Last time on the blog, I shared a story about a great joy in my life. Although the joys of my life are more abundant than I deserve, I cannot pretend that my life is without suffering. Suffering is often a great place to tell a story, because suffering brings people together in a very particular way. So today, I am going to shift gears, in honor of November being the month of prayer for the dead, and talk about my journey with grief.
My summer started and ended with loss. At the beginning of the summer my great grandmother passed away. At the end of the summer I lost my grandmother. Even though these two losses were only a few months apart, I handled the grieving process for each of them differently. For starters, my public grieving had to be different for both of them. GG was buried in a Protestant service done by the funeral home, while Grandma Bixby had a Catholic funeral in her lifelong parish. I think this outward difference made a huge internal difference for me in the way that I grieved. The Catholic funeral rite is one of my favorite liturgies. It ties up all the loose ends of the story of personal salvation, reminding the living of the baptism of the deceased, and focusing on the heavenly reward that awaits us all. When GG passed away, I knew that I would be missing that liturgical sense of completeness. I knew I would have to find a way to move on without a pall over the casket or incense or holy water or the final blessing at the graveside. And I was afraid of that. I didn't want to feel pain without an outlet of comfort, so I didn't really let myself process the whole thing.
To be fair, GG had been long suffering. I had been prepared for her to pass away because of a heart attack when I was in the sixth grade. I remember coming home from school and trying on funeral clothes that my mom bought, because the doctors, the do not resuscitate order, and GG's age had us all thinking it was just a matter of time. But, GG was nothing if not a survivor. She didn't pass away until the summer after my sophomore year of college. And when she did finally find her rest, it was at least the third time we had all been prepared for it. I think this prolonged journey of preparing to say goodbye had something to do with my reaction to her loss. Part of me couldn't actually believe it, while the other part of me had already said goodbye so long ago. In any case, I didn't cry like I would have expected. I mostly felt numb, which I have found is often my initial reaction to the news of someone's death. But this numbness accompanied me to the funeral, which, by the way, was a very nice service. I appreciated the love and care everyone put into it, and it was nice to hear kind words said about GG. It wasn't the grieving process I was used to, but it was still therapeutic and prayerful. I remember not wanting to be sad at the funeral. I remember letting the numbness carry me through most of the service, until the pall bearers walked up and opened up the casket. At this particular funeral home, it was customary to have the family walk up to the casket to have one last view of the loved one before proceeding to the graveside. That was when my control over my grief cracked, and I finally shed the tears that refused to flow. I know psychologists sometimes say that it is healthy to look at the body of the loved one for closure, but all I could think was, "Please, no, this is not how I want to remember her." GG didn't look a thing like GG anymore. Her body was way too small and shriveled. I could see the suffering that had plagued her last hours, and all I wanted to do was get back to my seat. That body was not the woman I remember and hope to see again in heaven someday. Combined with my unwillingness to give myself the necessary space to feel sorrow, seeing that body produced an experience of grief that was not overwhelmingly healthy or positive.
So what did I do? Well, not much at first, besides remember GG in my daily intentions, especially during my rosary. While this prayer could not take the place of public liturgy, it definitely brought solace to my heart to be able to remember my dear great grandmother's soul every day, and to have great trust that my prayer would be answered. I even offered my daily Saint Gertrude's prayer, a prayer Jesus promised would gain 1000 souls from purgatory to heaven, specifically for GG a few times. While all my private prayer definitely helped, I knew that I was deeply missing the public prayer of the Church. The weekend after GG died, I had placed her name on the list of prayer intentions for the weekend Masses, which was helpful, but hearing one name among a list on one weekend can only do so much to assuage grief. I still needed more. So of course, our gracious God answered the deepest longings of my heart.
One morning I woke up to my alarm telling me to get up for daily Mass at my parish. I was tired, and I told myself that I could sleep in a little and go to Mass in the evening at a church farther away. As I sat in bed contemplating this decision, I had a brief moment of self-knowledge in which I knew that if I didn't go in the morning, I wouldn't go at all. So I drug myself out of bed, and hustled to daily Mass. Nothing was particularly different about this Mass until we arrived at the prayers of the faithful which I am notoriously bad at focusing on. But this day, God gave me the grace to focus on each word so that I could hear that this Mass was being said for the repose of the soul of GG. I was struck right in the heart. Someone had taken the trouble to get Mass said for GG, something I had thought about doing, but had not quite gotten around to yet. I was beyond touched by this gesture. While it wasn't the funeral rite, it was still Mass said for the intention of her soul, and so it was the closest thing I could have to a Catholic funeral for GG. God gave me the grace to get myself out of bed so that I could experience this wonderful prayer and complete my grieving process. This Mass gave me a great sense of peace in my heart, and it was truly the impetus that let me both grieve properly and move forward from that grief.
