mom's grave and wept and wept and told her how much I missed her and how I loved her ... and also I told her how very, very, very grateful I am for the time I was allowed with her in this sad, brief vale of tears we call life.
What is there to say. Nothing; or everything.
I looked back at OOR from last Sunday and was once again reminded that I think that despite the bleakness and darkness that seems all around me, I am called to Courage and Work, and to Follow Christ, with Love the Foundation of Life, as the Collect for Week 28 of Ordinary Time says. I am only a walking dead man anyway; and any time I spend in this world is sheerest gift. Sheer agony as well. But gift all the same.
Thank you God for Mom. Thank you God for a world in which Mom and I were allowed some time together. Thank you for ... everything. For everything truly matters. Even if everything is stamped with the mark of Death; even if everything is futile and hopeless and pointless for such as me; even if there is nothing left for me here but to mourn and to remember and to grieve and to honor my Mother, while gratefully Following You till You Call me from this brief sojourn in this life ... even then, I am grateful, by Your Grace O Lord.
Thank you with all my heart O Lord.
Thy will be done.
Charles Delacroix
Sunday 29 in Ordinary Time
Social Distaste for Grieving
Yesterday, someone was telling me of his experience with his ex-wife's family upon the death of her mother. He said that the relatives were arguing and fighting over Mom's dishes. He said that he had said to them, "they're just dishes". To which one of the relatives sobbed that their mother had eaten off of those dishes all her life. The story was told to me as an example of the irrational lengths to which people can go over something so trivial as dishes.
I didn't respond ... I just didn't want to "get into it" ... but frankly, I have no difficulty at all seeing the bereaved family members' point of view even if accurately reported.
In fact, I feel the same way. The dishes in the cabinet in this house were Mom's dishes. She ate off of them for a good part of her life. We used mostly disposable ware within the last year of Mom's life. But till then ... yes, these were her dishes, the ones she used. And I feel ... what do I feel? Affection, gratitude, honor for these dishes as sort of icons of Mom and Mom's life. And while I have no idea what the future will bring, just for today, I do not want to part with such very, very potent signs and symbols of Mom's life.
I remember another conversation with someone on the day before Mom's funeral. She told me that her mother didn't really like to visit her deceased husband's grave, partly because of an experience her mother had had once when she was at the cemetery. She was visiting her husband's grave, and saw someone was there in the cemetery, weeping loudly, screaming, having thrown herself on the ground either on top of a grave or beside a grave. My informant said that her mother didn't want to go to a cemetery where people acted like that. I think my informant described the distraught person in the cemetery as "lugubrious."
Again, I didn't want to "get into it." But that someone might be behaving in the same manner of generations of severely bereaved persons doesn't bother me a bit. I haven't cast myself on the ground; but I have felt like it; and I have wept long and loudly beseeching Mom and God to hear me ... and would guess that God has heard many, many, many of us mortals doing the same. I can't imagine God finding such behavior as anything objectionable; anymore than God the Father would have found Jesus's loud weeping at the tomb of Lazarus objectionable; and anymore than God found the weeping and wailing of Job to be "lugubrious."
I am very, very, very deeply grateful for a God Who seems to accept those of us who mourn as we are, and not expect us to act other than as we act.
Frankly, anything that someone in bereavement does that expresses honor and dignity for the human person, and for the relationship with that person, gains my deepest respect, to that extent, at least.
I didn't respond ... I just didn't want to "get into it" ... but frankly, I have no difficulty at all seeing the bereaved family members' point of view even if accurately reported.
In fact, I feel the same way. The dishes in the cabinet in this house were Mom's dishes. She ate off of them for a good part of her life. We used mostly disposable ware within the last year of Mom's life. But till then ... yes, these were her dishes, the ones she used. And I feel ... what do I feel? Affection, gratitude, honor for these dishes as sort of icons of Mom and Mom's life. And while I have no idea what the future will bring, just for today, I do not want to part with such very, very potent signs and symbols of Mom's life.
I remember another conversation with someone on the day before Mom's funeral. She told me that her mother didn't really like to visit her deceased husband's grave, partly because of an experience her mother had had once when she was at the cemetery. She was visiting her husband's grave, and saw someone was there in the cemetery, weeping loudly, screaming, having thrown herself on the ground either on top of a grave or beside a grave. My informant said that her mother didn't want to go to a cemetery where people acted like that. I think my informant described the distraught person in the cemetery as "lugubrious."
Again, I didn't want to "get into it." But that someone might be behaving in the same manner of generations of severely bereaved persons doesn't bother me a bit. I haven't cast myself on the ground; but I have felt like it; and I have wept long and loudly beseeching Mom and God to hear me ... and would guess that God has heard many, many, many of us mortals doing the same. I can't imagine God finding such behavior as anything objectionable; anymore than God the Father would have found Jesus's loud weeping at the tomb of Lazarus objectionable; and anymore than God found the weeping and wailing of Job to be "lugubrious."
I am very, very, very deeply grateful for a God Who seems to accept those of us who mourn as we are, and not expect us to act other than as we act.
Frankly, anything that someone in bereavement does that expresses honor and dignity for the human person, and for the relationship with that person, gains my deepest respect, to that extent, at least.
Saturday, October 20, 2007
MASH and Salvifici Doloris' World of Suffering
The MASH tonite gave an episode I had never seen. That means chances are very good that Mom never saw it either.
Not at least before she left this world. I can dare to hope she is in a place where she has had a chance to enjoy whatever MASH episodes that neither of us had a chance to see in this world.
Tonite's episode that spoke so to my heart is a later season episode ... see http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0638423/ The episode ended with Hawkeye and a North Korean officer joining together to dig a grave for a dead soldier.
I was very moved, and really loved this. I know Mom would have been moved too. She, like I, was such a sentimentalist.
And since Salvifici Doloris's "World of Suffering" is so much on my mind these days, I guess I'm especially grateful for this reminder that really there is a deep, humane connection among so many when it comes to the grave.
Mom's own grave ... amid so many others ... is surely a link into the World of Suffering ... as are all the graves around her.
May God bless all in the World of Suffering. That is, may God bless all of us.
Not at least before she left this world. I can dare to hope she is in a place where she has had a chance to enjoy whatever MASH episodes that neither of us had a chance to see in this world.
Tonite's episode that spoke so to my heart is a later season episode ... see http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0638423/ The episode ended with Hawkeye and a North Korean officer joining together to dig a grave for a dead soldier.
I was very moved, and really loved this. I know Mom would have been moved too. She, like I, was such a sentimentalist.
And since Salvifici Doloris's "World of Suffering" is so much on my mind these days, I guess I'm especially grateful for this reminder that really there is a deep, humane connection among so many when it comes to the grave.
Mom's own grave ... amid so many others ... is surely a link into the World of Suffering ... as are all the graves around her.
May God bless all in the World of Suffering. That is, may God bless all of us.
Back-to-Back Cheers + MASH + Star Trek
The CW is now presenting 2 episodes, back-to-back, of Cheers; followed by 2 back-to-back episodes of MASH, then 1 episode of the original Star Trek. Mom loved all of these. Me too. Oh how I wish she was here to enjoy these wonderful shows. Maybe she is though. I love you Mom and if you can see these here and now by God's Grace ... isn't this wonderful?
Yes ... it is ... but Oh these are not really "right" without you here Mom.
I love you Mom.
I love you Lord.
Thy will be done.
How empty I feel ...
Oh well ...
Thy will be done ...
Charles Delacroix
Eve of Sunday 29 of Ordinary Time.
Yes ... it is ... but Oh these are not really "right" without you here Mom.
I love you Mom.
I love you Lord.
Thy will be done.
How empty I feel ...
Oh well ...
Thy will be done ...
Charles Delacroix
Eve of Sunday 29 of Ordinary Time.
Task Completion ... I think I passed
This morning, I received a phone call from a cousin. He's about the same age as me, and we don't talk much; but he needed a ride from Tulsa to Muskogee to go to the VA hospital there. He's helped me out before in the past, and he was very good to me at Mom's funeral; and I was glad to give him a ride.
We talked on the way about bygone days when we both spent time playing together as children and teens. That was about 40 years ago. I was very grateful for the reminiscences though; especially since they naturally involved Mom.
In any event, though, we made about a 5 hour round-trip, including hospital wait time. And I realized at some point that this was really the very first time, since before Mom's death, that I was carrying out an assigned task to completion ... the kind of thing that naturally is a big part of any kind of employment.
I started getting sad while waiting in the ER. I watched CNN on TV and kept thinking, "so?" and "what does it matter?" and things like that. Then I read part of a Newsweek magazine and started thinking, "so what?" every time I saw a picture or headline in the mag, and finally put it down. One of the staff switched the TV to a football game and all the excitement seemed so ... well ... irrelevant. I remembered that every now and then I watched a football game, or NASCAR, or something like that, on TV, when Mom was here. She would tolerate me and doze and we'd chat a little while I watched. I haven't watched a game on TV or NASCAR since her death, though, and I kept thinking, watching this game now, "what's the point? she's not here."
I kept getting sadder and sadder thinking of all these things, and at some point, and just went to the restroom and cried, and got back out and was able to carry out what needed to be done.
That's encouraging really, especially since getting and retaining at least a part time job is an important part of pursuing my goal of buying a full interest in my home.
Thank you Lord. Please help me if it be according to Thy Will to gain my heart's desire: home.
We talked on the way about bygone days when we both spent time playing together as children and teens. That was about 40 years ago. I was very grateful for the reminiscences though; especially since they naturally involved Mom.
In any event, though, we made about a 5 hour round-trip, including hospital wait time. And I realized at some point that this was really the very first time, since before Mom's death, that I was carrying out an assigned task to completion ... the kind of thing that naturally is a big part of any kind of employment.
I started getting sad while waiting in the ER. I watched CNN on TV and kept thinking, "so?" and "what does it matter?" and things like that. Then I read part of a Newsweek magazine and started thinking, "so what?" every time I saw a picture or headline in the mag, and finally put it down. One of the staff switched the TV to a football game and all the excitement seemed so ... well ... irrelevant. I remembered that every now and then I watched a football game, or NASCAR, or something like that, on TV, when Mom was here. She would tolerate me and doze and we'd chat a little while I watched. I haven't watched a game on TV or NASCAR since her death, though, and I kept thinking, watching this game now, "what's the point? she's not here."
I kept getting sadder and sadder thinking of all these things, and at some point, and just went to the restroom and cried, and got back out and was able to carry out what needed to be done.
That's encouraging really, especially since getting and retaining at least a part time job is an important part of pursuing my goal of buying a full interest in my home.
Thank you Lord. Please help me if it be according to Thy Will to gain my heart's desire: home.
Mom and her neighbors and a Corot dusk
When I arrived at Mom's gravesite for Evening Prayer, I was later than usual tonite. The sun had almost set and a deepening dusk brought some of the same colors as in Corot's Pleasures of the Evening that I mentioned the other day.
I was looking around the cemetery surrounding Mom's grave and was once again impressed by the sense of her having a new neighborhood, of being surrounded by a whole array of different folks who have been laid to rest after their long sojourn in this world in what Salvifici Doloris calls The World of Suffering.
The whole scene looked so peaceful.
Peaceful ... "Peace is in the grave."
But I don't feel peaceful.
My own heart was aching and I wept and told Mom once again that I miss her so very, very, very much.
Yet I know I can't begrudge her for what must, as I hope and pray, must be a much, much better place ...
Oh but how I miss her ... O God have mercy on me ... and please take good care of my Momma.
I was looking around the cemetery surrounding Mom's grave and was once again impressed by the sense of her having a new neighborhood, of being surrounded by a whole array of different folks who have been laid to rest after their long sojourn in this world in what Salvifici Doloris calls The World of Suffering.
The whole scene looked so peaceful.
Peaceful ... "Peace is in the grave."
But I don't feel peaceful.
