Of life, death and painful things...

Not exactly an uplifting post title, dear reader, but some days are just like that. And I'm once again delving into the news, it's been a painful stretch for that it seems. This will be just a short post, but it's something that is on my mind, as I'm sure it is on yours.

Last night, I picked up my phone during a quiet moment and opened up my Facebook app. The first post in my timeline related the news of Robin Williams' death. My sadness antennae immediately went up. Similar to all of you, I'm certain, I've lost count of the number of movies I've seen with Robin Williams gracing the screen. But as if to make it worse, I knew he couldn't be very old, so a quick Google search was in order. My age suspicions were immediately confirmed (only 63 years old), along with the horrifying news that the death was apparently a suicide.

Suicide. That word alone gives me the chills. My family went though a difficult time last year with the death of one of our own via suicide. I just re-read that post, and it brought back the memory of how cathartic it was to write it, and it's cathartic for me now to read it anew. The desperation that the person must feel to believe that this is the less painful way of dealing with things...I just can't even imagine that. And I suppose that's the point. We can't imagine what the person is thinking and feeling, and that leaves us feeling frustrated, hurt, and maybe even angry. This is normal, and we just have to wrestle our way through it as best we can. We wish that we could have helped, but in life there is no way to go back and have a re-do. Gosh, how many times I have dwelt on this little bit of wisdom! :) All we can do is pray, and hope that in the future, we'll get an opportunity to help someone else.

In times like these, I find so much solace in our Catholic faith. I opened my August issue of Magnificat this morning (feast of St. Jane Frances de Chantal, by the way ;-), patron of widows, parents separated from children, and against in-law problems, there's your interesting factoid of the day) and what do I see as a reflection on today's chosen Psalm for Morning Prayer?

"Make us know the shortness of our life, that we may gain wisdom of heart. A human life may sometimes look too short to be worth much, but God, who sees the works of his hands from the perspective of enduring love, clothes even the passing wildflowers with splendor. We are only dust - but beloved dust."

Concluding Prayer: "O God of wisdom and of love, you have made us as fragile as the flowers of the field, yet you have made us strong in the hope of life everlasting. Teach us to see this day as gift enough, that we may live it for your glory and render it back to you in praise when evening falls, through our Lord Jesus Christ, your Son, who lives and reigns with you in the unity of the Holy Spirit, one God for ever and ever. Amen."

We always have so much to be grateful for, yes? Even in the midst of tragedy.

A tribute to a wonderfully kind and funny man...

This morning as I drove into work, I was contemplating what to write about today. I had a few ideas, but thought of saving those for 7 Quick Takes tomorrow. Then, in light of current events which I will talk about in a moment, I thought: what's the point of "saving" things for another time? The older I get, the more I realize how precious and fleeting life really is. Things simply don't always proceed the way you plan or expect. As I recall EWTN foundress Mother Angelica once saying: "Nothing lasts forever, Honey." On this earth that is, as difficult as that is to accept.

And so yesterday, I was working along at my computer, when suddenly I saw a new email notification come into my inbox. The subject read: "Death of Professor _______." I immediately gasped out loud, and with the thin walls over here, that means both of my office neighbors heard me and likely thought I had injured myself. I'll call the professor in question "Dr. B" because I'm weird about using last names on this blog, it's the paranoia in me. :)

I knew Dr. B. He taught philosophy here at the university at which I work, and has been here for over 50 years. He was also one of Mike's mentors here when Mike was obtaining his Ph.D. in philosophy just before we got married. Dr. B specialized in Kant, ethics, and the philosophy of religion, and was a devout Lutheran. In philosophy, whether you're a theist or an atheist is rather a big deal, and he felt strongly that all students should study religion from an objective perspective because of its importance to our history and way of thinking.

Besides philosophy, he taught a course called World Civilizations, and that is how I knew him. Every semester, he would ask me to come and teach a session on finding material for a research assignment to his 230 student class. Needless to say, I found this very intimidating. :0 (outcome of that original panic-stricken post over here for any interested parties). No other professor has ever wanted me to teach in their large lecture class like that, they would break it up into smaller segments. Not Dr. B. He liked things done a certain way, and he was sure I was up to the task when I inherited the library liaison responsibility to the World Civ. course.

He always provided me with his assignment and request for instruction in a timely manner. When I arrived at his classroom, he was *always* looking dapper and wearing a jacket and tie. He was supremely cordial and professional. He commanded respect by his presence, and I *never* called him by his first name even in an informal email. He expected his students to do research and write a coherent college-level paper, which not all professors here do anymore.

