A Death in the Family

I woke up this Sunday morning two minutes before my alarm went off. I crawled out of bed, feeling sorry for myself and grabbed some clothes to throw in the dryer to dewrinkle them. In the laundry room, I met my mother who told me in a shaky voice that she had some bad news: Her sister Cathy had died last night of a sudden heart attack. My Aunt Cathy was only 61 years old. As I write this, the reality has not quite set in yet. We all just saw her on Christmas day, two weeks ago. Almost two weeks ago, she was alive, she was breathing, she was happy. To imagine life absent of her is difficult for me, but I know it is excruciating to my mother and her siblings, and in particular to Aunt Cathy's husband, children, and grandchildren.

Nothing puts life in perspective so much as death. I found my recent concerns and worries fade away against the stark reality of her death. Nothing matters more than life in this world. Aunt Cathy is a beloved member of my mother's family, she was funny (extremely funny), and to me, there was something endearing about her. This "something" is common among all of the siblings of my mother. I can't quite describe it, but it is a common "atmosphere", a charm and loveliness that stems from their own father and mother, my deceased grandparents.

Not much else can be said from my end. Suffice it to say though, that I am amazed at the unselfish sorrow of my mother. She is not placing blame anywhere, least of all God. She suffers, and yet is good enough to know that Aunt Cathy is where she needs to be now. The thought that occurrs to me most right now is the part in the funeral Mass where it is said: "The sadness of death gives way to the bright promise of immortality. Lord, for your faithful people life is changed, not ended...". Nothing can be more true than this.