So sometime ago I decided to write a blog, but like most things I start it got pushed to the back burner for the mundane craziness of everyday life. But it is far past time to check back in. So here is entry number 3.
I am what is often referred to as a "Cradle Catholic", born and raised in the faith from day one. I went to Parochial school, I went to Mass every Sunday,every holy day, every day in Lent and I think Advent as well. In school we prayed the Rosary everyday in May and October (the months of Mary) and had a May Procession to honor Mary in you guessed it, May. In order to miss Mass I had to have a fever of at least 100, my mother's criteria, and we did not often meet that mark. My childhood parish, Immaculate Conception in Winchester, had a CYO (Catholic Youth Organization) which I took part in and a pastor named Fr. Herbert K.A. Driscoll, a man who was very scary. Not because of anything bad he did, but because he was not overly pleasant, he was the pastor and I was a little girl so he seemed intimidating.
As I grew up, I went to Mass until I graduated from high school, and then slowly trickled down until I wasn't going at all through my 20's and into my early 30's. At this point, I was living in Beverly, MA and often wondered about that big red brick church on Cabot Street, St. Mary Star of the Sea. My life was at a point were I felt returning to my faith would be a good thing. So one weekend I decided it was time, checked the Mass schedule and off I went. At first it was strange, I felt out of place, maybe I was gone too long, so much was familiar but....The priests at the time were pleasant, Fr. Johnson the pastor, Fr. Beaulieu, Fr. Mehm, then Fr. Foley, Fr. Geary and Fr. Hughes the pastor that replaced Fr. Johnson. They were all pleasant and for the most part their sermons were all okay. I kept going, usually sitting quietly in the back, sometimes wondering why I was going as I still felt disconnected. Then a young priest joined the parish, Fr. David Barnes.
When Fr. Barnes first came to us he was nothing amazing - just a very pleasant young priest that gave very dry homilies (sorry Padre). By this time, I had met my future husband, Bob, and we started attending Mass together. Then we got married, had children and eventually enrolled the kids in the parish school. Fr. Johnson retired and slowly all the other priests were transferred, except Fr. Barnes. We watched him grow from young new priest to exemplary pastor. His sermons were a joy to listen to, sometimes they stung as they hit a little too close to home, sometimes they were sad, sometimes funny, always personal and always he tied the Gospel into our everyday lives. I loved his bulletin messages and looked forward to his blogs, A Shepherds Post, once he stated writing those. Under Fr. Barnes, St. Mary's flourished. Young people from area colleges started coming, he sent young men to the Seminary to study for the priesthood, often the rectory was filled with other priests, seminarians and those hoping to enter the seminary. The church was filled with young families and he was a strong supporter of the parish school, St. Mary Star of the Sea School. All the school kids loved Fr. Barnes, and his dog Finbar and he enjoyed them. He did so many great things I cannot possible name them all here. Perhaps his most admirable quality was his availability to his parishioners. He was great a friend to so many of us and genuinely cared for all.
But.... all this came to an end. The one thing I will never ever understand is why the institutional church does what it does. The Archdiocese of Boston decided to form collaboratives of parishes mainly to compensate for the priest shortage. I can understand that, in fact I don't think it is wrong at all. What I do think is wrong is that the Archdiocese asked all pastors to submit a letter of resignation for probable reassignment. If you read the goals of the reorganization, then St. Mary's met or exceeded all of them and Fr. Barnes was the reason. He was already in charge of two of the three Catholic churches in Beverly and knew people at the third. If this was a corporation, then Fr. David Barnes would have been the obvious choice to lead the newly formed collaborative.