This is the last time I saw GG. It was the day after her birthday, and I was so happy to celebrate with her. It was also the first time she ever met Patrick, which was very important for me to have happen. GG is one of the women who made me, and I needed her to meet my future husband, so that she could know what her great granddaughter was doing in her life. To the end, GG was stubborn, ornery, and exceedingly kind. It is these qualities about her that I will remember most, along with her spectacular quilting talent, her faith, and the way she passed down the history of our family.
On the other end of the summer, I lost Grandma Bixby. This time, I knew that I would need to grieve better. This time, I wasn't so afraid, because the ranks of my family had already begun to assemble near the end, and I knew they would catch me. I was actually moving into my apartment at school when we go the call that Grandma Bixby had passed, so I went to Mass on campus before I went home for the funeral. At Mass, Father prayed that we would receive the gift of tears, something that I definitely had not had in my previous grief. Ever since that Mass, my tears have flowed so much more readily. I went home for the funeral, and it was like I couldn't stop crying sometimes. I cried when I got home from the airport, when I arrived at the church, during the opening song, during the homily. I was shocked with my ability to cry instead of only feeling the normal numbness I associated with death. But what I discovered was that my tears were healing me. I felt a holy exhaustion by the way that I grieved.
I also discovered another tool to help me grieve. My family honored me by asking me to eulogize Grandma Bixby. I hadn't realized how cathartic talking about Grandma would be, but putting into words exactly what she meant to me was something that gave me great relief. I wish I could better describe the spiritual moment that happened in this grief, but the Holy Spirit stirred me when I wrote the eulogy, so I think nothing will be better than that. I want to share those words with you, but before I do, I want to take a moment to speak about my living family. For both funerals that I attended this summer, my family surrounded me. I cannot put into words the appreciation I feel for them for their presence in our shared suffering. To feel the love of my grandparents, aunts, uncles, and cousins is something I never tire of, and so to them especially I want to make my gratitude known. You all are the driving force in my life, and I would not have become myself without knowing each and every one of you. You all reveal to me the love of our God, and I know that knowing you is knowing already a future part of the communion of saints. I can look forward to heaven even more eagerly knowing you all will join me there.
I spoke a lot about my need for public liturgy to heal. This eulogy came at the end of Grandma's public liturgy. The combination of participating in the Mass and then speaking about the spiritual significance of Grandma's death was a complete healing moment for me. My grief is most certainly not gone, but it was healthily confronted by this experience. So without wasting anymore words, here is what I can tell you about Grandma:
Grandma is on the left in this picture. She made me too. I vividly remember when I came home from college for Fall break last year, and someone went up to her house to ask her to come to dinner. She didn't want to come until she heard I was home, and then shot right up and got her shoes on. Why someone loved me like that, I don't know, but it is a love that will mark me forever.
Being able to read that eulogy and see how the words God gave me affected others and aided them in their own grief was a truly remarkable experience. I had not felt God's presence so strongly in my life in a long time. This moment felt like God's hand was heavily present, much like the moment I ended up at GG's memorial Mass. That's the thing that I've noticed about God. He is so very present to His suffering children.
So what's the point of this really long blog post? Well, first to further remember the two wonderful women I lost this year. They were both so important to me, and I feel their loss every day. But second, to talk about grief. We don't talk about grief a lot. It is something we usually think of as private. But if my story of grieving well and grieving poorly says anything, it's that grief is something that has a public element. We are social creatures by nature, and so our greatest emotions must be felt and understood in relation to others. My grief was best made sense of when I could verbalize it and practice it within my religious culture. I needed the support of my family to understand it.
So maybe you're grieving from a recent loss, or maybe you never grieved a past loss well. Know that you're not alone. Pray that God grant you the gift of tears, and let those tears fall to heal you. When you let your own tears flow, you will likely find the tears and the embraces of others who will journey with you through your own suffering.
In this month of November especially, let us remember all who have died and sleep in the peace of Christ. We pray that God has granted them mercy and their eternal reward.