My own heart was aching and I wept and told Mom once again that I miss her so very, very, very much.
Yet I know I can't begrudge her for what must, as I hope and pray, must be a much, much better place ...
Oh but how I miss her ... O God have mercy on me ... and please take good care of my Momma.
"I want to go home."
On August 20, when Mom was in the hospital, a doctor told me Mom was going to die. I told Mom ... and almost her first response was, "I want to go home." By which she meant ... as she meant whenever she said these words, and she said them often when we were out ... that she wanted to return to this house, this home, that she and I have shared for the past 6 or 7 years.
Thanks to Hospice, she was able to return home that afternoon. And on August 22, she died. At home; where she wanted to die.
Over the previous 6 months, there were many times that she and I might be out driving somewhere when she would say to me, "Let's go home."
Home was very special to her ... and to me. And remembering this helps me to be motivated even more to work towards purchasing a full interest in this house ... so that this home can be maintained. This means a lot to me. Here ... this place, this house, this home ... is the place I think I'm meant to stay, God willing. Death is in this house, perhaps, but there is far more life in this house.
I'm guessing ... as I think I said a few days ago ... that something like this is how traditional families viewed their family homesteads. Well ... me too.
When the dog and I are out, with me driving her to take her for a walk, I sometimes say to her afterward, "Let's go home."
Amen. Amen.
Let's go home. To this home that is only a mundane but very dear icon and image of our true Heavenly Home.
O Lord, let me keep coming home to this home in the here and now.
And of Your Great Mercy, allow me some day to go home to my true home with You ... and, I hope, Momma ... in Heaven.
Charles Delacroix
Eve of 29th Sunday of Ordinary Time
Thanks to Hospice, she was able to return home that afternoon. And on August 22, she died. At home; where she wanted to die.
Over the previous 6 months, there were many times that she and I might be out driving somewhere when she would say to me, "Let's go home."
Home was very special to her ... and to me. And remembering this helps me to be motivated even more to work towards purchasing a full interest in this house ... so that this home can be maintained. This means a lot to me. Here ... this place, this house, this home ... is the place I think I'm meant to stay, God willing. Death is in this house, perhaps, but there is far more life in this house.
I'm guessing ... as I think I said a few days ago ... that something like this is how traditional families viewed their family homesteads. Well ... me too.
When the dog and I are out, with me driving her to take her for a walk, I sometimes say to her afterward, "Let's go home."
Amen. Amen.
Let's go home. To this home that is only a mundane but very dear icon and image of our true Heavenly Home.
O Lord, let me keep coming home to this home in the here and now.
And of Your Great Mercy, allow me some day to go home to my true home with You ... and, I hope, Momma ... in Heaven.
Charles Delacroix
Eve of 29th Sunday of Ordinary Time
Friday, October 19, 2007
Hollywood's Post-Traditional Families
Lately I've seen several movies that depicted what I gather is the Hollywood version of post-modern families.
2 Days in Paris, which just opened today, here, and which I just saw today, is set in Paris and gives us a glimpse of the heroine's nuclear family, and multiple depictions of the urban social network that Hollywood finds so attractive as sort of substitute families. The archetypal depiction of this kind of "friends as family in the city" is really the TV series Friends. And I like Friends; so did Mom ... who in such things was definitely a "modern." 2 Days in Paris Mom would not have seen, but I think she wouldn't have liked it if she did, due to its pervasive occupation with sexual humor that really wasn't very funny, just kind of sad: as if the film really found that kind of humor to be a plain substitute for genuine communication and genuine connection. And on this I would have been in complete agreement with Mom.
Across the Universe opened here last week or the week before. I saw it last weekend. Much of this musical pastiche was really appealing to the part of me nostalgic for the days of the Beatles. And the music was excellent. Still, set in New York, and regarding family, it was a definite endorsement of the "friends as family in the city" over the nuclear family; and ended by in effect endorsing the romance dyad over the Friends as Family in the City.
The Brave One was excellent. I've already mentioned liking very much its treatment of Grief. It's set in New York City and depicts urban nuclear family / Friends as Family in the City social arrangements.
New York City seems in so many movies to be a setting for this kind of thing. From Woody Allen's Manhattan in 1979 to the musical Rent in 2005, and beyond (see above) all give this view of the post-traditional urban family and ur-family.
Other recent movies treat the nuclear family as the norm: Evan Almighty, Transformers, Knocked Up, Michael Clayton, and even, surprisingly, and anachronistically, Elizabeth: The Golden Age.
There are exceptions, as in the excellent Eastern Promises and We Own the Night. And of course the wonderful and critically under-rated movies of Tyler Perry.
I know I've definitely been especially sensitive to the various family depictions Hollywood advances because of my own family tragedy that I've already talked about quite a bit in this blog. And I'll swear, since Mom's death, all depictions of nuclear families and friends-as-families have become viscerally repugnant to me. Today, watching 2 Days in Paris, I kept thinking of Sartre's "l'enfer, c'est les autres": hell is other people. There were some witty parts, but on the whole, could anyone actually want to live the life of any of the people we meet in this movie? I guess so. It was clear that the scriptwriter and director mean these people, and their lives, to be appealing. Whew ... just the opposite from my angle. For me this movie could be a great antidote to loneliness; at least I couldn't help reflecting, while thinking of Sartre, that there are definitely worse things than being alone.
You know, I think I'll try to see Eastern Promises again. Great story ... and really a very fine exploration of different kinds of family and different kinds of relationship. Among other things we get a convincing depiction of the dangers of radical disconnection from one's family; and a beautiful depiction of extended family under stress. The final scene is so moving.
Just my 2 bits of course. Thank you O Lord for movies that help me to process through and understand better what is happening to me in terms of family, as unwelcome as what's happened to me is.
Charles Delacroix
F of Ss Isaac Joques et col
F of St Paul of the Cross
2 Days in Paris, which just opened today, here, and which I just saw today, is set in Paris and gives us a glimpse of the heroine's nuclear family, and multiple depictions of the urban social network that Hollywood finds so attractive as sort of substitute families. The archetypal depiction of this kind of "friends as family in the city" is really the TV series Friends. And I like Friends; so did Mom ... who in such things was definitely a "modern." 2 Days in Paris Mom would not have seen, but I think she wouldn't have liked it if she did, due to its pervasive occupation with sexual humor that really wasn't very funny, just kind of sad: as if the film really found that kind of humor to be a plain substitute for genuine communication and genuine connection. And on this I would have been in complete agreement with Mom.
Across the Universe opened here last week or the week before. I saw it last weekend. Much of this musical pastiche was really appealing to the part of me nostalgic for the days of the Beatles. And the music was excellent. Still, set in New York, and regarding family, it was a definite endorsement of the "friends as family in the city" over the nuclear family; and ended by in effect endorsing the romance dyad over the Friends as Family in the City.
The Brave One was excellent. I've already mentioned liking very much its treatment of Grief. It's set in New York City and depicts urban nuclear family / Friends as Family in the City social arrangements.
New York City seems in so many movies to be a setting for this kind of thing. From Woody Allen's Manhattan in 1979 to the musical Rent in 2005, and beyond (see above) all give this view of the post-traditional urban family and ur-family.
Other recent movies treat the nuclear family as the norm: Evan Almighty, Transformers, Knocked Up, Michael Clayton, and even, surprisingly, and anachronistically, Elizabeth: The Golden Age.
There are exceptions, as in the excellent Eastern Promises and We Own the Night. And of course the wonderful and critically under-rated movies of Tyler Perry.
I know I've definitely been especially sensitive to the various family depictions Hollywood advances because of my own family tragedy that I've already talked about quite a bit in this blog. And I'll swear, since Mom's death, all depictions of nuclear families and friends-as-families have become viscerally repugnant to me. Today, watching 2 Days in Paris, I kept thinking of Sartre's "l'enfer, c'est les autres": hell is other people. There were some witty parts, but on the whole, could anyone actually want to live the life of any of the people we meet in this movie? I guess so. It was clear that the scriptwriter and director mean these people, and their lives, to be appealing. Whew ... just the opposite from my angle. For me this movie could be a great antidote to loneliness; at least I couldn't help reflecting, while thinking of Sartre, that there are definitely worse things than being alone.
You know, I think I'll try to see Eastern Promises again. Great story ... and really a very fine exploration of different kinds of family and different kinds of relationship. Among other things we get a convincing depiction of the dangers of radical disconnection from one's family; and a beautiful depiction of extended family under stress. The final scene is so moving.
Just my 2 bits of course. Thank you O Lord for movies that help me to process through and understand better what is happening to me in terms of family, as unwelcome as what's happened to me is.
Charles Delacroix
F of Ss Isaac Joques et col
F of St Paul of the Cross
Friday Night without Mom
I worked some on updating my resume, and then went to see Mom. Evening Prayer from the Office for the Dead, as usual. Tears not as heavily flowing as usual. I told Mom that I would go get the dog and we would come back to visit.
I picked up the dog and we returned to see Mom. Every now and then someone asks if Spooky (Mom's dog) realizes she's gone; or if she realizes that Mom is there when we visit the gravesite. Honestly, I don't see signs of this; but what do I know? I know that Mom raised Spooky from being a pup; Spooky is now about ... how old? 10? 11? 12? More? And in that time they have delighted in each other's company like no one else I know.
I also know that Mom was very, very moved ... as was I ... by scenes from either a movie or a TV special called (I think?) Blackfriar's Bobby. Or was it the movie Benji? A dog that is a little black Scotty stays on his owner's grave after the owner is dead and buried. Very, very moving.
So I take Spooky to Mom's grave every now and then. Truth be told, maybe I'm the one who's more like that little Scotty on Mom's grave. Oh how I miss her. O God. Have mercy on me. Have mercy on Spooky. And of Thy Great Mercy have tender love and mercy for my dear Momma.
I mowed the back yard tonite ... and again kept looking at the back door. It's all glass ... and Mom would sit there, in her little alcove, watching me mow the yard. I would look over at her. she would wave at me. I would wave back. And if I saw a little frog ... a "peeper" she called it ... I would run over and point it out to her and we would talk about it. She liked peepers. So did I.
She's not there now. I look and she's not there. I don't even know why I'm mowing the yard. Maybe I'm hoping I'll look over and she'll be there. But she's not. She's gone.
Oh God have mercy on me.
And Mom ... wherever you are ... perhaps you are here and see me even if I can't see you ... O Mom ... please pray for me ...
This morning's OOR I took the 2nd Reading from the Feast of the Jesuit Martyrs of North America ... St Isaac Joques, etc. ... who prayed to God for the grace of Martyrdom and committed himself never to refuse this great gift should God offer it to him. O Lord I wish I had the grace and strength of the good Jesuit martyrs. Yet to whatever extent my sufferings here and now may fill up what is lacking in Your Sufferings, to whatever extent my sufferings may be a kind of Martyrdom of Bereavement, I beg You of Your Love and Courtesy to help me do what I cannot do and accept from me what only you can enable me to lift up to You.
I love you Jesus. Now and always.
And O please take good care of my Momma.
Love to you both,
Charles Delacroix
F of St Isaac Joques & Cos.
F of St Paul of the Cross
I picked up the dog and we returned to see Mom. Every now and then someone asks if Spooky (Mom's dog) realizes she's gone; or if she realizes that Mom is there when we visit the gravesite. Honestly, I don't see signs of this; but what do I know? I know that Mom raised Spooky from being a pup; Spooky is now about ... how old? 10? 11? 12? More? And in that time they have delighted in each other's company like no one else I know.
I also know that Mom was very, very moved ... as was I ... by scenes from either a movie or a TV special called (I think?) Blackfriar's Bobby. Or was it the movie Benji? A dog that is a little black Scotty stays on his owner's grave after the owner is dead and buried. Very, very moving.
So I take Spooky to Mom's grave every now and then. Truth be told, maybe I'm the one who's more like that little Scotty on Mom's grave. Oh how I miss her. O God. Have mercy on me. Have mercy on Spooky. And of Thy Great Mercy have tender love and mercy for my dear Momma.