But....this is the Catholic Church and as much as I love the spiritual side, the prayers, the rituals, the beauty of the Mass, I dislike what the powers that be do. I am fairly certain that most people wanted Fr. Barnes to stay - we all loved him, he had become our friend, he helped so many of us through so many bad times and he shared so many good times. For my family, that was Christmas Eve dinner for years among many other great times. Six hundred people turned out to say goodbye, all with tears in their eyes. It was a forced break-up that no one wanted. I would just like an explanation as to their logic. I even called the office of pastoral planning - that was pointless. The institution of the Catholic Church would do well to listen to its people that fill the pews every week and not continue to shut out our feelings.
I pray for my beloved St. Mary's that it will continue on the path so strongly built by Fr. Barnes over the past 9 years as our pastor, 13 in total with us. I would hate to see it all fall apart because our voices were never heard. I am hopeful that our new pastor will be a good man, but he has very big shoes to fill and a church full of broken hearts. Let the mending begin.....
Tuesday, June 4, 2013
Wednesday, May 9, 2012
On Death and Dying
The death of our parents is something we all expect. After all, it is the natural order of things, right? But when and how it happens, well the reality of it is as varied as the families it impacts.
Five months ago, I lost my mother. While she was not the picture of health, at 81 she was better off than most. Her biggest problem was arthritis and her inability to move. After two successful knee replacements, she was faced with never moving again or having a hip replacement. She opted for surgery, I am afraid as a result of our encouraging her and giving her a hard time about sitting all day. The hip replacement went fine, until it all fell apart. You see, the blood thinners they gave her after surgery opened the floodgates on a bleeding ulcer she was unaware of, which then ruptured. Emergency surgery immediately followed and on her away into the operating room she said to me, "Janie I think you should transfer me" to which I replied, "I can't, you are too sick". Those are the last words I ever spoke to my mother. She never woke up from surgery, and spent an agonizing two weeks hooked up to every machine and drug modern medicine could throw at her. We, my dad who had 54 beautiful years with her, my sister and I, never had our good byes, never had the chance to thank her for all she had done, (and it was so much for so many), never got in that last I love you, never got to apologize for how harsh we had at times been to her over the last year when she just sat all day, only because the pain in her hip was so bad. We were with her every day, held her hand, I played Kris Kristofferson for her on my iPod, we told her we loved her, we begged her to come to, we prayed to God for a miracle. But, to no avail. It was her time. While we had no feedback from her, I hope she heard us, I hope she knew we were there, I hope she knew how much we wanted her to stay with us.
Five months and two days after my mother breathed her last, my mother-in-law followed her to heaven. Her death was the exact opposite of my mothers. She had been very ill for some time with a variety of serious ailments. Nora had her hip replaced the same week in November my mother did, and we all were afraid she would not survive back then, never thinking my mother would succumb back then. But she was a tough Irish Lady, and whatever medical crisis was thrown at her she stood up to it and beat it back, again and again. But, she, and her family, knew she was on borrowed time. When she fell last week and was hospitalized yet again, everyone knew this time it was serious. So the five beautiful children she raised and her husband of 53 years gathered round her bedside for their final goodbyes, and in Nora's case, her final orders to them all. Pay the bills, live your faith, (her Catholic faith was the thread that made the fabric of her life), what she wanted for her funeral mass, and, while I wasn't present, I am sure there were many I love you's exchanged. Her six remaining siblings all filed in and out, heartbroken at the thought of losing the big sister that helped raise them, and the leader of the Fitzgibbon family.
I was there when both of these great ladies breathed there last. In this last act, they were identical. They both had that horrible gurgle that accompanies our last breaths, The inhale/ exhale getting further apart. This was the time that I imagine them walking towards the light, shedding their earthly pains and seeing the face of God. It was hard when my mother-in-law passed away, it brought back all the pain of my own mother, still fresh in my heart and mind. But I loved her as well, and I owed it to her and her family to be there for them all, particularly my husband.
While the two experiences were quite different, the outcome was sadly the same. Death is never easy, and the family left behind is heartbroken. We hope to all have the chance to say good bye, but it is not always the case. While those you love are still alive, be generous with the "I love you's" let them know how much you appreciate them. You never know when it will be the last time they hear your voice.