He had high expectations for his students, but was always kind and accommodating to answering questions. He had a reputation for having a stash of chocolate in his desk for if you were having a bad day when you came to see him, and if you were having a REALLY bad day, a flask of scotch. :0

I taught for him this past February (if you read that post, the followup is that a few days later, he sent me the nicest email saying: "My apologies for the omitted '0' on the note confirming your presentation, resulting in your room search Tuesday." I mean seriously, the man is a gem), and the last time I saw him was later in the spring semester, just walking through campus.

"Hello, Dr. B!"

"Good day to you." *tip of his hat*

There is not another faculty member on campus as gentlemanly and unique as he.

And so when I saw that email, I gasped out loud, and started reading the obituary that was contained therein. Then I started to cry. I never looked forward to those big classes because being in front of so many people really brings out my anxiety, but I always enjoyed working with Dr. B, and I will miss that so much. Mike took the news hard, too. He had always admired Dr. B, and couldn't wait to hear my amusing stories after I taught for him every semester. His death feels very sudden, although based on his obituary, I can tell that he was a lot older than we thought he was. He easily looked 10-20 years younger, but he must have been well into his 80's.

One final anecdote: for a two year spell, I was on the Faculty Senate here. *cue an agonizing musical selection in the background* PAINFUL. Long, tedious meetings, filled with academics who very much enjoy hearing themselves talk. The shining light was always Dr. B. He was a Parliamentarian for the Faculty Senate, and would intercede when needed for interpretations of the necessary bylaws. I can think of few things more horrifically boring than that, but Dr. B took his charge very seriously and with relish. He was always standing in the back of the room (he had a back problem that made it painful for him to sit for any length of time) waiting patiently with his laptop propped onto a table for when his services were needed.

One day a particularly gruesome meeting was underway. The usual chair was absent, and the discussion was quickly deteriorating into chaotic ego enhancing nuances. Some of the faculty were arguing about some university policy, and several stated that they felt the policy should be amended to reflect their thoughts on the matter (naturally). Several of them termed this "a friendly amendment." The person running the meeting finally got a word in edgewise (no easy feat with that group):

"Let's ask our Parliamentarian for the procedure on adding an amendment to the policy."

*Dr. B straightens and calmly walks to the center of the room, sans laptop*

"Well, I am glad that you asked. First of all, there is *no such thing* as a FRIENDLY AMENDMENT. Bylaw section 85, subsection (a)(4) clearly states that........ Furthermore..."

All off the top of his head. He had been reading up while they were all arguing. :0 I had to physically restrain my face not to burst out laughing. The "friendly amendment" crowd was shut down summarily and without further ado. That was, without a doubt, the highlight moment of my two years in the Faculty Senate. He was just totally without ego or guile. A breath of fresh air.

I will miss him very much. Let's all wing up a prayer for the repose of his soul, and for the comfort of his family today. As ever, your prayers are much appreciated. :)

The comfort of liturgy

I sense that this will be a multi-post day :) so stay tuned for some belly dance talk if you enjoy that sort of thing. But it's been a tough couple of days and I wanted to write a bit about that first.

Death is one of those situations in which we take comfort in ritual and being in the presence of others, of our community. And ritual doesn't just involve a religious ceremony. The "wake" process always struck me as being a death ritual that many people find great comfort in. Having the deceased laid out for us to pay our respects to and pray in front of their mortal remains, leaving flowers, gathering together to talk and support each other, processing to the cemetery, etc.

And as a Catholic, I obviously find great sacredness, joy, and comfort in religious ritual and liturgy. It struck me anew yesterday at the funeral, which was at a Christian church of a decidedly non-liturgical bent. We sang some hymns, the pastor presented a sermon, the associate pastor read some scripture. All of these are very good things, things that Catholics do too, of course. :) I just find such great comfort in the standard words and pace of the Mass, in physical sacramentals like holy water and incense, in the presence of holy reminders like icons, statutes, candles and stained glass, in the Eucharist. Everything feels empty to me without the Eucharist, but I understand that not everybody believes as I do.

I'm certain plenty of non-Catholics feel uncomfortable in a Catholic worship experience, so it goes both ways. But I did miss my Catholic "stuff" yesterday quite a bit. This church, though, was very welcoming and the pastors very kind.

We're all still incredibly sad but glad to have the formal events behind us since those do suck the life right out of you. I found out about Michael's death this past Sunday morning, right before I went to Mass for the feast of Pentecost. To be honest, I didn't really feel like going anywhere after I found out, but I knew that Mass would be soothing, and it was. As I reflected on the death of someone that I loved, I realized that someone was being baptized during the Mass. Not an infant, but a young girl of maybe 13. She had on a beautiful white dress, it was so lovely. So it was a full circle sort of day. Someone had died, but there is also life, and where there is life, there is hope.