I mowed the back yard tonite ... and again kept looking at the back door. It's all glass ... and Mom would sit there, in her little alcove, watching me mow the yard. I would look over at her. she would wave at me. I would wave back. And if I saw a little frog ... a "peeper" she called it ... I would run over and point it out to her and we would talk about it. She liked peepers. So did I.
She's not there now. I look and she's not there. I don't even know why I'm mowing the yard. Maybe I'm hoping I'll look over and she'll be there. But she's not. She's gone.
Oh God have mercy on me.
And Mom ... wherever you are ... perhaps you are here and see me even if I can't see you ... O Mom ... please pray for me ...
This morning's OOR I took the 2nd Reading from the Feast of the Jesuit Martyrs of North America ... St Isaac Joques, etc. ... who prayed to God for the grace of Martyrdom and committed himself never to refuse this great gift should God offer it to him. O Lord I wish I had the grace and strength of the good Jesuit martyrs. Yet to whatever extent my sufferings here and now may fill up what is lacking in Your Sufferings, to whatever extent my sufferings may be a kind of Martyrdom of Bereavement, I beg You of Your Love and Courtesy to help me do what I cannot do and accept from me what only you can enable me to lift up to You.
I love you Jesus. Now and always.
And O please take good care of my Momma.
Love to you both,
Charles Delacroix
F of St Isaac Joques & Cos.
F of St Paul of the Cross
Autumn and Corot ... and Mom
The leaves here are beginning to change ... and that Autumn Feeling that Sister Rupp talks about is very much in the air ... or it is for me.
So when I visited Philbrook today I was deeply impressed by a new Corot they have hanging in the French gallery. It's titled Pleasures of the Evening (1875) How our little art museum was able to acquire such a work I have no idea. There are two other very small Corot's hanging adjacent to this one. Mom was never able to see, as far as I know, Pleasures of the Evening ... which was just added to the gallery last week ... but she saw and liked the other two works. She liked Corot very much. I think as much for his scenic landscapes as for his wonderful pre-Impressionist expressions of the scenes he painted with such feeling. Mom was, frankly, a sentimentalist. As am I. And Corot was a painter who painted sentiment into his scenes with a feeling that Mom and I both enjoyed very much.
Pleasures of the Evening gives a landscape in deep golden dusk. Three figures appear, whether nymphs or girls, I don't know. They are dancing in the dusk which seems to almost, but not quite, be enveloping or even overwhelming the dancers ... who dance on either oblivious to, or even in celebration of, the rapid onset of darkness.
The season in the painting is very probably summer; but I can't help but think of Autumn looking at it. And thinking: here are figures who, in the dying light of Autumn, are dancing on despite, and perhaps even because of, the onset of the death of the light. Somehow I could see this kind of scene around the Holy Saturday Tomb. This is a very Holy Saturday kind of painting.
Contrast, for example, Dylan Thomas' famous do not go quietly into the night; rage, rage against the failing of the light. Corot, in contrast, calls us to no rage. His dancers are either quietly dancing into the night, or are not quiet, and perhaps even loudly celebrating the dusky onset of night.
Both responses to the night have appeals for me. Christ Himself may be seen as responding to both calls: "My God, My God, Why hast thou forsaken me?" is a Job-like, and Thomas-like, cry on Good Friday. Holy Saturday, in contrast, is more reflected in Corot.
In any event, today ... or tonight ... I choose that of Corot, and of Holy Saturday. The pain wells up inside even now and I can feel my heart almost bursting with sorrow. But this is a heart that by God's Grace seeks a Holy Saturday rest in the Tomb; the Tomb of the Dead Heart of Jesus. Mom, I think, has passed beyond Holy Saturday; my own time in the grave is not yet, and may not be for many years. Yet as Von Balthasar says all of life is Holy Saturday, and just for today, I embrace my life as a Holy Saturday life.
Just for today. Just for this hour. Just for this minute.
God bless all in the Pilgrim Church of Christ as we all pass our pilgrimage through Holy Saturday ... Following Christ in the Corot-like Dust, let us dance our way after Him even as we know we Follow Him into the Tomb.
Charles Delacroix
F of Ss Isaac Joques & Cos
F of St Paul of the Cross
So when I visited Philbrook today I was deeply impressed by a new Corot they have hanging in the French gallery. It's titled Pleasures of the Evening (1875) How our little art museum was able to acquire such a work I have no idea. There are two other very small Corot's hanging adjacent to this one. Mom was never able to see, as far as I know, Pleasures of the Evening ... which was just added to the gallery last week ... but she saw and liked the other two works. She liked Corot very much. I think as much for his scenic landscapes as for his wonderful pre-Impressionist expressions of the scenes he painted with such feeling. Mom was, frankly, a sentimentalist. As am I. And Corot was a painter who painted sentiment into his scenes with a feeling that Mom and I both enjoyed very much.
Pleasures of the Evening gives a landscape in deep golden dusk. Three figures appear, whether nymphs or girls, I don't know. They are dancing in the dusk which seems to almost, but not quite, be enveloping or even overwhelming the dancers ... who dance on either oblivious to, or even in celebration of, the rapid onset of darkness.
The season in the painting is very probably summer; but I can't help but think of Autumn looking at it. And thinking: here are figures who, in the dying light of Autumn, are dancing on despite, and perhaps even because of, the onset of the death of the light. Somehow I could see this kind of scene around the Holy Saturday Tomb. This is a very Holy Saturday kind of painting.
Contrast, for example, Dylan Thomas' famous do not go quietly into the night; rage, rage against the failing of the light. Corot, in contrast, calls us to no rage. His dancers are either quietly dancing into the night, or are not quiet, and perhaps even loudly celebrating the dusky onset of night.
Both responses to the night have appeals for me. Christ Himself may be seen as responding to both calls: "My God, My God, Why hast thou forsaken me?" is a Job-like, and Thomas-like, cry on Good Friday. Holy Saturday, in contrast, is more reflected in Corot.
In any event, today ... or tonight ... I choose that of Corot, and of Holy Saturday. The pain wells up inside even now and I can feel my heart almost bursting with sorrow. But this is a heart that by God's Grace seeks a Holy Saturday rest in the Tomb; the Tomb of the Dead Heart of Jesus. Mom, I think, has passed beyond Holy Saturday; my own time in the grave is not yet, and may not be for many years. Yet as Von Balthasar says all of life is Holy Saturday, and just for today, I embrace my life as a Holy Saturday life.
Just for today. Just for this hour. Just for this minute.
God bless all in the Pilgrim Church of Christ as we all pass our pilgrimage through Holy Saturday ... Following Christ in the Corot-like Dust, let us dance our way after Him even as we know we Follow Him into the Tomb.
Charles Delacroix
F of Ss Isaac Joques & Cos
F of St Paul of the Cross
Everything Matters
I had a conversation with a lady representing a life insurance company that services the kinds of life insurance policy that were issued by the old Ben Hur Life Association. Ben Hur was an old fraternal organization that (among other things) made available life insurance at rates and in denominations that poor and working class folks could afford back in the 1900s and 1910s and 1920s and 1930s.
This particular policy for my mother had a face value of $1000 ... do they even make life insurance policies in such low denominations today? And she acquired it at age 17 ... in 1938. I asked the person I was speaking with if they happened to have any information in their old records that indicated who had sold the policy, who was the purchaser (Mom's mother?) and where.
The person I was talking to was very courteous and really more than helpful. But it was also clear that she wondered why I was asking such questions. The unspoken comment was, "It doesn't really matter, does it?"
Well ... Yes. It does. It matters. To me it matters. And I hope and pray to God to whom even a sparrow falling from the sky matters.
I guess that's one of my challenges in responding to Mom's passing. To me *everything* about her matters. I really would like to know the details. About everything. That can be overwhelming to say the least. Yet I don't think it's wrong to recognize that everything really does matter about her.
Of course this can be said of everyone ... and everything. And perhaps that's one of Mom's ... and God's ... gifts that in this one person I am allowed to be aware of the Significance of Everything about Her, all of which derives from her Dignity as a Human Person.
And that can only be true if Everything Matters and is Significant about *every* human person.
Nothing doesn't matter.
Everything matters.
Yet I am mortal. I must select. I must choose what is to have my attention. Or have my limited attention snatched away from me.
O Lord help me to see as You would have me see. Not indeed beyond what I am able to see. But that that you would have me see. And thank you in Your Grace that you allow me to see something of the Truth about Mom: Everything About Her Mattered. And Matters.
As Everything about everyone Matters.
In Christ,
Charles Delacroix
F of St Paul of the Cross
F of St Isaac Joques & Cos.
This particular policy for my mother had a face value of $1000 ... do they even make life insurance policies in such low denominations today? And she acquired it at age 17 ... in 1938. I asked the person I was speaking with if they happened to have any information in their old records that indicated who had sold the policy, who was the purchaser (Mom's mother?) and where.
The person I was talking to was very courteous and really more than helpful. But it was also clear that she wondered why I was asking such questions. The unspoken comment was, "It doesn't really matter, does it?"
Well ... Yes. It does. It matters. To me it matters. And I hope and pray to God to whom even a sparrow falling from the sky matters.
I guess that's one of my challenges in responding to Mom's passing. To me *everything* about her matters. I really would like to know the details. About everything. That can be overwhelming to say the least. Yet I don't think it's wrong to recognize that everything really does matter about her.
Of course this can be said of everyone ... and everything. And perhaps that's one of Mom's ... and God's ... gifts that in this one person I am allowed to be aware of the Significance of Everything about Her, all of which derives from her Dignity as a Human Person.
And that can only be true if Everything Matters and is Significant about *every* human person.
Nothing doesn't matter.
Everything matters.
Yet I am mortal. I must select. I must choose what is to have my attention. Or have my limited attention snatched away from me.
O Lord help me to see as You would have me see. Not indeed beyond what I am able to see. But that that you would have me see. And thank you in Your Grace that you allow me to see something of the Truth about Mom: Everything About Her Mattered. And Matters.
As Everything about everyone Matters.
In Christ,
Charles Delacroix
F of St Paul of the Cross
F of St Isaac Joques & Cos.
Thursday, October 18, 2007
Home and Hearth ... and Memories
I was just thinking about this house ... this home ... and how it feels right here, right now ... with me here, living; and my Mom having been here, deceased.
And you know, it hurts, at one level; at another, as I think I've said before, it's enormously comforting. The memories ... and almost more, the almost physical presence of Mom in a Place that was hers ... is both painful and welcome.
In a way, the walls have memories; the carpet; the chairs ... and even though I'm alone ... "walking with loneliness" as Paula Ripple would say ... I'm not really alone.
I was thinking ... I wonder if this is how it feels ... or something like this ... when a house has been in a family for generations, or if a house has had a long connection to several family members together or one after the other in some way.
This house can't be a home in quite that sense. But in a way it can, too. And in that way this could be yet another wonderful gift of God to me, if I'm allowed to keep this home. How many are given the transgenerational gift of home and hearth that, I suppose, must have been by far the most common and traditional way of experiencing a home.
I don't know. But to me, this once again feels like my heart telling me that I really do want, and really want to want, to keep this home, this house.
That gives me something to work towards; and that's a purpose. Even a Hope.
To some extent. For now.
Fair enough, though, right?
Thank you Momma.
And thank you God.
In Christ's Holy Name,
Charles Delacroix
Feast of St Luke
And you know, it hurts, at one level; at another, as I think I've said before, it's enormously comforting. The memories ... and almost more, the almost physical presence of Mom in a Place that was hers ... is both painful and welcome.
In a way, the walls have memories; the carpet; the chairs ... and even though I'm alone ... "walking with loneliness" as Paula Ripple would say ... I'm not really alone.