Live Jesus in our hearts, forever.
My summer started and ended with loss. At the beginning of the summer my great grandmother passed away. At the end of the summer I lost my grandmother. Even though these two losses were only a few months apart, I handled the grieving process for each of them differently. For starters, my public grieving had to be different for both of them. GG was buried in a Protestant service done by the funeral home, while Grandma Bixby had a Catholic funeral in her lifelong parish. I think this outward difference made a huge internal difference for me in the way that I grieved. The Catholic funeral rite is one of my favorite liturgies. It ties up all the loose ends of the story of personal salvation, reminding the living of the baptism of the deceased, and focusing on the heavenly reward that awaits us all. When GG passed away, I knew that I would be missing that liturgical sense of completeness. I knew I would have to find a way to move on without a pall over the casket or incense or holy water or the final blessing at the graveside. And I was afraid of that. I didn't want to feel pain without an outlet of comfort, so I didn't really let myself process the whole thing.
To be fair, GG had been long suffering. I had been prepared for her to pass away because of a heart attack when I was in the sixth grade. I remember coming home from school and trying on funeral clothes that my mom bought, because the doctors, the do not resuscitate order, and GG's age had us all thinking it was just a matter of time. But, GG was nothing if not a survivor. She didn't pass away until the summer after my sophomore year of college. And when she did finally find her rest, it was at least the third time we had all been prepared for it. I think this prolonged journey of preparing to say goodbye had something to do with my reaction to her loss. Part of me couldn't actually believe it, while the other part of me had already said goodbye so long ago. In any case, I didn't cry like I would have expected. I mostly felt numb, which I have found is often my initial reaction to the news of someone's death. But this numbness accompanied me to the funeral, which, by the way, was a very nice service. I appreciated the love and care everyone put into it, and it was nice to hear kind words said about GG. It wasn't the grieving process I was used to, but it was still therapeutic and prayerful. I remember not wanting to be sad at the funeral. I remember letting the numbness carry me through most of the service, until the pall bearers walked up and opened up the casket. At this particular funeral home, it was customary to have the family walk up to the casket to have one last view of the loved one before proceeding to the graveside. That was when my control over my grief cracked, and I finally shed the tears that refused to flow. I know psychologists sometimes say that it is healthy to look at the body of the loved one for closure, but all I could think was, "Please, no, this is not how I want to remember her." GG didn't look a thing like GG anymore. Her body was way too small and shriveled. I could see the suffering that had plagued her last hours, and all I wanted to do was get back to my seat. That body was not the woman I remember and hope to see again in heaven someday. Combined with my unwillingness to give myself the necessary space to feel sorrow, seeing that body produced an experience of grief that was not overwhelmingly healthy or positive.
So what did I do? Well, not much at first, besides remember GG in my daily intentions, especially during my rosary. While this prayer could not take the place of public liturgy, it definitely brought solace to my heart to be able to remember my dear great grandmother's soul every day, and to have great trust that my prayer would be answered. I even offered my daily Saint Gertrude's prayer, a prayer Jesus promised would gain 1000 souls from purgatory to heaven, specifically for GG a few times. While all my private prayer definitely helped, I knew that I was deeply missing the public prayer of the Church. The weekend after GG died, I had placed her name on the list of prayer intentions for the weekend Masses, which was helpful, but hearing one name among a list on one weekend can only do so much to assuage grief. I still needed more. So of course, our gracious God answered the deepest longings of my heart.
One morning I woke up to my alarm telling me to get up for daily Mass at my parish. I was tired, and I told myself that I could sleep in a little and go to Mass in the evening at a church farther away. As I sat in bed contemplating this decision, I had a brief moment of self-knowledge in which I knew that if I didn't go in the morning, I wouldn't go at all. So I drug myself out of bed, and hustled to daily Mass. Nothing was particularly different about this Mass until we arrived at the prayers of the faithful which I am notoriously bad at focusing on. But this day, God gave me the grace to focus on each word so that I could hear that this Mass was being said for the repose of the soul of GG. I was struck right in the heart. Someone had taken the trouble to get Mass said for GG, something I had thought about doing, but had not quite gotten around to yet. I was beyond touched by this gesture. While it wasn't the funeral rite, it was still Mass said for the intention of her soul, and so it was the closest thing I could have to a Catholic funeral for GG. God gave me the grace to get myself out of bed so that I could experience this wonderful prayer and complete my grieving process. This Mass gave me a great sense of peace in my heart, and it was truly the impetus that let me both grieve properly and move forward from that grief.
