Death and Resurrection: A Story About A Girl and A Priest

I was dead when I first saw him.  I wasn't interested in being alive, especially enlivened by him.  Yet, I was oddly attracted and couldn't stay away.

Then...it happened.

My chest burst open and the death inside me rushed out.  In the madness of it all, life settled in and my soul was resurrected.

The same man will die this weekend and I can't do anything to stop it.  His death is a death to me, too.

I'm powerless.

I am dying again.  I am dying by the departure of the man who brought me to life.

Yes, he was "only" the vessel, but his mere existence converted me.  

I'm finding that I'm almost as sad as when my dad died, which makes sense.  When I first met My Husband, my biological father had just been diagnosed with metastatic lung cancer.  One father departing, another entering.  Cycle of Life, wouldn't you agree?  (On a side note, I was also pregnant!)

When I met My Husband, the only draw back to him was that he is Catholic.  It's also important to stress that when I met My Husband, I was Agnostic AND anti-Catholic.

My, my, my how times have changed.

I remember the first time My Husband mentioned going to church with him.  I cringed inside.  I smiled outside.  I nodded my head graciously like a kind, Southern girl, pulling strands of wind-blown hair from my cheek and tucking it behind my ear.  Inside, I was so disappointed.  But I liked him enough to want to spend ANY time with him ....even if it was at church!

So I went.

The church was empty yet gorgeous.  I felt swallowed by the simplicity, and the crucifix.  I was intimidated as we sat there waiting for Mass to start.

Mass never started.  Not that night anyway.  My Husband got the times all mixed up, so we tried again another day.  And then my spiritual life was never the same.

Monsignor Don is a father figure to me.  Between My Husband and Monsignor and the death of my biological father, I was brought to God the Father.  It wasn't until my biological father actually died did I really embrace a belief in God the Father. 

This seems an overly dramatic way to tell you that my favorite priest is retiring this weekend.  Pentecost will be his last homilies in my church.  I can't tell you how heartbroken and utterly grief-stricken I am.  I knew the day was coming.  I knew his calming voice, shiny bald head, flowing frocks in the split sunlight wouldn't last my lifetime, and I didn't want the day to come ever.  Like a petulant four year old being denied my way, I am pouting.  

The upside to this weekend is that My Eldest will be singing in the choir.  The angelic voices of children singing will surely make me blubber uncontrollably, but I will indeed, be revived....again.

 

Miss you already, Monsignor!  xo

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