I was thinking ... I wonder if this is how it feels ... or something like this ... when a house has been in a family for generations, or if a house has had a long connection to several family members together or one after the other in some way.
This house can't be a home in quite that sense. But in a way it can, too. And in that way this could be yet another wonderful gift of God to me, if I'm allowed to keep this home. How many are given the transgenerational gift of home and hearth that, I suppose, must have been by far the most common and traditional way of experiencing a home.
I don't know. But to me, this once again feels like my heart telling me that I really do want, and really want to want, to keep this home, this house.
That gives me something to work towards; and that's a purpose. Even a Hope.
To some extent. For now.
Fair enough, though, right?
Thank you Momma.
And thank you God.
In Christ's Holy Name,
Charles Delacroix
Feast of St Luke
Deborah Kerr, R.I.P.
I just saw that Deborah Kerr died 2 days ago. She was 86 y.o. The same age as Mom when she died. Very moving obituary on BBC: see http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/entertainment/7051206.stm I also just read her bio on IMDb: http://imdb.com/name/nm0000039/bio.
What a wonderful actress and graceful, delightful lady.
All of the names of actors and actresses in Ms Kerr's bio were, like this wonderful actress, contemporaries of my Mom, and all were performers that we had talked about at one time or another. Mom and I both liked Deborah Kerr's wonderful performance in The King and I. We both loved this movie very much. How I would like to put that movie on right now. I would, I think, but she's not here to share it with.
That's the trouble with almost everything. Everything. Things we shared, we shared. Things we didn't share, we didn't share. But she was always here: whether we shared something or not, she was always here.
How we loved to talk about the actors and actresses of the old classic movies when they came on PBS / OETA-TV. Every Saturday night. Or we would play an old classic movie and talk about the stars.
But they are all gone. Yul Brynner is gone; so is Robert Taylor; so is Burt Lancaster ... all are gone. Now Deborah Kerr is gone. Like Mom.
Oh God. Oh God O God O God.
What is there to say ... except may God have mercy on us all.
I gratefully presumed to post condolences on behalf of Mom and myself on the IMDb Message Board for Deborah Kerr. What a lady. That could be said of both of them, couldn't it.
May Deborah Kerr Rest In Peace
May Momma Rest In Peace
May they all, all Rest In Peace
Charles Delacroix
Feast of St Luke
What a wonderful actress and graceful, delightful lady.
All of the names of actors and actresses in Ms Kerr's bio were, like this wonderful actress, contemporaries of my Mom, and all were performers that we had talked about at one time or another. Mom and I both liked Deborah Kerr's wonderful performance in The King and I. We both loved this movie very much. How I would like to put that movie on right now. I would, I think, but she's not here to share it with.
That's the trouble with almost everything. Everything. Things we shared, we shared. Things we didn't share, we didn't share. But she was always here: whether we shared something or not, she was always here.
How we loved to talk about the actors and actresses of the old classic movies when they came on PBS / OETA-TV. Every Saturday night. Or we would play an old classic movie and talk about the stars.
But they are all gone. Yul Brynner is gone; so is Robert Taylor; so is Burt Lancaster ... all are gone. Now Deborah Kerr is gone. Like Mom.
Oh God. Oh God O God O God.
What is there to say ... except may God have mercy on us all.
I gratefully presumed to post condolences on behalf of Mom and myself on the IMDb Message Board for Deborah Kerr. What a lady. That could be said of both of them, couldn't it.
May Deborah Kerr Rest In Peace
May Momma Rest In Peace
May they all, all Rest In Peace
Charles Delacroix
Feast of St Luke
Way of the Cross Revisited
I met with Deacon Jerry today. He's really been wonderful. And he let me into the Chapel to pray the Way of the Cross.
I used the Way of the Cross for the Bereaved that I've already mentioned. I had already used it for a spiritual Way of the Cross this morning, at Momma's Grave, after OOR and MP. I really like it very much ... and interestingly for me, while I was doing it in the Chapel, I suddenly remembered something else.
Years ago ... I'm not sure how many now even ... 20 or 25 or 30 ... my sister entered a hospital and began a journey and a travail that I didn't understand at all at the time. But I knew that she was suffering, and began saying a Way of the Cross for her in the Chapel at the University of Tennessee in Knoxville, Tennessee, where we then lived. I prayed the Way of the Cross daily for my sister ... for how long? I can't remember. A few weeks I think. In any event, in the Holy Family Cathedral Chapel, in which I was saying the Way of the Cross for Momma, I suddenly remembered saying the Way of the Cross years ago for my sister. I remembered vividly some of the feelings more than anything else ... the emptiness, the fear, the anxiety, the indescribably feeling of a heart full of turmoil and love and horror and shock, crying out to God. I remembered the way the light shone through the stained glass of the UTK Chapel. And I realized that here and now not only reminded me of there and then, but they were connected at some level I don't claim to understand. Bereaved I am now for my Momma ... but not only for Momma; also for our family; for all families.
That feeling of connection with what John Paul II calls in Salvifici Doloris the World of Suffering is with me now. Deacon Jerry spoke of the souls who may be (who knows) huddled around the Altar at Mass seeking sustenance from the Redemptive Shed Blood and Broken Body of Christ. Perhaps we are all, if we only knew it, huddled always around the Altar in the World of Suffering seeking God's Mercy, seeking the Suffering Servant's gifts of Love and Hope, seeking the Man of Sorrows and the Mother of Sorrows and all those in the Church, the Body of Christ, who have Followed Christ on the long, hard Way of the Cross.
The pain and suffering are indescribable even though we all try, don't we, to try. When in the History of the Church our sufferings surpass our capacity for expression and yet our hearts feel that they are rent and burst, we so often turn to the Book of Job or the Book of Psalms ... Ps 30 or 51 or 102 or so many, many others ... and I too need the very words and voices of others to express what I can't describe. And I need the Words and the Voice of the Son of Man on the Cross ... and the Voice of the Church treading the Way of the Cross ... to say what I think and feel.
This for me today may be God's Gift, and the Church's Gift, by way of Vocation: to suffer, to suffer with Christ, to suffer with His Church, uniting my own sufferings with those of Christ, with those of all in the Church, with those of all in the World of Sufferings.
This is somewhat of an answer to my broken heart and my felt neediness that seem so overwhelming at times.
And this is somewhat of an answer to my sense of Futilitates and my need for some kind of Purpose. And also somewhat of an answer to my sense of Loneliness and my need for some kind of connection with someone else: with Christ, yes of course, but also with Christ in Others: in the Pilgrim Church.
Reified in (yes) Courage and Work (following Haggai in the Office of Readings) to rebuild a shattered Home in this concrete place that was Home to Momma and I. Rebuilding a Home that keeps me connected with Momma ... and with the World of Suffering ... and with the Church ... as an Ikon keeps us connected ... Type connecting us with Archetype or Prototype, as St John of Damascus says. If St Paul can call mortal body a Temple of the Holy Spirit, why couldn't this home be a Temple Rebuilt ... again following OOR's Haggai and Zechariah ... or was it Zephaniah ... on the then Call of God to Rebuild the Temple.
This kind of existential Reification is really I think what I need in the Here and Now. O Lord send me Your Call with Concrete in-my-face Plainness so even I can see it. Of Abstract Faith, Hope, and Love I have none; give me Your Concrete Faith Hope and Love in the Here and Now.
And help me in my longing and loss for Momma find an opportunity to connect with the World of Suffering and therefore with You and Your Cross.
Charles Delacroix
Feast of St Luke
I used the Way of the Cross for the Bereaved that I've already mentioned. I had already used it for a spiritual Way of the Cross this morning, at Momma's Grave, after OOR and MP. I really like it very much ... and interestingly for me, while I was doing it in the Chapel, I suddenly remembered something else.
Years ago ... I'm not sure how many now even ... 20 or 25 or 30 ... my sister entered a hospital and began a journey and a travail that I didn't understand at all at the time. But I knew that she was suffering, and began saying a Way of the Cross for her in the Chapel at the University of Tennessee in Knoxville, Tennessee, where we then lived. I prayed the Way of the Cross daily for my sister ... for how long? I can't remember. A few weeks I think. In any event, in the Holy Family Cathedral Chapel, in which I was saying the Way of the Cross for Momma, I suddenly remembered saying the Way of the Cross years ago for my sister. I remembered vividly some of the feelings more than anything else ... the emptiness, the fear, the anxiety, the indescribably feeling of a heart full of turmoil and love and horror and shock, crying out to God. I remembered the way the light shone through the stained glass of the UTK Chapel. And I realized that here and now not only reminded me of there and then, but they were connected at some level I don't claim to understand. Bereaved I am now for my Momma ... but not only for Momma; also for our family; for all families.
That feeling of connection with what John Paul II calls in Salvifici Doloris the World of Suffering is with me now. Deacon Jerry spoke of the souls who may be (who knows) huddled around the Altar at Mass seeking sustenance from the Redemptive Shed Blood and Broken Body of Christ. Perhaps we are all, if we only knew it, huddled always around the Altar in the World of Suffering seeking God's Mercy, seeking the Suffering Servant's gifts of Love and Hope, seeking the Man of Sorrows and the Mother of Sorrows and all those in the Church, the Body of Christ, who have Followed Christ on the long, hard Way of the Cross.
The pain and suffering are indescribable even though we all try, don't we, to try. When in the History of the Church our sufferings surpass our capacity for expression and yet our hearts feel that they are rent and burst, we so often turn to the Book of Job or the Book of Psalms ... Ps 30 or 51 or 102 or so many, many others ... and I too need the very words and voices of others to express what I can't describe. And I need the Words and the Voice of the Son of Man on the Cross ... and the Voice of the Church treading the Way of the Cross ... to say what I think and feel.
This for me today may be God's Gift, and the Church's Gift, by way of Vocation: to suffer, to suffer with Christ, to suffer with His Church, uniting my own sufferings with those of Christ, with those of all in the Church, with those of all in the World of Sufferings.
This is somewhat of an answer to my broken heart and my felt neediness that seem so overwhelming at times.
And this is somewhat of an answer to my sense of Futilitates and my need for some kind of Purpose. And also somewhat of an answer to my sense of Loneliness and my need for some kind of connection with someone else: with Christ, yes of course, but also with Christ in Others: in the Pilgrim Church.
Reified in (yes) Courage and Work (following Haggai in the Office of Readings) to rebuild a shattered Home in this concrete place that was Home to Momma and I. Rebuilding a Home that keeps me connected with Momma ... and with the World of Suffering ... and with the Church ... as an Ikon keeps us connected ... Type connecting us with Archetype or Prototype, as St John of Damascus says. If St Paul can call mortal body a Temple of the Holy Spirit, why couldn't this home be a Temple Rebuilt ... again following OOR's Haggai and Zechariah ... or was it Zephaniah ... on the then Call of God to Rebuild the Temple.
This kind of existential Reification is really I think what I need in the Here and Now. O Lord send me Your Call with Concrete in-my-face Plainness so even I can see it. Of Abstract Faith, Hope, and Love I have none; give me Your Concrete Faith Hope and Love in the Here and Now.
And help me in my longing and loss for Momma find an opportunity to connect with the World of Suffering and therefore with You and Your Cross.
Charles Delacroix
Feast of St Luke
Way of the Cross for the Bereaved
I have a copy of a pamphlet titled The Way of the Cross for the Bereaved, by Rev Terence P. Curley, D.Min. I've just been looking at it and it looks wonderful. Deacon Jerry said that I could do a Way of the Cross in the Chapel whenever it's open. I have an appointment to see him today. Maybe I could do a Way of the Cross afterward.
The Way of the Cross comes up of course in Salvifici Doloris and in a way must be a special means ... a sacramental means, an iconic means ... of embracing the redemptive suffering of Christ and of uniting one's own suffering redemptively to His.
I sit here in our home ... and for now it is my home as well as hers; and ours in the wider sense that I truly believe that the Man of Sorrows and the Mother of Sorrows and all the angels and saints dwell here unseen.
