Yesterday was the wake and funeral service for my cousin Peter. The plan was to take my daughter Alyssa with me to Holy Mass in the morning, then to the morning wake and service, and then spend some time with the family.
I decided to have my sons attend a regular day of high school because my son Nick has already missed a significant amount of school as we work with Doctor Kraft to restore our family's health.
By late morning, I determined the decision to send Nick to school was a mistake. Here's why.
Alyssa and I hurried to get ready and rushed to the wake, because we were already late.
We arrived at the funeral home and greeted the family. Peter had died of a heart attack at the age of 44. Both his parents had preceded him in death; his aunt RoseMarie (also my cousin) had been his caretaker and guardian. My mother and Peter's grandmother Lotte were first cousins.
When I was a child, our families had a Christmas tradition of going to Tante Lotte's house where she and her husband would host a joyful, delicious dinner in their finished basement for the family living here in America.
My brother, sister, and I would play with Peter and his brother and sister, who were several years younger than us. I remember when Peter's little sister was born, and how much fun it was holding the precious new baby. That little girl is now mother to two daughters of her own, who are fifteen and six.
When it was almost time for the short service to begin, Morgan, the six year old, came over and sat by Alyssa (13) and me. She looked so elegant in her black velvet dress and satin black shoes. She talked about her new shoes, which had been purchased the night before for her uncle's funeral, and pointed out the pretty bows gracing the top of each shoe.
The service began with a very touching song performed by Josh Groban. People began weeping, and I heard little Morgan sniffle. She had asked if she could sit between Alyssa and me. Alyssa took her hand and held on to it. I asked her if she would like to have a tissue. She shook her head no.
After the man from the funeral home concluded his touching and compassionate service, he invited everyone to share their memories of Peter. Just then, I clearly saw him in my minds eye as a child during our Christmas gatherings at his grandparent's home so many hears ago. He was smiling. That is my memory of Peter; a very peaceful, kind, smiling child. A good person. A gift from God.
Yesterday was not only Peter's burial, it was also the eve of the one year anniversary of my sister's passing into eternity following a valiant three year journey along the Way of the Cross. Our family was grieving the loss of several people at once. RoseMarie was the first to speak; for her, too, a memory of Peter as a child had come to mind. When he was little, he told her about the good angel on one shoulder, and the bad angel on the other, while the person in the middle is the one who must make the right choices.
My mother stood up next and, as usual, put her own tremendous sorrow aside to share a memory with his grieving family. She remembered that even though Peter had traveled along his own Way of the Cross, last year he displayed such compassion and concern about my sister and mother, and had looked beyond his own suffering to see and care about the suffering of others.
It was a moment that brought me to tears, as so much was said in one sentence, in just a few words: Peter showed such compassion, and he had such great courage.
It was an incredibly powerful and meaningful moment.
My daughter was very moved by her Oma's courage that afternoon. We all were.
I stood up and brought a box of tissue resting on a nearby table to where the family was seated. I handed it to little Morgan, and asked her if she would like to have a tissue. She reached over and took one. She did want one after all, I thought to myself.
Guess what she did next.
That precious little girl took a tissue, but not for herself. Then, she reached up to my face with her small hand and lovingly wiped away my tears.
Every single life has such great purpose. Every single life is loved and valued by God beyond measure.
Every single person is a gift from God, and is to be properly loved and valued by us.
What struck me most about those precious moments with the people at the funeral home, and then at the funeral luncheon, was how many faults I have, how greatly I lack fraternal charity, how self centered I am, how thoughtless, and careless. The kindness, compassion, and heroic valor of the others, along with the memory of Peter's own courage, cast a light upon my soul that exposed so many flaws. So many!
What a tremendous grace that afternoon was, thanks be to God for His having created Peter, thanks to Peter, thanks to his parents, thanks to RoseMarie who cared for him so he could fulfill his mission, and thanks to the people who were a part of his life.
Our time here is so short, and so very meaningful! God showed me so much yesterday, and I will always regret that my sons were not there because I made the wrong choice and sent them to school instead.Thank You, most loving, compassionate, and merciful God, for creating Peter and for creating all those who knew him and were a part of his life. What a great gift they are to so many.
May all those who mourn be comforted, and may the souls of the faithful departed, through the mercy of God, rest in peace.
, Please say a prayer, on this glorious feast day of St. John of the Cross, for the souls of Peter and Belinda, and for the souls of all those who have died, and all those who mourn.
The following poem was written by Belinda the year she died, to thank all those who loved her back in imitation of Christ.
We miss you, Belinda, and we love you forever. Say "hello!" to Peter for us! We are sure you gave him a wonderful welcome.
Thank You
I light a candle when I pray,And often when I do,
I sense my soul touched by grace,
I have a hidden spring within,
Where there’s a flowing fountain,
Overflowing with gratitude,
Because my heart’s been touched by you.
Touched by all you’ve done for me,
Your thoughtful generosity,
That I think of frequently,
For it has meant so much to me.
My heart is full of gratitude,
When I think of how blessed I’ve been;
And when in pensive solitude,
I ask, “What for others I can do?”
The candle in my room burns bright,
In the silence of the night;
Shimmering in breath of wind,
Or fanned perhaps by angel’s wings.
—Belinda Bondi
© 2012 Joseph Karl Publishing
Belinda's family remained by her side to the very end.
A message written in English in Belinda's notebook,
on a page written in French.
"I'll be missing you all."
on a page written in French.
"I'll be missing you all."
