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Funeral

I willingly went to a funeral today for the first time in 23 years. I lost my father in 1989. Three years later, I ended up at the funeral for my grandfather's sister. I fell apart completely. I had to leave. I had a firm determination never to do that again.

But earlier this week, I found out that my dear friend Carol (Confirmation Sponsor Lady) had lost her mother. She and her husband know that I'd do anything for them. Of course I have to go. Just tell me when to show up. If I can get a little sentimental here, I don't think either of them realizes how special they are to me. And I'm not the only one.

Dad understands my reticence all this time, but I know he'd tell me to go, too. If I can take a moment and try to describe what it's like to lose a parent, I'll do my best, and I hope you're still with me.

It's like falling down in a well or a hole. The darkness is your anguish, but there is no floor. Somehow, time pulls you out, and you go on. But God puts the hole behind a locked door. He hands you the key. You may be able to talk about what's behind the door, but you don't open it. It's just a hole, after all. I'm not sure how I've told the story so many times without falling back in the hole.

But I go back behind the door at times, not of my own choosing. You don't really heal; you just learn what not to do. Or if you can't, you just know what a fall down the hole will cost you. My life waits, for the most part. And if not, tough. Those who are close to me have seen The Sadness From Nowhere. If not, maybe you have good timing.

I was worried today. I was worried that these people would be consoling me instead of Carol. But something happened. I don't understand it. God was there. His promises of eternal life in Christ were like the beats of our hearts. He was in the air. Today I knew like I have never known: This isn't the end. We heard the story again of how Pat made her peace with God, not only in her conversion, but in the days before she died. This was special to me in ways beyond words.

The Mass. For the Catholic, there is no purer joy on Earth. This is where the worlds meet, after all. I'm sure our words hardly do it justice, but they are still true. And so, with a few alterations, we did what we always do: sing the praises of God in His Son Jesus Christ. The Holy Spirit had surely opened our eyes.

I was not overcome by sadness; the moment came when the priest mentioned "choirs of angels," and I could hardly keep my breath. It was as though the idea had a piece of glory in it.

We went to commit her body to the ground. I'm not sure I've prayed that hard before. Days like this will test your faith; days like this will grow your faith. I still marvel at the liturgy of Mother Church; whatever we might say about the holiness of the people, the people who wrote these prayers have gospel coming out their ears. I felt my soul cling to each promise like a needy child.

Let me end by saying that the day felt like a turning point: where there had been hopeless anguish for me, there is simply hope. The days ahead may be filled with tears for my friends. This is good and right. But Carol will not be like that little boy on that winter day in 1989. May the Lord be praised for that.

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