In a way couldn't this home ... and everything in it ... and me myself ... be iconic? Of course everything really is iconic. But in my floundering endeavor to find some kind of purpose or meaning to life after Mom's death ... could this in fact be it? In the short run, I've said and still believe that working for funding to maintain my residence here, in what is truly my "home away from True Home ... this may be a good short-term goal. In the short and longer term as well ... could living the Way of the Cross be my purpose, my reason for living still? We all, of course, have a Way of the Cross. Couldn't this be mine?
My aunt supposes ... as she's said, with kindness and transparent well meaning, repeatedly ... that she imagines I'll be visiting Mom's grave less and less over time. That's "moving on" to her. And really I'm sure I was kind of harsh when speaking yesterday about the exponents of "moving on". God has so many paths for so many; "moving on" may indeed be the path for most. Hey: if I were married, if I had children, I think God's will would almost by necessity be for me to "move on".
But I'm not married (existentially speaking) and I have no children. No family obligations. No great active Vocation. No great tasks before me. Nothing. And this has been part of my pain: what am I here for now?
Well ... maybe to walk a Way of the Cross for the Bereaved.
Because after all Pain and Suffering I can do. Clearly. I definitely have my limits; and a little relief sometimes ... going to the movies ... may reflect my weakness and my limitations, but yet Salvifici Doloris and the Way of the Cross may be my Vocation now.
And really ... well ... when I think about it ... suppose by God's Grace I am able to stay in this my home? And suppose I simply worked till my death, going to visit Mom's Grave and say the Office for the Dead there, every morning and every evening? Until God sees fit to call me Home and my earthly body is laid in the grave beside that of Mom?
Suppose all this ... would that be so bad?
No. And really just the opposite, if this is God's will.
Sitting here ... once again one of those cold, bleak mornings ... sipping my tea ... looking over at the empty chair where Mom sits no longer ... sede vacante ... isn't there something a little iconic here? Perhaps of Mary's Dormition. Or of the Tomb of Holy Saturday. Could not all this be a living Ikon of the Sufferings of God?
Maybe not such a bad way of life at all, really ...
And this need not mean that the "refreshment" of God become unavailable. In Bunyan's Pilgrim's Progress, the Bower for the rest and refreshment of weary pilgrim travelers. I mentioned movies. And yesterday I experienced again what I think I mentioned about a week ago: that invitation, "Why should your heart not dance?" As in Lewis's Till We Have Faces. And dance my heart did, and I smiled, and laughed. The dog and I were going for a walk and the weather and the trees and the grass were just lovely and beautiful.
But beyond these things, everything feels like dust and ashes. I had an interest in reading about politics at one time; seems to be (mostly) gone. I had an interest in professional progress at one time; now I just can't even begin to care. Oddly this is all fine with me. What dust and ashes. This for me I think is the message ... part of the message ... part of the *meaning* ... of Mom's passing. Memento mori, Charles, her Death whispers to me. Memento mori. And the Psalms in the Office relentlessly whisper ... and sometimes shout ... the same thing. Sic transit gloria mundi. Memento mori.
Help me O Lord to embrace Your Most Holy and Loving Will
For me and for my dear departed Mother
Thank You for being here, O Man of Sorrows, with me now, along with Your Mother of Sorrows, and with all the saints and angels of heaven. Thank You for being with each and every one of us in our trials.
Lord if it be according to Your Will that I find in my Mother's Death a new Way of the Cross for the remainder of my days, I accept Your Will, One Day at a Time; but only if You be with me and give me Your Grace to do through You what I cannot do for myself.
Lord if other be Your Will, I accept it, if you help me accept it.
Lord if it be Your Will that Loneliness and Futility be part of the Way of the Cross for me, then I accept these too, if it be Thy Will; only send me Your Strength and Comfort O Lord for without these I can do nothing and I am utterly undone.
O Lord how I miss my Momma .... please take good care of her, wherever she is, and if it be according to your will, may I ask for her prayers to sustain me in this Journey through Darkness until, if it be Your Will, we may both find one another again at the end of our Journeys in Your Glorious Light.
I love you Jesus.
Charles Delacroix
Feast of St Luke
The Way of the Cross comes up of course in Salvifici Doloris and in a way must be a special means ... a sacramental means, an iconic means ... of embracing the redemptive suffering of Christ and of uniting one's own suffering redemptively to His.
I sit here in our home ... and for now it is my home as well as hers; and ours in the wider sense that I truly believe that the Man of Sorrows and the Mother of Sorrows and all the angels and saints dwell here unseen.
In a way couldn't this home ... and everything in it ... and me myself ... be iconic? Of course everything really is iconic. But in my floundering endeavor to find some kind of purpose or meaning to life after Mom's death ... could this in fact be it? In the short run, I've said and still believe that working for funding to maintain my residence here, in what is truly my "home away from True Home ... this may be a good short-term goal. In the short and longer term as well ... could living the Way of the Cross be my purpose, my reason for living still? We all, of course, have a Way of the Cross. Couldn't this be mine?
My aunt supposes ... as she's said, with kindness and transparent well meaning, repeatedly ... that she imagines I'll be visiting Mom's grave less and less over time. That's "moving on" to her. And really I'm sure I was kind of harsh when speaking yesterday about the exponents of "moving on". God has so many paths for so many; "moving on" may indeed be the path for most. Hey: if I were married, if I had children, I think God's will would almost by necessity be for me to "move on".
But I'm not married (existentially speaking) and I have no children. No family obligations. No great active Vocation. No great tasks before me. Nothing. And this has been part of my pain: what am I here for now?
Well ... maybe to walk a Way of the Cross for the Bereaved.
Because after all Pain and Suffering I can do. Clearly. I definitely have my limits; and a little relief sometimes ... going to the movies ... may reflect my weakness and my limitations, but yet Salvifici Doloris and the Way of the Cross may be my Vocation now.
And really ... well ... when I think about it ... suppose by God's Grace I am able to stay in this my home? And suppose I simply worked till my death, going to visit Mom's Grave and say the Office for the Dead there, every morning and every evening? Until God sees fit to call me Home and my earthly body is laid in the grave beside that of Mom?
Suppose all this ... would that be so bad?
No. And really just the opposite, if this is God's will.
Sitting here ... once again one of those cold, bleak mornings ... sipping my tea ... looking over at the empty chair where Mom sits no longer ... sede vacante ... isn't there something a little iconic here? Perhaps of Mary's Dormition. Or of the Tomb of Holy Saturday. Could not all this be a living Ikon of the Sufferings of God?
Maybe not such a bad way of life at all, really ...
And this need not mean that the "refreshment" of God become unavailable. In Bunyan's Pilgrim's Progress, the Bower for the rest and refreshment of weary pilgrim travelers. I mentioned movies. And yesterday I experienced again what I think I mentioned about a week ago: that invitation, "Why should your heart not dance?" As in Lewis's Till We Have Faces. And dance my heart did, and I smiled, and laughed. The dog and I were going for a walk and the weather and the trees and the grass were just lovely and beautiful.
But beyond these things, everything feels like dust and ashes. I had an interest in reading about politics at one time; seems to be (mostly) gone. I had an interest in professional progress at one time; now I just can't even begin to care. Oddly this is all fine with me. What dust and ashes. This for me I think is the message ... part of the message ... part of the *meaning* ... of Mom's passing. Memento mori, Charles, her Death whispers to me. Memento mori. And the Psalms in the Office relentlessly whisper ... and sometimes shout ... the same thing. Sic transit gloria mundi. Memento mori.
Help me O Lord to embrace Your Most Holy and Loving Will
For me and for my dear departed Mother
Thank You for being here, O Man of Sorrows, with me now, along with Your Mother of Sorrows, and with all the saints and angels of heaven. Thank You for being with each and every one of us in our trials.
Lord if it be according to Your Will that I find in my Mother's Death a new Way of the Cross for the remainder of my days, I accept Your Will, One Day at a Time; but only if You be with me and give me Your Grace to do through You what I cannot do for myself.
Lord if other be Your Will, I accept it, if you help me accept it.
Lord if it be Your Will that Loneliness and Futility be part of the Way of the Cross for me, then I accept these too, if it be Thy Will; only send me Your Strength and Comfort O Lord for without these I can do nothing and I am utterly undone.
O Lord how I miss my Momma .... please take good care of her, wherever she is, and if it be according to your will, may I ask for her prayers to sustain me in this Journey through Darkness until, if it be Your Will, we may both find one another again at the end of our Journeys in Your Glorious Light.
I love you Jesus.
Charles Delacroix
Feast of St Luke
Wednesday, October 17, 2007
Grappling for Meaning in the Here and Now
"Moving on" seems to be a recurrent theme in the books and pamphlets and group discussions about Grieving that I run into. And the significance of "moving on" seems to be just what it sounds like: "moving on" beyond and away from Grief and Bereavement.
Hence in group "doing better" or "doing good" means feeling happier and not thinking about the Departed. "Doing worse" or "having trouble" means Grieving for the Departed.
This is really deeply repugnant to me ... it's a way of treating the Beloved to an acid bath of reductionism and of treating the Bereaved to an acid bath of utilitarianism. All to enable the Bereaved to "function better."
Thanks but no thanks. I've got to keep focus I think on grappling with the messy but essential questions raised by what's happened. "Why?" may not be a popular question with utilitarians, but seems to be a universal question raised by Job and by Jesus and by the Psalmists.
And why not? No pun intended.
Mom's death was ... and is ... a cataclysmic event for me. And for her. And for both of us. I don't know what the answers are ... but I feel deeply impelled to ask at least those hard questions that may hurt and hurt and hurt, but which may also give to what happened, and to Mom, and, yes, to me, the honor and esteem and respect that they (we) deserve ... in accordance with the Dignity of the Human Person.
The questions for me really have to be: what the hell happened? And what does this mean for me? What is the Meaning of what happened?
Oh Lord Jesus how I miss her ... and in her, you ... for she is Ikon of an Ikon of You.
Thy will be done.
Charles Delacroix
F of Ignatius
Hence in group "doing better" or "doing good" means feeling happier and not thinking about the Departed. "Doing worse" or "having trouble" means Grieving for the Departed.
This is really deeply repugnant to me ... it's a way of treating the Beloved to an acid bath of reductionism and of treating the Bereaved to an acid bath of utilitarianism. All to enable the Bereaved to "function better."
Thanks but no thanks. I've got to keep focus I think on grappling with the messy but essential questions raised by what's happened. "Why?" may not be a popular question with utilitarians, but seems to be a universal question raised by Job and by Jesus and by the Psalmists.
And why not? No pun intended.
Mom's death was ... and is ... a cataclysmic event for me. And for her. And for both of us. I don't know what the answers are ... but I feel deeply impelled to ask at least those hard questions that may hurt and hurt and hurt, but which may also give to what happened, and to Mom, and, yes, to me, the honor and esteem and respect that they (we) deserve ... in accordance with the Dignity of the Human Person.
The questions for me really have to be: what the hell happened? And what does this mean for me? What is the Meaning of what happened?
Oh Lord Jesus how I miss her ... and in her, you ... for she is Ikon of an Ikon of You.
Thy will be done.
Charles Delacroix
F of Ignatius
Here and Now
I've been struggling but here is how my days are in the Here and Now:
* Wake up about 5a.m. She died Aug 22 at 5:45, I almost always awaken before then.
* Put away a few things and move the truck out of the driveway in prep for getting the dog out
* About 6:15 - 6:45 dog and I get in Mom's old car and drive to Woodward Park ... where Mom and I and the dog used to go ... and the dog and I go for a walk. We always start from the alcove in the Rose Garden where Mom and us used to sit. Sometimes the dog gets a brushing such as Mom loved to give her, and as she always loved to get. Then I tell the dog, "you're the prettiest girl in town," like Mom used to tell her.
