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.

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?