Five months ago, I lost my mother. While she was not the picture of health, at 81 she was better off than most. Her biggest problem was arthritis and her inability to move. After two successful knee replacements, she was faced with never moving again or having a hip replacement. She opted for surgery, I am afraid as a result of our encouraging her and giving her a hard time about sitting all day. The hip replacement went fine, until it all fell apart. You see, the blood thinners they gave her after surgery opened the floodgates on a bleeding ulcer she was unaware of, which then ruptured. Emergency surgery immediately followed and on her away into the operating room she said to me, "Janie I think you should transfer me" to which I replied, "I can't, you are too sick". Those are the last words I ever spoke to my mother. She never woke up from surgery, and spent an agonizing two weeks hooked up to every machine and drug modern medicine could throw at her. We, my dad who had 54 beautiful years with her, my sister and I, never had our good byes, never had the chance to thank her for all she had done, (and it was so much for so many), never got in that last I love you, never got to apologize for how harsh we had at times been to her over the last year when she just sat all day, only because the pain in her hip was so bad. We were with her every day, held her hand, I played Kris Kristofferson for her on my iPod, we told her we loved her, we begged her to come to, we prayed to God for a miracle. But, to no avail. It was her time. While we had no feedback from her, I hope she heard us, I hope she knew we were there, I hope she knew how much we wanted her to stay with us.
Five months and two days after my mother breathed her last, my mother-in-law followed her to heaven. Her death was the exact opposite of my mothers. She had been very ill for some time with a variety of serious ailments. Nora had her hip replaced the same week in November my mother did, and we all were afraid she would not survive back then, never thinking my mother would succumb back then. But she was a tough Irish Lady, and whatever medical crisis was thrown at her she stood up to it and beat it back, again and again. But, she, and her family, knew she was on borrowed time. When she fell last week and was hospitalized yet again, everyone knew this time it was serious. So the five beautiful children she raised and her husband of 53 years gathered round her bedside for their final goodbyes, and in Nora's case, her final orders to them all. Pay the bills, live your faith, (her Catholic faith was the thread that made the fabric of her life), what she wanted for her funeral mass, and, while I wasn't present, I am sure there were many I love you's exchanged. Her six remaining siblings all filed in and out, heartbroken at the thought of losing the big sister that helped raise them, and the leader of the Fitzgibbon family.
I was there when both of these great ladies breathed there last. In this last act, they were identical. They both had that horrible gurgle that accompanies our last breaths, The inhale/ exhale getting further apart. This was the time that I imagine them walking towards the light, shedding their earthly pains and seeing the face of God. It was hard when my mother-in-law passed away, it brought back all the pain of my own mother, still fresh in my heart and mind. But I loved her as well, and I owed it to her and her family to be there for them all, particularly my husband.
While the two experiences were quite different, the outcome was sadly the same. Death is never easy, and the family left behind is heartbroken. We hope to all have the chance to say good bye, but it is not always the case. While those you love are still alive, be generous with the "I love you's" let them know how much you appreciate them. You never know when it will be the last time they hear your voice.
Monday, April 16, 2012
Letting Go....
Yesterday I dropped my oldest child, Ryan, at Logan Airport for a school service trip to Jamaica. He is a sophomore at St. John's Prep in Danvers, MA and will be working at a Mustard Seed Community in Kingston, Jamaica for five days. While I am extraordinarily proud of him, I am feeling a bit selfish. It will be the first time in 15 years I will not speak with him or see him everyday and I am not sure I like it very much.
When Ryan was a baby, my father-in-law said to me that children were not ours forever, they are only on loan to us from God until they grow up. I am not sure of the exact wording, but it was along those lines. At the time, I thought it was a very mean thing to say. Here I was, a brand new mother, holding my perfect, beautiful new baby and he was telling me he was only on loan. Why would he say such a thing? Wasn't this little bundle of joy going to be mine forever? I could not imagine a time when Ryan would not need me, want me, be with me - forever. Of course he would always be mine. But in what capacity?