On the other end of the summer, I lost Grandma Bixby. This time, I knew that I would need to grieve better. This time, I wasn't so afraid, because the ranks of my family had already begun to assemble near the end, and I knew they would catch me. I was actually moving into my apartment at school when we go the call that Grandma Bixby had passed, so I went to Mass on campus before I went home for the funeral. At Mass, Father prayed that we would receive the gift of tears, something that I definitely had not had in my previous grief. Ever since that Mass, my tears have flowed so much more readily. I went home for the funeral, and it was like I couldn't stop crying sometimes. I cried when I got home from the airport, when I arrived at the church, during the opening song, during the homily. I was shocked with my ability to cry instead of only feeling the normal numbness I associated with death. But what I discovered was that my tears were healing me. I felt a holy exhaustion by the way that I grieved.
I also discovered another tool to help me grieve. My family honored me by asking me to eulogize Grandma Bixby. I hadn't realized how cathartic talking about Grandma would be, but putting into words exactly what she meant to me was something that gave me great relief. I wish I could better describe the spiritual moment that happened in this grief, but the Holy Spirit stirred me when I wrote the eulogy, so I think nothing will be better than that. I want to share those words with you, but before I do, I want to take a moment to speak about my living family. For both funerals that I attended this summer, my family surrounded me. I cannot put into words the appreciation I feel for them for their presence in our shared suffering. To feel the love of my grandparents, aunts, uncles, and cousins is something I never tire of, and so to them especially I want to make my gratitude known. You all are the driving force in my life, and I would not have become myself without knowing each and every one of you. You all reveal to me the love of our God, and I know that knowing you is knowing already a future part of the communion of saints. I can look forward to heaven even more eagerly knowing you all will join me there.
I spoke a lot about my need for public liturgy to heal. This eulogy came at the end of Grandma's public liturgy. The combination of participating in the Mass and then speaking about the spiritual significance of Grandma's death was a complete healing moment for me. My grief is most certainly not gone, but it was healthily confronted by this experience. So without wasting anymore words, here is what I can tell you about Grandma:
Veronica Griffin, or as many of us came to call her, Grandma
Bixby, was one of the kindest, most faithful, most generous individuals we have
ever known. No words could ever be adequate in memorializing her life, because
her life was its own homily. She taught her children and grandchildren how to
follow Christ in her words, actions, and love she had for all those around her.
Even though words will always fall short of encapsulating Grandma, words are
what we have to bring back tender memories of the woman we love for years to
come.
I think one
of the most important things to remember about Grandma is her name Veronica.
It’s important to remember, because her name is not just what we called her,
but it is the name that marked her as a child of God at her baptism, and the
name she shares with her patroness Saint Veronica who no doubt prayed for her
all her life. In fact, I think Saint Veronica was an especially effective
intercessor for our Veronica, because you can see traits of Saint Veronica’s
life in Grandma’s. Like Saint Veronica, Grandma was the true image of Christ,
Grandma loved recklessly, and Grandma lived bravely.
Grandma was
the true image of Christ. I said I wanted to remember Grandma’s name, and that
is because the original Saint Veronica was probably not named Veronica.
Veronica literally translates to “true icon,” a name given to the woman who
wiped Jesus’s face at his passion, an action which was rewarded by the
imprinted image of Christ on her cloth. The anonymous woman was given a name
that reflected what Christ did through her. She is not remembered because of
what she did with her own merit, but because of what she allowed Jesus to do
through her. She showed the world the true image or icon of Christ, and I could
not think of a more fitting name to describe who Grandma was. Grandma’s
identity was rooted in her Catholic faith, and she was an excellent disciple of
our Lord. She went to Mass daily, and she was always willing to serve those
around her whether it was helping watch children or hosting the Totus Tuus kids
at her house for a week. She made countless blankets for the Church’s newly
baptized, and she lifted up anyone in need of prayer. She truly showed everyone around her Christ
through her life.
Grandma
loved recklessly. Saint Veronica’s act of love for Christ was reckless. Imagine
a woman running through a crowd of bloodthirsty people, past Roman soldiers
with spears, to a condemned criminal, only to wipe the blood and sweat off the
face of a man who you also believe is God. This is a truly reckless love.
