First impressions of All Souls Day

All Souls Day was more beautiful than I had imagined. Since I've never been to that Mass before, I'm not really sure what I imagined. Probably a bunch of sadsacks sitting in the pews more out of obligation than purpose.

Instead it was a church full of believers who never knew their lives would intertwine with the others in the pews, who never realized the depths of despair had so much company. Father Louis, St. Joe's pastor, opened his homily with an admission of speechlessness. What could he say? He's happy to be celebrating a Mass that scratches open pussing wounds? Instead he touched generally on the lives of those who passed from November 2008 to November 2009. Some were grandparents who had lived life to the fullest, others were parents who had passed on their wisdom to their adult children, a few were accidental deaths where relatives were ripped suddenly from this Earth. And then ... then he talked about children. And in particular one innocent infant who never took his first breath. He spoke of Morgan. My Morgan. 

A sticky ball of twine lodged in my throat. I just kept swallowing and breathing and swallowing. The cactus-like lump wouldn't budge. Until, my wonderful husband snatched my hand and tightly squished my shaking fingers into his warm palm.

Fr. Louis spoke about Jesus' love and how we might not be able to have those people returned to us, but we can ask for understanding from Him. Love? How could I love when my heart has hardened? But then I remembered that some day I will hold Morgan. And in the meantime, our child is watching over us. Strange perhaps, but it gives me comfort knowing he is near.