One Last Visit

Good afternoon sweet family! I am posting from rainy, chilly Sequim Washington today. I am out here visiting Miss Christina and her wonderful family. I have loved reading each of your sincere posts and memories of Grandma. Like all of you, this family has been such a critical element in the foundation of every pillar of my life. Grandma taught me by her example how to worship the Creator of the universe and the Perfect Example of Love in Jesus Christ. She enforced, and Mom and Dad reinforced, a strict adherence to scholarship and self-development. None of these, however, would have taken root and blossomed without the warmth and love of family.

The last time I visited with her was in October when she spent a couple of days in the hospital with a pretty minor illness. She couldn’t really remember coming in to the hospital, only that she “felt much better BEFORE she came in.” Well she and I chatted a little bit about what I was doing- the same conversation about work, Army, Christina, 5 year plan in a 5 minute loop- and her habitual grumblings about the gown, and how much she hated being in the hospital. Then she paused for about a minute and asked “Do you think this is the end?” It caught me a little off guard, and I had to swallow hard, but I replied, “Well I don’t know! We certainly hope it isn’t! But even if it is Grandma, you can rest peacefully knowing your children and grandchildren have grown to be happy and healthy, loved and successful.” She was pretty content with that answer, and her mood certainly lifted. “You know,” she said with her little chuckle, “I am ready for the good Lord to take me. But I really like it here, I think if He will let me, I will just stick around a little while longer.” I had to swallow a little harder that time.

We were holding hands, and the tears were welling in my eyes, but I was very content. She and I had talked about death and God and what is faith many times before. For the last few years, I have wondered if I had seen her for the last time: this same woman who hollered at me about elbows on the table and whiffle balls on the dining room window; the Christmas pro of posts past; the St. Gerard’s and Holy Spirit Parish Matriarch who used to be the impetus to decision making, which impacted our whole community. Now here she is: 91, coughing and wheezing with every word, but no less a powerful presence of determination, stubbornness, and submission only to the Will of her God. So I dug in my pocket and pulled out two of her old Rosaries, and asked if she would like to pray the ancient prayers of our faith together. She said she very much would like to.

She bowed her head- how many times had she bowed her head like that? With one eye closed tight and one eye lifted towards heaven and her beloved God, she began her prayers, deliberately and faithfully. Somewhere in the third decade, mid-Hail Mary the hospital priest walked in. Without missing a stride, he joined right in until we finished that decade. Then he asked if she would like to take Communion to which she replied to me: “Who the devil is that?” (she couldn’t see very well). I laughed and said it was Fr. Rafael, the hospital chaplain. He gave us Communion, we thanked him, he left and we resumed our Rosary. We finally got to the Hail Holy Queen and after about the second line “Our light, our sweetness, and our hope,” we both stopped, looked at each other, and she says, “What’s next?” I laughed and said, “all of a sudden I don’t remember!” She laughed a big, hearty laugh, which drew some more coughs then a few more conservative chuckles. The words finally came to me “To thee do we cry…” and we finished our Rosary.

She squeezed my hand and said it was the best Rosary she had prayed- I could hardly disagree- and that the visit from the priest was pretty special- providence I would say. We talked a little more about life, how proud she was of our family, how impressed she was with all of our successes. I was choking down tears again when she looked right into my eyes, my soul and told me she was awfully proud of the man I had become. Like my mother remarked early, she was not one to tell you she loved you, but she gave me a big hug and said, “I love you, Nicko!” I left the hospital room with the floodgates open, and peace in my heart.

I will never, ever forget that visit. While it broke my heart that circumstances would not allow for me to attend her funeral 2 months later, I have felt at peace, knowing she is at peace. I was able to come home that weekend and visit her and Grandpa’s burial site. I brought with me her Rosary, meaning to leave it at the stone. While sharing stories and prayers with Jake, Dee, Madison, Mom, and Dad, I thought better of it. These beads will just weather and fade, unused while the world around them moves on for better or worse. A much better tribute would be to keep these beads, to remind me to worship the Creator- paying tribute to providence and casting myself in Jesus’s mold. She would be far better memorialized with me on my knees rotating these beads, reciting these ancient prayers, and meditating on the mysteries surrounding them, than leaving them to litter the cemetery grounds.

After this week, I go back to my life, and sometimes that is a hard place to go. There are many stresses, uncertainties, consolations, and desolations. Grandma has always been a constant- and it is painful to lose that. But she will never die. In our humble submission to the vast greatness of Creator and Creation, we emulate her! In our all of our respective pursuits to make this world a better place, she lives on! In the love, patience, and kindness we share as a family, her spirit thrives!

Merry Christmas, I love you all, and much joy, hope, love, and beauty in the new year!

Nick