After Mass Henry and I lit a 7 day vigil candle for Michael. Henry's dream is always lighting a candle after Mass, and he was thrilled to be able to get "the big one." I appreciated having him there with me.

What a weekend...

And although there was a lot of good that happened this weekend, I don't mean that title in the good sense. I'll write separate posts about my hafla and Anne's birthday and my sister's visit, but everything was overshadowed this weekend by a tragic event.

Sunday morning I found out that my mom's first cousin, whom I've known and loved throughout my life, had died. That's always tragic, obviously, and he was only in his 60's. But to make the news even more difficult to bear is the fact that he took his own life.

Suicide. That single word brings forth pain in a way that is just unspeakable.

When somebody dies, in our human nature we want answers. How did they die? *Why* did they die? And with suicide, it's really impossible to get inside somebody's head to understand what would drive them to feel that this is their only option. I don't know right now if he left a note or not, but even then, those left behind never have the answers that they feel they need.

We're all still very much grappling with this news and the wake and funeral hang on the horizon like depressing black clouds. It feels surreal, like he isn't really gone, and nobody can picture the man that we knew doing this.

But let me tell you a little bit about him, because it's a beautiful story, albeit tragic. His name is Michael. He comes from a devout Catholic family. His mom, Marie, and father, John (both now deceased) were devoted to each other, to their children, and to their Catholic faith. When the rest of their extended family left the Church for nondenominational Christianity, Aunt Marie would love to come talk to us about her love of the Blessed Mother and the rosary since we were one of the few remaining Catholics in the family on that side.

She told me a story once that I never forgot. When Michael was a little boy, she was very much wanting to conceive another child. She had some sort of health complication, and her doctor told her that he didn't think she would conceive again. Thus, she developed a prayer plan. Every day in 9 day segments, she would take little Michael and they would go to church to pray a novena in front of a statue of the Blessed Mother, asking the Lord to bless their family with another child.

After a time, she did conceive, and bore a healthy daughter that she named Francesca. Francesca was just a light in the family. She had this loud, infectious laugh that you could hear no matter where she was in the house. Michael did too, in fact. You could always identify their location based upon hearing them laugh, which was frequently. :)

Aunt Marie died when I was a teenager, and her husband John was just lost without her. He went to live with Francesca and her family. Not very long after, Francesca, who was in the mid-30's at the time, was diagnosed with breast cancer. She lived for a few more years with treatment, but died at age 38.

Her death was a devastating blow to the family. She had a husband and young children left behind, and now her dad was reeling even more. Francesca and Michael had both chosen to be members of an Assembly of God church as adults, but Uncle John never lost his Catholic faith. It was a source of comfort to him during this painful time.

This was one of my first experiences with Hospice care, and with seeing somebody die well before their time when we all knew it was coming. It was horrible. It always bothered me that Aunt Marie had prayed so hard for Francesca to be born and yet she died far too young.

Some years later, Uncle John passed away. And then there was just Michael.

He had a family. A wife, 2 grown daughters, and grandchildren. A successful career. Apparently his wife had started to suffer from dementia, although none of us knew this until this weekend. If this factored into the situation, I do not know. But my mom has spoken to him a lot recently and nothing ever seemed amiss. On Wednesday, I posted a photo of Anne on Facebook, and he commented on how beautiful she is. I clicked the "like" button on his comment. I've "seen" him a lot on Facebook over the past couple of years, and I enjoyed having him called to mind since I didn't physically see him much in my day-to-day life outside of big family events.

He was extremely affable, easy going, funny and sweet. Would do anything for you that you asked. His Facebook profile picture is of his grandchildren. I see that he checked into Facebook Wednesday evening via his mobile phone, that's when he saw Anne's picture and commented. Two days later he killed himself.

It's almost like my heart breaks for my Aunt Marie even though she isn't here anymore. This is her child. And I cry thinking about what he must have been thinking right before he did this. How much emotional pain he must have been in that none of us even knew about.

There are no answers, no explanations. And the older one gets, the more death you experience. It never gets easier.

Please pray for the repose of Michael's soul. He was a devout Christian, and I know that he would appreciate it.

This week I will post about the hafla and the party, both of which have some good stories attached, so stay tuned. But obviously, this was much more important. My heart is heavy, but I press on. What other choice do we have, really?