In the Absence of Words ....

All that is heard need not be spoken?

As I watch the casket of Rep. John Lewis being escorted into the nation’s capital by the military honor guard (on television), I reflect upon the visitation, funeral and burial of my own father, a retired military officer himself … another who dedicated a vast portion of his life in service to our great nation, a little over a week ago.  The inspirational speeches honoring the man and the legacy of Representative John Lewis ensue and I think on the wonderful legacy my father leaves behind, but sadly there were no speeches given on my father’s behalf … no loved ones were given (or took) the opportunity to speak publicly about the way Robert had touched their lives.  Such is the way of the Catholic Rite of Passage.  For the parting observances and ceremony in the Catholic funeral are not meant to console the living, I am told.  Rather, the Catholic tradition/mass is meant solely to prepare the soul of departed for what comes next.  I suppose, being a devout Catholic, my father approved of the order of events surrounding his funeral rite.  That should give me comfort?  I am happy that my father was able to buried with military honors, even though only eight family members were allowed to attend the burial ceremony, thanks to covid-19.  We were unable to watch the actual burial –also due to covid-19.  The send-off ceremony was conducted at an outdoor chapel, after which my father was loaded into a white utility van and driven off to his burial site for burial by men, strangers to him … men in hardhats, with cranes and ladders.  We can return to visit his grave once the headstone has been installed, but I will be back home on the other side of the country by  then.

My father’s passing happened so quickly and it was rather unexpected for all of us, including him.  The upside, I suppose is that he did not suffer long.  Sitting here in the aftermath of this hurricane, however, the latter does not feel like much of a consolation to those of us left behind, but perhaps in time it will?  I am grateful that the priest who presided over my father’s funeral mass knew him well and considered him a dear friend, for my father was very active in his church community.  Still, somehow, this friend’s words do not completely fill the void that is left behind in the absence of sharing comforting words, stories and memories by loved ones during any one of the visitation, funeral mass or burial service.  A solemn acceptance seems to permeate the being of those choosing to worship in the Catholic tradition and this is not a trait I happen to share, hence my departure from the Catholic faith over a decade ago. Questioning, rather acceptance, is at the very core of my being, and the Catholic faith failed miserably to adequately address the multitude of questions I have. For me, these questions are the biggest part of the spiritual journey I am on.  Yet, I still respect the right of others to choose the manner in which they will to pursue their own spiritual journey.

I am grateful for my sixth sense, for it helped me through this dark time, especially during the hours surrounding my father’s passing.  I have said before that “Death and Isabelle are old friends,” I just wish I had been given a bit more notice in this particular instance.  Still, we none of us are promised a tomorrow, I now understand this on a visceral level.  I was able to spend an hour or so with my father, while he was still awake and conscious, the evening before his passing, when he came home from the hospital to spend his final hours in the loving comfort of family.  Then I took turns sitting with my father, along with my two sisters, throughout the night.  I was the last person to speak with him, holding his hands, before he lost consciousness.  Some would have thought this closing of his eyes was merely a return to sleep, but my sixth sense knew at that very moment –by way of his spirit-- that those would be the last words my father would utter in this life.  My father opened his eyes so wide, and he squeezed my hand.  My father was telling me to SEE, with my sixth sense, so that I could explain/communicate to others his thoughts and wishes in the absence of his own words/consciousness (as we know it) during the final hours of his passing.

I did SEE … I was able to explain where my father was at during his process of crossing over, even to convey his wish of hearing a favorite song, “Country Roads”, by John Denver … which provided us all a moment of levity during his passing as everyone in the room joined in with singing.  The Irish tradition of going around the room and toasting with whiskey, recalling fond memories and sharing stories had us all swinging between rolling laughter and sobbing tears.  I feel as if I was able to minister to my father’s spirit as well, letting him know that we would all be alright and that this body was not who he was meant to be any longer, as we all laid hands on him in an effort to convey energy and our LOVE.  Near the end, I felt my father reconnecting with the spirits of loved ones passed, and then I felt his period of hesitation as he worried about leaving my mother behind.  It was as if his spirit had one foot on each side of the great divide.  It was then that he asked me to convey a promise to my mother and I later did.  I have felt my father’s presence and heard his voice, from time to time, in the days since his passing, even giving me passcodes to accounts that he had failed to leave behind for my mother.  The past few days, however, my father has been quiet.  I suspect his spirit is coming to terms with the fact that things are not quite exactly as his faith/religion had led him to believe.  There are so many questions I want to ask him about this, but in a way I think I already have most of the answers my spirit is capable of understanding in its present form. I also know, in my heart, that those with whom we share a bond are forever with us in spirit, we are eternally connected by way of our ‘heart strings.’ As such, my Dear Father, it is not goodbye, but merely until we meet again.  This is why I wore white to your funeral, for you have been reborn, your passing from this life is not the end ….You're off onto your next great adventure!