Honoring the Memories

By Christine Capolino
February 4, 2010

Mom, she’s cold….”    So says my newly turned six year old in a concerned, anxious tone, as he caresses his Grandmother’s folded hands. Her make-up, beginning to wear thin and stain his white dress- shirt cuff is another mystery to him, but not bothersome. This was not a casual get together, a grandmother and grandson spending an afternoon together…  He, possibly regaling her with some math facts or a poem recently committed to memory; asking her to read aloud his latest favorite book; or sharing a recently created masterpiece for her refrigerator. She, possibly bowled over in mock surprise at having lost the current checkers tournament; enthralled at the latest CYO trophy acquired; or herding him into the kitchen to assist her in beginning dinner.

           No, this would be their final “get together.” My son’s Grandmother, my Mom, is laid out in her coffin, and surrounded by a myriad of carnations and gladiolas and a wealth of Mass cards. Each time another individual comes to pay respects, he has to move off the kneeler, where he has been holding court since the funeral home opened its doors to us this afternoon. In his mind, this is his wake for his Nanny and he has a hold on that spot. He reluctantly moves when we explain that Nanny was loved by many; they need to “visit” with her and “say goodbye” as well. Many approach the coffin a number of times; they are not visiting obligatorily. They want time after a chat with a relative unseen since who-knows-when, to just kneel, pray and ponder. They gaze, sometimes, at the crucifix over the coffin, sometimes at Mom, sometimes at the beautiful flowers.

             So, both my sons watch this parade of humanity gently making its way to the front of the room, chatting amongst themselves, reaching out to embrace someone who hasn’t been seen in “too long.”  The many decorations pinned to the coffin and accessories Mom  wears, as well as the stories emotionally attached to them, cause me to realize the impact that all of this has on all of us:  The dress Mom is wearing, a lovely soft hue of green worn at another special grandson’s (my nephew’s) wedding a year earlier …..“I want to get my money’s worth! Bury me in it!” she laughingly told us after she and my sister picked it up. ……… The amethyst ring Dad gave for her 21st birthday some 67 years earlier. She never liked it, was not a jewelry wearer other than some adornment crafted by her grandchildren… This ring was one of few pieces she owned. ”But Daddy doesn’t know; it’ll hurt his feelings……I can’t believe he picked this out…something an OLD WOMAN would wear!”  Hah………  And the pictures. The albums that fill the tables, the collages that line the perimeter of the room. Stories of much love and many good times; dozens, hundreds of lives touched, are held within those. Some in a small way; some fleetingly. All important. And this is the course for all who lose someone born to Eternal Life.

               How do we each, in our own way, peel away our levels of grief? What of this depth of sadness, when we unpack a well worn Christmas decoration, decades of memories held within; or when our glances fall upon random photos throughout our homes that evoke a long ago, stored away memory; or when a homily is laced with references so reminiscent of a lost individual, that the celebrant might well be calling out his name? And, how about those who have no faith? How is it possible that anyone continue their earthly lives without a beloved, along a journey devoid of the belief in life everlasting?

               When we are faced with a loss, it is certain that our little ones are attempting to fit the confusing fragments together as well. None of us are strangers to grief; as we travel through life, we heal along with our children and learn to remember, honor and look forward. So, now my children have no earthly grandparents; all of them are “our special saints,” as my oldest states. We keep alive the memory of all of their grandparents by perpetually sharing stories of wacky, serious and proud moments. When one of the children becomes wistful, wishing Grandpa “could be here with us,” as when we toured the World War II memorial in Washington DC this summer, the other says, “He is here with us.” And we take a picture of them sitting on the ridges engraved “Leyte Gulf” and “Manila,” since that is where their grandfather was two generations ago before most of the people respectfully wandering the Memorial, were even born. Without a doubt, they know, truly know that they will meet again in Heaven and spend eternity.

             How did that happen? How are they so confident that this is so? Well, Sunday after Sunday, reaffirming this belief with their parish community in The Apostles’ Creed: “I believe in the resurrection of the body and life everlasting.”  Reading and learning The Baltimore Catechism. Book number 2, lesson 14 includes questions such as “What is meant by the resurrection of the body?” and “Why will the bodies of the just rise?” initiate deep discussion and actually provide comfort to our children as well as giving them a base understanding of our Catechism of life and death.

            There are a myriad of books for all ages that compassionately aid in our children’s understanding of death. Those which illuminate our Catholic doctrine of eternal life, making it “accessible” and not to be feared, are also plentiful. Some of the stand outs include Grandpa, Is There a Heaven? by Katherine Bohlmann, What Happened When Grandpa Died? by Peggy Barker and Wait until Then by Randy Alcorn, all available through www.christianbooks.com.

          Celebrating a saint whose feast day falls when a loved one passes can be healing. As I write this, it is my Mom’s first anniversary, January 25, and the feast day of St. Paul. Reading his biography and discussing the quiet humility he displayed while spreading the Word and in the wake of his execution, is a humbling and appropriate act for all of us as we remember Mom. An informative, yet reflective story of the life of St Paul can be found in 57 Stories of Saints by Anne Eileen Heffernan, available through www.adoremusbooks.com. Ours is well worn and read on various feast days.

         During the prayer service on the final night of Mom’s wake, my husband and I were taken aback, when my then eight year old, wished to get up in front of the room and share a memory.  Among all those story fragments swirling around the room spun by friends, neighbors and family, he felt comfortable that his memory of his Nanny was worthy of being shared as well as the others’. This was one small thought that would carry him through the days and even years ahead when thinking of what his Nanny means to him. And he did. He shared some silliness of a song his Nan sung off key while bearing the brunt of our hysterics to this oft requested melody, being a good sport about it, welcoming it.

              So, it seems that it is amid the laughter, the memories, that we all eventually emerge beyond the sadness. Enveloped within our doctrine of eternal life, we not only accept, but look with anticipation. As my youngest offhandedly commented while perusing scrapbooks, noting the many smiling faces of the grandparents, aunts and uncles who have gone before us, “All the people we love and will love in our lives but haven’t even met yet, will be waiting when we get there.”

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