* Breakfast in the kitchen either before or after I visit Mom at the cemetery. I almost always take a cup of tea to Mom at the cemetery, just like in the past. When I take the tea to the cemetery, I drink a little and then spill a drink of tea onto her earth 3 times. Then I clean and straighten her flowers in the temporary marker, and pray Matins (the Office of Readings, OOR) from the Proper, and Lauds (Morning Prayer) from the Office for the Dead. I always take plenty of kleenex.
* Day of doing this or that, usually slowly, sometimes visit Mom during the day.
* At the end of the day, I visit Mom at the cemetery. Again, straighten the flowers and clean the temporary marker if needed. I pray Vespers (Evening Prayer) from the Office for the Dead.
* Then I take the dog for her evening walk, as Mom and I and the dog always did. As we used to do with Mom, we drive in Mom's old car to Waite Phillips Elementary or to the water overflow area behind Memorial Drive Methodist Church (Mom's Church).
* That's it for the night. I've more often than not gone to see a movie during the day to help get my mind off things. During the day I often (not always) work on photos in Mom's photo album or in mine. May visit Aunt Edna briefly during the day. But that's about it.
This really makes for a pretty full day for me these days. I tend to get tired very easily and this is all sustainable.
But into this schedule I am thinking I can fit another part time work schedule ... assuming a part time job before eventually getting back to full time work and an income to support a loan to buy the house & effects.
Or such is my hope and prayer.
God's will be done ... in this as in all things ...
Oh Mom how I miss you ... I love you ... now and always ...
Charles Delacroix
Feast of St Ignatius
* Wake up about 5a.m. She died Aug 22 at 5:45, I almost always awaken before then.
* Put away a few things and move the truck out of the driveway in prep for getting the dog out
* About 6:15 - 6:45 dog and I get in Mom's old car and drive to Woodward Park ... where Mom and I and the dog used to go ... and the dog and I go for a walk. We always start from the alcove in the Rose Garden where Mom and us used to sit. Sometimes the dog gets a brushing such as Mom loved to give her, and as she always loved to get. Then I tell the dog, "you're the prettiest girl in town," like Mom used to tell her.
* Breakfast in the kitchen either before or after I visit Mom at the cemetery. I almost always take a cup of tea to Mom at the cemetery, just like in the past. When I take the tea to the cemetery, I drink a little and then spill a drink of tea onto her earth 3 times. Then I clean and straighten her flowers in the temporary marker, and pray Matins (the Office of Readings, OOR) from the Proper, and Lauds (Morning Prayer) from the Office for the Dead. I always take plenty of kleenex.
* Day of doing this or that, usually slowly, sometimes visit Mom during the day.
* At the end of the day, I visit Mom at the cemetery. Again, straighten the flowers and clean the temporary marker if needed. I pray Vespers (Evening Prayer) from the Office for the Dead.
* Then I take the dog for her evening walk, as Mom and I and the dog always did. As we used to do with Mom, we drive in Mom's old car to Waite Phillips Elementary or to the water overflow area behind Memorial Drive Methodist Church (Mom's Church).
* That's it for the night. I've more often than not gone to see a movie during the day to help get my mind off things. During the day I often (not always) work on photos in Mom's photo album or in mine. May visit Aunt Edna briefly during the day. But that's about it.
This really makes for a pretty full day for me these days. I tend to get tired very easily and this is all sustainable.
But into this schedule I am thinking I can fit another part time work schedule ... assuming a part time job before eventually getting back to full time work and an income to support a loan to buy the house & effects.
Or such is my hope and prayer.
God's will be done ... in this as in all things ...
Oh Mom how I miss you ... I love you ... now and always ...
Charles Delacroix
Feast of St Ignatius
Purpose (?) and Hope (?)
Yesterday was a very painful day. At the end of the day, I went to my grief group and the facilitator asked me to talk about what actually happened when Mom died.
It was very, very, very difficult to talk about ... but also I think was very good to talk about. I guess I haven't talked about this with anyone till last night. Except it's in this blog near the beginning. Otherwise ... this was a "first."
Afterward, I really felt like a weight was off my shoulders. And still feel that way.
I also spent some time thinking things over last night. About that much-bandied phrase "moving on." And also about purpose and hope. Someone in the group asked if I could not find some sense of purpose from thinking about what Mom would have wanted me to do; surely she would want me to take care of myself, would she not?
Yes. Of course she would. And if she is anywhere that allows such, I have no doubt whatsoever that her prayers and well wishes continue with me even now; as mine do with her.
But honestly ... I'm very sorry to say ... if God's Will isn't enough to give me a sense of motivation and purpose at this time, then Mom's will won't either. This is say in full recognition that it would be much better if either or both would "work" for me in the Here and Now. And I realize that it's simply a sign of my weakness and my debility that they won't.
The facilitator mentioned Grieving as a process in which we learn to love our loved one in separation, since we are no longer able to love our loved one present.
That makes sense to me. But I'm just not there. Just not there. Or not yet there.
I guess all these years, Mom has been giving me a purpose, though I really didn't know it, in the sense that she was a Grounding and a Reality that was very concrete, very Here and Now to my senses.
And now she's gone. That Grounding is gone. That Here and Now to my senses is gone.
Similarly, the Church over time has come to recognize to basic wasy (or Vias) to the God Who Is Here and Now. The Via Negativa and the Via Positiva.
Now, I have no doubt at all that for those suited to this arduous Way, the Via Negativa is best.
Yet there have always been those ... perhaps the greatest majority .. who need a Via Positiva.
Statues, and Rosaries, and Churches, and Candles, and the whole panoply of Worship that mediates to our senses the Presence of the Unseen God. Ikons we can see; the God Beyond All we cannot. So we turn to Ikons to give us a positive apprehension of the God Who cannot be apprehended.
Likewise ... now that Mom is gone ... I need, I crave, those "images" that speak to me of her who is no longer here. Photos, and the Graveyard, and the things that she used: her hat, her sunglasses, her chair, her home ... all these are more precious to me than gold ... for they give me some sense of her who is no longer here but who has by God's Grace been allowed to leave behind these precious reminders of her.
For that reason ... I think working toward buying out my sister's interest in the house and its contents can give me, for now, a fairly concrete purpose and motivation that an abstract "Mom would want you to be happy" cannot.
The Readings from yesterday ... Zechariah and even Psalm 102 ... seem to me to confirm this as a direction in which to move.
Is this "moving on?" In that phrase that seems to be much favored by almost everyone I meet.
Frankly, I certainly hope *not*. Move on? Move on where? Move on why? What is the point of moving on if I don't even have a direction in which to move?
I'm still struggling to find some kind of answer to Hopelesssness and some kind of answer to Loneliness ... and to find some kind of meaning that makes some kind of visceral sense to me about why she's gone and what in the world I'm to do or be now.
Adopting as a goal the securing of what was hers that I can keep ... for now ... by God's Grace ... like the House, truly our Home; and her things, truly powerful reminders of her; and of her dog, a living purpose for me since I promised her that I would take good care of the dog. These things at least speak to my heart as to what I can do in the Here and Now. Things that affirm myself, that affirm what I knew of her, that affirm what I know of our relationship.
O God ... help me find a Way here that is Your Way ... that Honors my Mother, and Honors Your Presence in my Mother, and Your presence in our relationship.
I love you Mom.
I love you God.
Charles Delacroix
Feast of St Ignatiou
It was very, very, very difficult to talk about ... but also I think was very good to talk about. I guess I haven't talked about this with anyone till last night. Except it's in this blog near the beginning. Otherwise ... this was a "first."
Afterward, I really felt like a weight was off my shoulders. And still feel that way.
I also spent some time thinking things over last night. About that much-bandied phrase "moving on." And also about purpose and hope. Someone in the group asked if I could not find some sense of purpose from thinking about what Mom would have wanted me to do; surely she would want me to take care of myself, would she not?
Yes. Of course she would. And if she is anywhere that allows such, I have no doubt whatsoever that her prayers and well wishes continue with me even now; as mine do with her.
But honestly ... I'm very sorry to say ... if God's Will isn't enough to give me a sense of motivation and purpose at this time, then Mom's will won't either. This is say in full recognition that it would be much better if either or both would "work" for me in the Here and Now. And I realize that it's simply a sign of my weakness and my debility that they won't.
The facilitator mentioned Grieving as a process in which we learn to love our loved one in separation, since we are no longer able to love our loved one present.
That makes sense to me. But I'm just not there. Just not there. Or not yet there.
I guess all these years, Mom has been giving me a purpose, though I really didn't know it, in the sense that she was a Grounding and a Reality that was very concrete, very Here and Now to my senses.
And now she's gone. That Grounding is gone. That Here and Now to my senses is gone.
Similarly, the Church over time has come to recognize to basic wasy (or Vias) to the God Who Is Here and Now. The Via Negativa and the Via Positiva.
Now, I have no doubt at all that for those suited to this arduous Way, the Via Negativa is best.
Yet there have always been those ... perhaps the greatest majority .. who need a Via Positiva.
Statues, and Rosaries, and Churches, and Candles, and the whole panoply of Worship that mediates to our senses the Presence of the Unseen God. Ikons we can see; the God Beyond All we cannot. So we turn to Ikons to give us a positive apprehension of the God Who cannot be apprehended.
Likewise ... now that Mom is gone ... I need, I crave, those "images" that speak to me of her who is no longer here. Photos, and the Graveyard, and the things that she used: her hat, her sunglasses, her chair, her home ... all these are more precious to me than gold ... for they give me some sense of her who is no longer here but who has by God's Grace been allowed to leave behind these precious reminders of her.
For that reason ... I think working toward buying out my sister's interest in the house and its contents can give me, for now, a fairly concrete purpose and motivation that an abstract "Mom would want you to be happy" cannot.
The Readings from yesterday ... Zechariah and even Psalm 102 ... seem to me to confirm this as a direction in which to move.
Is this "moving on?" In that phrase that seems to be much favored by almost everyone I meet.
Frankly, I certainly hope *not*. Move on? Move on where? Move on why? What is the point of moving on if I don't even have a direction in which to move?
I'm still struggling to find some kind of answer to Hopelesssness and some kind of answer to Loneliness ... and to find some kind of meaning that makes some kind of visceral sense to me about why she's gone and what in the world I'm to do or be now.
Adopting as a goal the securing of what was hers that I can keep ... for now ... by God's Grace ... like the House, truly our Home; and her things, truly powerful reminders of her; and of her dog, a living purpose for me since I promised her that I would take good care of the dog. These things at least speak to my heart as to what I can do in the Here and Now. Things that affirm myself, that affirm what I knew of her, that affirm what I know of our relationship.
O God ... help me find a Way here that is Your Way ... that Honors my Mother, and Honors Your Presence in my Mother, and Your presence in our relationship.
I love you Mom.
I love you God.
Charles Delacroix
Feast of St Ignatiou
Tuesday, October 16, 2007
Missing Mom ... Missing Her Love and Affection
It's morning ...
And mornings are still the worst time ...
Or are they the best time ... because I can feel the loss ... and at least feeling the loss, the emptiness, the desolation, the horrible loneliness and pointlessness ... at least these bring me close to her absence even if I can no longer be close to her presence ...
At least not in the same way ... but like MacDuff I cannot help but remember those things that are most precious to me.
Most precious I have to admit is the Affection. There were so many, many ways in which we both expressed our affection, our love. This was not a mother who didn't say she loved her son. She did: often, in words and actions. I too I think ... I told her I loved her in words, many times, and very very often I think in actions.
Every morning either I would awake first, or she would ... and I would say Good Morning Momma ... or I would say "Gushen Morgan" ... a very old and very probably very badly mispronounced remembrance of many, many years ago when Momma had, while trying to learn a little German, told us that "Gushen Morgan" (or something like that!) was German for Good Morning. And ever since, every now and then, I'd say "Gushen Morgan, Momma," and she'd smile. Part of our old, our very old, way of starting out mornings.