Now that time has passed, he has grown up and I have grown wiser, I have begun to understand the words my father-in-law uttered all those years ago. Our children are on loan, in the form of a gift from God. They are ours to love and nurture from the day they are born, but until when? Is this trip the beginning of the end of the acute phase of my mothering him? I know he still needs me, but the job description has changed drastically over the past year. Up until recently, it was a gradual change through the various phases of child rearing. Now, I feel like we are riding a tidal wave that will crash on the shore the day I drop him at college. There is nothing subtle about the four years of high school. There is a gradual build-up to freshman year, then the power of the wave takes over. It travels very quickly and can be quite dangerous. They are surfing down the face and you are on the crest trying to hold on and guide them safely away from the dangerous white water. All the while, your control is getting more tenuous, just like the the wave beneath you.
My younger son, Alec who is just shy of 12, just said to me "it's quiet this week without Ryan". Yes it is. Aside from the usual noise between siblings, Ryan is an avid musician. Piano, guitar, trumpet, there is always some instrument in the background that is the soundtrack to our lives. I always told him I will miss his piano playing when he goes. I hate always being right. The house is eerily quiet.
I wrote last time about how being a mom is work and we are no different than women who work outside the home. The advantage they have over stay at home moms is this - moms that work outside the home finish a project and then get another one to do from their boss. When I finish my "Ryan" project, there will be no replacement. I will still have Betsy and Alec home, but like their big brother, they are a project that when completed at age 18, there will be no replacement. Then I will be out of work. Oh I know they will always need me on some level, just as I always needed my mom until the day God called her home. But I will no longer be at the center of their world, just as this week I am not in the center of Ryan's.
When Ryan was a baby, my father-in-law said to me that children were not ours forever, they are only on loan to us from God until they grow up. I am not sure of the exact wording, but it was along those lines. At the time, I thought it was a very mean thing to say. Here I was, a brand new mother, holding my perfect, beautiful new baby and he was telling me he was only on loan. Why would he say such a thing? Wasn't this little bundle of joy going to be mine forever? I could not imagine a time when Ryan would not need me, want me, be with me - forever. Of course he would always be mine. But in what capacity?
Now that time has passed, he has grown up and I have grown wiser, I have begun to understand the words my father-in-law uttered all those years ago. Our children are on loan, in the form of a gift from God. They are ours to love and nurture from the day they are born, but until when? Is this trip the beginning of the end of the acute phase of my mothering him? I know he still needs me, but the job description has changed drastically over the past year. Up until recently, it was a gradual change through the various phases of child rearing. Now, I feel like we are riding a tidal wave that will crash on the shore the day I drop him at college. There is nothing subtle about the four years of high school. There is a gradual build-up to freshman year, then the power of the wave takes over. It travels very quickly and can be quite dangerous. They are surfing down the face and you are on the crest trying to hold on and guide them safely away from the dangerous white water. All the while, your control is getting more tenuous, just like the the wave beneath you.
My younger son, Alec who is just shy of 12, just said to me "it's quiet this week without Ryan". Yes it is. Aside from the usual noise between siblings, Ryan is an avid musician. Piano, guitar, trumpet, there is always some instrument in the background that is the soundtrack to our lives. I always told him I will miss his piano playing when he goes. I hate always being right. The house is eerily quiet.
I wrote last time about how being a mom is work and we are no different than women who work outside the home. The advantage they have over stay at home moms is this - moms that work outside the home finish a project and then get another one to do from their boss. When I finish my "Ryan" project, there will be no replacement. I will still have Betsy and Alec home, but like their big brother, they are a project that when completed at age 18, there will be no replacement. Then I will be out of work. Oh I know they will always need me on some level, just as I always needed my mom until the day God called her home. But I will no longer be at the center of their world, just as this week I am not in the center of Ryan's.
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