Grandma loved with the same abandon and disregard for what the crowds would
think or do. She took in not only her eight children, fourteen grandchildren,
and eleven great grandchildren, but other’s children and grandchildren as well.
And she loved them as if they were her own. She loved them unconditionally even
though she didn’t have to. I remember being shocked when I finally figured out
how family trees worked and realized mine was too big to actually be possible.
After finding out that the woman I called Grandma my whole life technically
wasn’t my grandmother, I was overwhelmed by the love she had for me. It didn’t
matter to her that I was not her blood relative, she took in my parents,
brothers, and I with a love I know I could never deserve. How reckless it is to
love someone who is not attached to you by familial obligation with the same
passion as if they were! How dangerous it could be to spend so much love on
others without the guarantee of them loving you in return. This is the love
Grandma poured out to everyone she called her family, which is the same
unconditional love that Christ calls us to.
Grandma
lived bravely. Not only was Veronica’s love reckless, but it was also
incredibly brave. The courage it must have taken to step through that crowd is
mind boggling, but Grandma possessed this same bravery in her heart.
Grandma was especially brave at the end of her life. One
night she was cold and started to yank the blanket away from Grandpa. Janet was
staying up with her and warned her that she would wake Grandpa up. Grandma
replied, “I know,” and kept pulling on the blanket. Janet then warned that Grandpa would be mad, but
Grandma replied, “I don’t care,” and took the blanket. The woman had nerves of steel.
In all seriousness, the bravest thing I have ever seen anyone
do, is Grandma carrying on after she lost her youngest child. The hardest thing
I have ever had to do is watch Grandma’s heart break under the crushing loss
that changed this family forever. It was a wound so deep that it was easy to
understand wanting to give up, to stop loving, to stop living joyfully, but
Grandma didn’t do that. Grandma rallied the family and brought us all to Mass.
Grandma rallied her own spirit and wrote a thank you note to every single
person who sent flowers, even though it made that wound bleed anew. Grandma
faced Christmas after Christmas, birthday after birthday, without her entire
family together, all because she loved Christ and trusted His will for us. I
don’t think there is anything braver than what Grandma did. There is nothing
braver than getting torn down by life but getting back up again and finding a
way to carry on.
My prayer is
that Grandma’s bravery has been rewarded. I hope that when Grandma went to heaven
that she first met Jesus whom she dedicated her life to and that He did indeed
say “My Mother told Me all about you.” I hope she met Our Lady in all her
beauty, and that she gave her a big hug, a hug of understanding, a hug of
motherhood. And right after that I hope Bill came running, sprinting into her
arms, and I hope he told her how much he’s missed her and drug her right to the
place God prepared for her right next to him.
Grandma may
be gone from this life, but she is still with us. She is with us in our
memories, in our hearts, but most especially when we gather for the Mass. When
Mass is celebrated, heaven and earth collide, and we can take joy and comfort
in knowing that Grandma is present at the altar with us, worshiping God
alongside us.
Grandma had one Saint Veronica praying for her through her
life, but we are the lucky ones, because now, we have two Saint Veronicas
praying for us.
Being able to read that eulogy and see how the words God gave me affected others and aided them in their own grief was a truly remarkable experience. I had not felt God's presence so strongly in my life in a long time. This moment felt like God's hand was heavily present, much like the moment I ended up at GG's memorial Mass. That's the thing that I've noticed about God. He is so very present to His suffering children.
So what's the point of this really long blog post? Well, first to further remember the two wonderful women I lost this year. They were both so important to me, and I feel their loss every day. But second, to talk about grief. We don't talk about grief a lot. It is something we usually think of as private. But if my story of grieving well and grieving poorly says anything, it's that grief is something that has a public element. We are social creatures by nature, and so our greatest emotions must be felt and understood in relation to others. My grief was best made sense of when I could verbalize it and practice it within my religious culture. I needed the support of my family to understand it.
So maybe you're grieving from a recent loss, or maybe you never grieved a past loss well. Know that you're not alone. Pray that God grant you the gift of tears, and let those tears fall to heal you. When you let your own tears flow, you will likely find the tears and the embraces of others who will journey with you through your own suffering.
In this month of November especially, let us remember all who have died and sleep in the peace of Christ. We pray that God has granted them mercy and their eternal reward.
Live Jesus in our hearts, forever.
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