She almost always said to me, "Good morning my son." How I loved to hear those simple words. How I miss them now. O God. By Your Grace may those unspoken words be spoken silently, at least, each morning, by my Momma, if it be according to Your will, and hers; perhaps by not only my Mom but by Our Blessed Lady, Our True Mother on Earth, and in Heaven, Mary Most Holy, the Mother of Mothers.
Momma often told me how proud she was of me. And how I loved to hear her say this. I often told her how grateful I was that she was my Mom - or my Momma, my "Mummsy" I sometimes said: "My very own Mummsy" ... and she would smile affectionately when I said this.
One of the things she said most often, in the months at least toward the end .... was "You will always be my son, and I will always be your mother." She said this with such love, her eyes shining, a small but infinitely tender smile on her lips. How I loved to hear her say this.
And so many things like this ... and now ... and now ... it is time ...
It is about 5:40 AM here and now ...
It was about 5:45 AM when she died ... there and then ...
August 22 ... Feast of the Queenship of Mary ...
I am, here and now, sitting on the sofa, only a few feet from where her deathbed stood ... there and then ...
O God how I miss her. Momma! Momma!
I can see the chair in which she sat so many times when she spoke her words of love and affection to me ... her chair only about 10 feet away from where I sit now ...
I can see the little alcove in which she sat looking out at the back yard ... watching the dog ... and the rabbits ... the beautiful flowers and green grass and bushes ... and blue sky ... she would sit watching me mow the grass and I would look over at her watching me and she would smile and wave her hand ... and I would smile and wave back as I mowed ...
Her teacup is still sitting there ... the cup now empty ... but the cup from which she would sip her nice hot tea ...
And now it is 5:46 AM here ... and she is gone ... gone ... and I am sitting here without her ... and I know she is as I hope in a far, far better place ... but O God how I miss her ... O Mom if you can hear me ... Gushen Morgan ... I love you ... I will always love you ... and I will always be your son ... and you will always be my Mother ... and I and the dog, we miss you so much ...
Here and Now there is such emptiness ...
Here and Now there is such loneliness ...
Here and Now there is such desolation and dankness and darkness and horror ...
Here and Now there are such memories ...
Here and Now there is such gratitude ...
Here and Now there is such pain ...
Here and Now there is such thankfulness ...
Thank You O God ... for my Momma ...
Here and Now I thank You for allowing me a time on this earth with her ...
Here and Now I thank You for even the pain and suffering ...
Here and Now I thank You for her ...
Here and Now I thank You for allowign me a small share in Your infinite suffering ...
Here and Now I thank You for some small place in the suffering of Your Sorrowful Mother
Here and Now I thank You for some small place in Your Sufferings as True Man ....
Here and Now I thank You for some small place in Your Sufferings O Man of Sorrows ...
Here and Now I thank You for my Mother and Your Mother ...
O God it hurts ... it hurts ... it hurts ...
Here and Now I breathe in the Pain ... I breathe out the Pain ...
Here and Now ... in and out ... in and out ... O Lord and God ... my brother my friend my all ...
Here and Now ... I thank You for the privilege of being here with her for a short while ...
Here and Now ... I thank You for this Gethsemani ...
Here and Now .... I think You for allowing me this place in Your Dead Heart ... in the Tomb ...
Here and Now I thank You for You Here Present in this Holy Saturday ...
Here and Now I thank You and I love you My Lord and My God ...
Here and Now I beg You by Your Own Love to take good care of my Momma ...
Here and Now wiht You Here and Now O God my God my Jesus ...
Here and Now all is Love ... and Pain ... and Love ... and Suffering ...
Here and Now all is You my God ...
Here and Now God ...
Charles Delacroix
F of Ss Margaret Mary & Hedwig
And mornings are still the worst time ...
Or are they the best time ... because I can feel the loss ... and at least feeling the loss, the emptiness, the desolation, the horrible loneliness and pointlessness ... at least these bring me close to her absence even if I can no longer be close to her presence ...
At least not in the same way ... but like MacDuff I cannot help but remember those things that are most precious to me.
Most precious I have to admit is the Affection. There were so many, many ways in which we both expressed our affection, our love. This was not a mother who didn't say she loved her son. She did: often, in words and actions. I too I think ... I told her I loved her in words, many times, and very very often I think in actions.
Every morning either I would awake first, or she would ... and I would say Good Morning Momma ... or I would say "Gushen Morgan" ... a very old and very probably very badly mispronounced remembrance of many, many years ago when Momma had, while trying to learn a little German, told us that "Gushen Morgan" (or something like that!) was German for Good Morning. And ever since, every now and then, I'd say "Gushen Morgan, Momma," and she'd smile. Part of our old, our very old, way of starting out mornings.
She almost always said to me, "Good morning my son." How I loved to hear those simple words. How I miss them now. O God. By Your Grace may those unspoken words be spoken silently, at least, each morning, by my Momma, if it be according to Your will, and hers; perhaps by not only my Mom but by Our Blessed Lady, Our True Mother on Earth, and in Heaven, Mary Most Holy, the Mother of Mothers.
Momma often told me how proud she was of me. And how I loved to hear her say this. I often told her how grateful I was that she was my Mom - or my Momma, my "Mummsy" I sometimes said: "My very own Mummsy" ... and she would smile affectionately when I said this.
One of the things she said most often, in the months at least toward the end .... was "You will always be my son, and I will always be your mother." She said this with such love, her eyes shining, a small but infinitely tender smile on her lips. How I loved to hear her say this.
And so many things like this ... and now ... and now ... it is time ...
It is about 5:40 AM here and now ...
It was about 5:45 AM when she died ... there and then ...
August 22 ... Feast of the Queenship of Mary ...
I am, here and now, sitting on the sofa, only a few feet from where her deathbed stood ... there and then ...
O God how I miss her. Momma! Momma!
I can see the chair in which she sat so many times when she spoke her words of love and affection to me ... her chair only about 10 feet away from where I sit now ...
I can see the little alcove in which she sat looking out at the back yard ... watching the dog ... and the rabbits ... the beautiful flowers and green grass and bushes ... and blue sky ... she would sit watching me mow the grass and I would look over at her watching me and she would smile and wave her hand ... and I would smile and wave back as I mowed ...
Her teacup is still sitting there ... the cup now empty ... but the cup from which she would sip her nice hot tea ...
And now it is 5:46 AM here ... and she is gone ... gone ... and I am sitting here without her ... and I know she is as I hope in a far, far better place ... but O God how I miss her ... O Mom if you can hear me ... Gushen Morgan ... I love you ... I will always love you ... and I will always be your son ... and you will always be my Mother ... and I and the dog, we miss you so much ...
Here and Now there is such emptiness ...
Here and Now there is such loneliness ...
Here and Now there is such desolation and dankness and darkness and horror ...
Here and Now there are such memories ...
Here and Now there is such gratitude ...
Here and Now there is such pain ...
Here and Now there is such thankfulness ...
Thank You O God ... for my Momma ...
Here and Now I thank You for allowing me a time on this earth with her ...
Here and Now I thank You for even the pain and suffering ...
Here and Now I thank You for her ...
Here and Now I thank You for allowign me a small share in Your infinite suffering ...
Here and Now I thank You for some small place in the suffering of Your Sorrowful Mother
Here and Now I thank You for some small place in Your Sufferings as True Man ....
Here and Now I thank You for some small place in Your Sufferings O Man of Sorrows ...
Here and Now I thank You for my Mother and Your Mother ...
O God it hurts ... it hurts ... it hurts ...
Here and Now I breathe in the Pain ... I breathe out the Pain ...
Here and Now ... in and out ... in and out ... O Lord and God ... my brother my friend my all ...
Here and Now ... I thank You for the privilege of being here with her for a short while ...
Here and Now ... I thank You for this Gethsemani ...
Here and Now .... I think You for allowing me this place in Your Dead Heart ... in the Tomb ...
Here and Now I thank You for You Here Present in this Holy Saturday ...
Here and Now I thank You and I love you My Lord and My God ...
Here and Now I beg You by Your Own Love to take good care of my Momma ...
Here and Now wiht You Here and Now O God my God my Jesus ...
Here and Now all is Love ... and Pain ... and Love ... and Suffering ...
Here and Now all is You my God ...
Here and Now God ...
Charles Delacroix
F of Ss Margaret Mary & Hedwig
Monday, October 15, 2007
This House, This Home
I thought about this a couple of times over the past few days, and after this morning, really, by God's Grace, I really feel the Presence of God here ... and also the presence of Mom. No ... not as in some kind of shrine. But maybe ... just maybe ... with the kind of flavor or feeling or subtext that I'm guessing may have been historically present in a house that has a long history of the family's life and death within its walls. What does it feel like ... to live in such a house? I should think it would feel like ... in a special way ... Home.
O God ... sometimes I feel like I'm becoming more Traditional by the minute. Now I'm feeling this very traditional sense of Family and Place linked in that special way long celebrated by Hilaire Belloc and Russell Kirk and (perhaps) those many predecessors who lived in extended families in which a house might be the context and ground of Family in such a special way.
O Mom you are gone ... but you are not gone ...
And I am so deeply, deeply grateful ...
Charles Delacroix
Feast of St Teresa d'Avila
O God ... sometimes I feel like I'm becoming more Traditional by the minute. Now I'm feeling this very traditional sense of Family and Place linked in that special way long celebrated by Hilaire Belloc and Russell Kirk and (perhaps) those many predecessors who lived in extended families in which a house might be the context and ground of Family in such a special way.
O Mom you are gone ... but you are not gone ...
And I am so deeply, deeply grateful ...
Charles Delacroix
Feast of St Teresa d'Avila
"If Christ Jesus dwells in a man as his friend ..."
"If Christ Jesus dwells in a man as his friend and noble leader, that man can endure all things, for Christ helps and strengthens us and never abandons us. He is a true friend. And I clearly see that if we expect to please him and receive an abundance of his graces, God desires that these graces must come to us from the hands of Christ, through his most sacred humanity, in which God takes delight." from http://www.universalis.com/20071015/readings.htm St Teresa d'Avila in OOR this morning.
That was the 2nd reading. The first was from Haggai. And once again as with the first readings from Haggai a few days ago at OOR, I really feel some degree of encouragement.
O Lord, if I am to seek to follow Haggai in embracing Courage and Work to rebuild the Temple of our little Home ... if, that is, I am to attempt such a thing, I need you to dwell in me as my friend and leader. How I need you Lord Jesus. Every moment of every hour of every day.
In Christ,
Charles Delacroix
Feast of St Teresa d'Avila
That was the 2nd reading. The first was from Haggai. And once again as with the first readings from Haggai a few days ago at OOR, I really feel some degree of encouragement.
O Lord, if I am to seek to follow Haggai in embracing Courage and Work to rebuild the Temple of our little Home ... if, that is, I am to attempt such a thing, I need you to dwell in me as my friend and leader. How I need you Lord Jesus. Every moment of every hour of every day.
In Christ,
Charles Delacroix
Feast of St Teresa d'Avila
Obediently Accepting Even Death
Vespers / Evening Prayer for the Office of the Dead includes the famous Hymn to the Kenotic Christ from Philippians, 2:6-11. One part of which is:
"He was known to be of human estate,
and it was thus that he humbled himself,
obediently accepting death,
death on a cross"
(NAB)
Certainly Mom did this. And all who seek to Follow Christ are called to the same obedience, the same acceptance. And for some reason it suddenly occurred to me that my struggle with finding some kind of purpose for life after Mom's death might partly be answered here.
I know I know ... sort of obvious in a way. Yet the way I'm built is that without some kind of fairly concrete, fairly "in my face" purpose, I'm simply lost. Yet when I'm not feeling quite so lost, then I can hear a little more challenging level of purpose ... like that suggested by Philippians.
