Tragedy struck us when I was a toddler still, my brother was five years old, and my mom was a young twenty-something conjuring up all her strength to nurture and take care of my father's failing health. My brother Charley, was wise enough in age to witness the sorrow my mom was experiencing, my father's rapid exit and our abandonment. Death was coming at a speed none of us could slow down and with a force no one could stop. When Meningitis finally took hold of my father's last words, he prepped my mom before his last brain surgery, "Be strong. Don't cry. Don't let anyone ever walk all over you. You have two kids to raise. Find a good man and marry him. Be outspoken and speak up for yourself. Don't waste money on flowers for my grave".
He was still warm when she arrived at the hospital. The room was quiet with the soundless beeping of the machines, she was wet from the hard drops of rainfall, and my father was gone. And even though they both knew he was going to die, she went into shock. It took her three weeks to finally release and cry out all her loneliness and loss. She was alone with two kids to raise and fend for herself. That very night was the same night Charley became a little, grownup man when his two five-year-old legs walked into her room, reached for her in the dark and said, "It's alright, Mom. I'll take care of you". I cry now even as I type this because Charley was compassionate and strong his entire life. I cry still, thinking of the thoughts my Mom may have had staring into her little boy's eyes and wondering how he grew up so quickly and how sad and heavy it made her heart to know he felt the need to fill his father's shoes. I cry now because we would have never, ever thought that little boy would die himself, 31 years later…not from inflammation of the brain as our father experienced, but from a chemical imbalance in his brain. How could God allow this to happen to two valuable, empowering men? How could God remove a loving husband and father AND his son from my mom? How could God allow me to feel as though I've been abandoned?
Charley and I stopped going to church when we both realized it bore us. We couldn't stop the long yawns, the long bathroom breaks and the insistent inquiries that all we did was stand, sit and kneel. Heck, we couldn't even speak to that morning's sermon, let alone did we care. We did our First Communions and Confirmations, but it never went beyond that. We prayed and remained true to our spirits and continued to question God by not speaking to him. So when the idea of baptizing my daughter came up earlier last year, Charley and I were in agreement that we would be hypocrites to do that; to lower her head into holy water and swear to be active Catholics was a lie we would tell the church and ourselves. Still, Charley would be her Padrino (Godfather) and Mia would lovingly call him by the name of "Nino". She learned the word very quickly and played with the sounds as it tickled the roof of her mouth and Charley's soft spot.
By August of 2012, Charley had begun to attend mid-mass. "It's a small group, not crowded and it's only 30 minutes!" he excitedly shared. I added that I should attend with him…but I never did. A few weeks later he proclaimed that he had accepted God into his heart. "My faith has been shaky and I've never been religious, but I feel peaceful. It's a kind of peace I've never felt before. And I'm excited."
I encouraged his new found faith and hoped that God would see him through his dark times.
I began attending mass two months after Charley passed away when I discovered that the Reverend who showed up That Day to console us as part of the crisis team, was also easily accessible at a nearby church by the beach. My mid-week mass embraces a small group of devout followers who love, share and provide peace to one another. Last week I spoke to God as I took the Communion, "Lord, please forgive me for not saving my brother, your son". I cried as I communicated this sentiment and stood silently to be still with my thoughts. And then God answered, "I did". My eyes snapped open as though someone whispered into me. I knew then, that I heard Him, in my heart. God saved my brother. I know that God was waiting for Charley with open arms, but I had no idea that it was God who saved him.
I returned to my seat and prayed so very hard and thanked Him for being present with me to ease my guilt a bit. Just as mass ended and all 15 of us exchanged peace, an adorable older gentleman walked over to me, "Peace be with you, my dear". I nodded and hugged him back. Then he said, "It's nice to be seen, isn't it?" (Big sigh). Yes, yes it is.
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