Redemptive suffering ... joining my pain to that of Christ ... joining my pain to that of all the countless Followers of Christ who fill up what is lacking in the sufferings of Christ ... why not? Pain itself, yes ... but of course the more intentional the act of "giving up' one's sufferings to Christ to use as He will ... that's really better. And so I did this. I intentionally asked God to take whatever pain and suffering I'm experiencing and use it for the benefit of others as He sees fit of course. This is I think the first time I've done this since Mom died. Seems silly not to have done so earlier; but again, I think the sheer volume and intensity of pain has simply overwhelmed me too much to be available for this level of yieldedness.
But ... breath in the pain, breath out the pain, and let the pain go to Christ and to His Church for His Glory and the redemption of all who have need, including myself.
This all of course fits with Salvifici Doloris very well indeed. How to pray such an intentional yielding to God's will and application of my pain to the needs of others ... all this fits in so well with what Salvifici Doloris calls the World of Suffering. Who does not after all experience suffering ... very great suffering ... in this Vale of Tears after all. And so this seems to by God's Grace fit both my need for Purpose ... and my need to be not so very Alone.
So ... instead of "looking for a purpose" and "looking for something to do for someone" I may, if I choose, find in my very suffering a real purpose.
And ... instead of "looking for a Friend" I may, if I choose, find glorous companionship in suffering, whether in the World of Suffering, or in Christ Who Bears His Cross before my little cross.
O Lord help me to find in You ... and in suffering with you and with the World of Suffering ... my Purpose.
And O Lord help me to find in You ... and in suffering with you and with the World of Suffering ... my antidote to Loneliness.
Thy Will Not Mine be Done O Lord.
Love in Christ,
Charles Delacroix
Feast of St Teresa d'Avila
"He was known to be of human estate,
and it was thus that he humbled himself,
obediently accepting death,
death on a cross"
(NAB)
Certainly Mom did this. And all who seek to Follow Christ are called to the same obedience, the same acceptance. And for some reason it suddenly occurred to me that my struggle with finding some kind of purpose for life after Mom's death might partly be answered here.
I know I know ... sort of obvious in a way. Yet the way I'm built is that without some kind of fairly concrete, fairly "in my face" purpose, I'm simply lost. Yet when I'm not feeling quite so lost, then I can hear a little more challenging level of purpose ... like that suggested by Philippians.
Redemptive suffering ... joining my pain to that of Christ ... joining my pain to that of all the countless Followers of Christ who fill up what is lacking in the sufferings of Christ ... why not? Pain itself, yes ... but of course the more intentional the act of "giving up' one's sufferings to Christ to use as He will ... that's really better. And so I did this. I intentionally asked God to take whatever pain and suffering I'm experiencing and use it for the benefit of others as He sees fit of course. This is I think the first time I've done this since Mom died. Seems silly not to have done so earlier; but again, I think the sheer volume and intensity of pain has simply overwhelmed me too much to be available for this level of yieldedness.
But ... breath in the pain, breath out the pain, and let the pain go to Christ and to His Church for His Glory and the redemption of all who have need, including myself.
This all of course fits with Salvifici Doloris very well indeed. How to pray such an intentional yielding to God's will and application of my pain to the needs of others ... all this fits in so well with what Salvifici Doloris calls the World of Suffering. Who does not after all experience suffering ... very great suffering ... in this Vale of Tears after all. And so this seems to by God's Grace fit both my need for Purpose ... and my need to be not so very Alone.
So ... instead of "looking for a purpose" and "looking for something to do for someone" I may, if I choose, find in my very suffering a real purpose.
And ... instead of "looking for a Friend" I may, if I choose, find glorous companionship in suffering, whether in the World of Suffering, or in Christ Who Bears His Cross before my little cross.
O Lord help me to find in You ... and in suffering with you and with the World of Suffering ... my Purpose.
And O Lord help me to find in You ... and in suffering with you and with the World of Suffering ... my antidote to Loneliness.
Thy Will Not Mine be Done O Lord.
Love in Christ,
Charles Delacroix
Feast of St Teresa d'Avila
Sunday, October 14, 2007
She Ate What Was Set Before Her
Well, I finished Mom's taxes ... and although I haven't done my own, I at least have all the materials, and can do them tomorrow.
It got harder and harder as I went through Mom's paperwork ... and at the same time I kept praying a thanksgiving for this amazing, courageous, extraordinary woman. Looking at dated financial paperwork, it was not hard to see a progressive decline in her ability to deal with these things ... yet to me, just seeing her notes on a bill from 6 months ago told me that this lady was still, till almost the end, doing her very best to understand and respond to what was before her.
And I suddenly remembered the saying "He ate what was set before him."
And that's my Mom: she ate what was set before her.
I couldn't remember the source of "He ate what was set before him," and googled to find that this saying has a movingly wide provenance. Robert Heinlein is one source but so is St Anthony Marie Claret: see his Autobiography, No. 430, at http://64.233.167.104/search?q=cache:K3fny6NIvY8J:www.claret.org/documentos/en/autobio-claret.rtf+%22He+ate+what+was+set+before+him.%22&hl=en&ct=clnk&cd=11&gl=us
I watched the TV show As Time Goes By tonite ... and oh Lord how it hurts for Mom not to be sitting here watching with me. She loved this show, as did I. She enjoyed it even when things were getting rougher for her; when her attention span wasn't quite as sound as at one time, and when she needed to go to the restroom a little more often than at one time.
Again ... she ate what was set before her.
Oh God please let me, even in infinitesemally minute way, measure up to the wonderful example of my Mom.
And thank you, Lord, for allowing me the privilege of spending time with her.
But oh how I miss her ...
Love always in Christ, dear Mother ...
Charles Delacroix
Sunday 28 in Ordinary Time
It got harder and harder as I went through Mom's paperwork ... and at the same time I kept praying a thanksgiving for this amazing, courageous, extraordinary woman. Looking at dated financial paperwork, it was not hard to see a progressive decline in her ability to deal with these things ... yet to me, just seeing her notes on a bill from 6 months ago told me that this lady was still, till almost the end, doing her very best to understand and respond to what was before her.
And I suddenly remembered the saying "He ate what was set before him."
And that's my Mom: she ate what was set before her.
I couldn't remember the source of "He ate what was set before him," and googled to find that this saying has a movingly wide provenance. Robert Heinlein is one source but so is St Anthony Marie Claret: see his Autobiography, No. 430, at http://64.233.167.104/search?q=cache:K3fny6NIvY8J:www.claret.org/documentos/en/autobio-claret.rtf+%22He+ate+what+was+set+before+him.%22&hl=en&ct=clnk&cd=11&gl=us
I watched the TV show As Time Goes By tonite ... and oh Lord how it hurts for Mom not to be sitting here watching with me. She loved this show, as did I. She enjoyed it even when things were getting rougher for her; when her attention span wasn't quite as sound as at one time, and when she needed to go to the restroom a little more often than at one time.
Again ... she ate what was set before her.
Oh God please let me, even in infinitesemally minute way, measure up to the wonderful example of my Mom.
And thank you, Lord, for allowing me the privilege of spending time with her.
But oh how I miss her ...
Love always in Christ, dear Mother ...
Charles Delacroix
Sunday 28 in Ordinary Time
Lord, This Officially Sucks
OK, I think I've managed to gather Mom's tax-related materials together. And just want to frankly acknowledge that this really, really, really hurts.
Oh Lord help me to see in this something of the Cross that You bore; and something of the far smaller Cross that You give me to Bear.
And help me Lord in this hour of need.
Thy will be done. Dammit. Thy will be done.
Charles Delacroix
Sunday 28 in Ordinary Time
Oh Lord help me to see in this something of the Cross that You bore; and something of the far smaller Cross that You give me to Bear.
And help me Lord in this hour of need.
Thy will be done. Dammit. Thy will be done.
Charles Delacroix
Sunday 28 in Ordinary Time
Mixed Feelings ...
I had forgotten to mention something that happened last night. I was taking the dog for a walk down at the cemetery. We visited Mom's grave, and then strolled down along a stream full of ducks and geese and even a few swans. The weather was wonderful, the sun was shining, the air was filled with the sounds of quacking and wings and splashing; the dog was delighted barking. Mom would have loved the scene.
And then the thought came to me: "Why should your heart not dance?" And I smiled. A big smile. Inside I felt this horrible emptiness still, but also felt in the midst a joy I haven't felt for some time.
"Why should your heart not dance?" is a line from CS Lewis's Till We Have Faces. Lewis's A Grief Observed is such a wonderful record of his own experience with bereavement; I had forgotten that Till We Have Faces has a wonderful sub-story of bereavement as well. I need to look up that book and read it again.
Now though I'm remembering that ... and also feeling this horrible, horrible sense of emptiness, hopelessness, purposelessness ... and of wrongness, that the universe is wrong, wrong, wrong. I've just started going through some of Mom's mail again ... I've been putting it off ... but now just really have to: I'm supposed to file her income taxes tomorrow. Back on April 15 I had filed extensions for both her and me ... something I've never done in my life but things were crazy at the time. And now both her and my 6-month extensions are set to expire. And I'm told there are no more extensions. And I'm to go ahead and prepare her return even though I'm no longer DPOA since her decease. I'm following advice in all this and am sure this is the thing to do. But oh ... I'll admit ... I've been putting this off and putting this off ... and now looking at her mail, with her name on it ... looking at her financial this and that ... it seems so horribly horribly Wrong of the Universe. She's supposed to be here doing this. Not me.
But of course it is me. It's my duty to my Mom. I agreed to do all these kinds of things. No one made me agree to do this. I wanted to: I wanted to do whatever I could, anything I could, for Mom. And so it's this. I agreed to do it, for her, so by God Himself, and by His Grace, I'll do it.
But oh God oh God oh God ... how it hurts and hurts and hurts. I just want to run away. That old thought of running whenever something comes up that I deeply deeply don't want to deal with. Nothing new there. I tend to think of running to Alaska, or Florida, or Anywhere Else.
Can't run away though. Promised. Promised Mom. Promised God.
OK. Here goes. I'll do it. Damn. I'll do it. Damnit.
And then the thought came to me: "Why should your heart not dance?" And I smiled. A big smile. Inside I felt this horrible emptiness still, but also felt in the midst a joy I haven't felt for some time.
"Why should your heart not dance?" is a line from CS Lewis's Till We Have Faces. Lewis's A Grief Observed is such a wonderful record of his own experience with bereavement; I had forgotten that Till We Have Faces has a wonderful sub-story of bereavement as well. I need to look up that book and read it again.
Now though I'm remembering that ... and also feeling this horrible, horrible sense of emptiness, hopelessness, purposelessness ... and of wrongness, that the universe is wrong, wrong, wrong. I've just started going through some of Mom's mail again ... I've been putting it off ... but now just really have to: I'm supposed to file her income taxes tomorrow. Back on April 15 I had filed extensions for both her and me ... something I've never done in my life but things were crazy at the time. And now both her and my 6-month extensions are set to expire. And I'm told there are no more extensions. And I'm to go ahead and prepare her return even though I'm no longer DPOA since her decease. I'm following advice in all this and am sure this is the thing to do. But oh ... I'll admit ... I've been putting this off and putting this off ... and now looking at her mail, with her name on it ... looking at her financial this and that ... it seems so horribly horribly Wrong of the Universe. She's supposed to be here doing this. Not me.
But of course it is me. It's my duty to my Mom. I agreed to do all these kinds of things. No one made me agree to do this. I wanted to: I wanted to do whatever I could, anything I could, for Mom. And so it's this. I agreed to do it, for her, so by God Himself, and by His Grace, I'll do it.
But oh God oh God oh God ... how it hurts and hurts and hurts. I just want to run away. That old thought of running whenever something comes up that I deeply deeply don't want to deal with. Nothing new there. I tend to think of running to Alaska, or Florida, or Anywhere Else.
Can't run away though. Promised. Promised Mom. Promised God.
OK. Here goes. I'll do it. Damn. I'll do it. Damnit.
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