Funerals and Weddings

One year ago today, I buried the love of my life in the cold earth of a priest’s grave.

It’s an impossible thing. My heart aches even to think about it. Since I have returned from the Camino, the largest presence in Pistachio House is Francine’s absence.

Today is also the feast of Saint Benedict, and Francine and I are Benedictines. This is not a coincidence, of course. 

Over the years, we have been better (and occasionally worse) about fulfilling our daily obligations to pray the hours and lectio, and since we have become involved in parish ministry it has been a long while indeed since either of us visited the monastery. The one thing that never flagged, though, is our commitment to the Benedictine charisms of hospitality and the sacred liturgy.

We used to joke that Francine focused on the hospitality, and I focused on the liturgy; between the two of us we made one solid Benedictine.

Yet, somehow, I do some of my deepest praying when I am walking on pilgrimage – a most unbenedictine-like trait indeed!

I learned so much on my long Camino from Vézelay, including, most crucially, how to begin carrying the cross of Francine’s absence.

In the two weeks since I have returned, I already find myself falling into some of the bad habits of last year, but I had given myself a two-week grace period to get reacclimated to life in Tacoma. Now it’s time to get to work!

Since my return, I have served at several Masses – Sundays, a funeral, and a wedding. 

At the funeral, I ran into my old pastor, the man who baptized me. We had a discussion about the difficulty of going to funerals – much less serving at them – once someone close to you has died. At the time, I did not realize that someone close to him had recently died as well, or the conversation might have been a little different.

It actually wasn’t as difficult as I had expected. Not easy, mind you, and I don’t think it ever will be.

What I found much more difficult was the wedding later that day.

Weddings are always a source of joy. Here are two lives, coming together into one “until death do you part”.

This was no small wedding, and every little detail had been lovingly attended to. More importantly, the bride and groom seemed positively giddy in each other’s presence. This new and fragile thing, this marriage, witnessed to and solemnized through one of the quietest and most intimate sacraments of the church, this beautiful moment full of freshness and innocence and hope, and at one point during it I had to leave the sanctuary and try to pull myself together.

I was fighting back tears because I know how this story inevitably ends. After decades – or days – of joys and struggles and triumphs and losses, of the two-become-one taking on the world together, it ends in tears and a loss so large you can’t wrap your heart around it.

Funerals are easy in comparison. The story, no matter how sad, has been told. The woman we buried last Friday – may angels sing her to paradise! – died at the age of 101, having outlived not one, but three husbands. I cannot imagine what she endured during her life, but she is now at rest. A good life, well lived.

We always expected that this would be Francine’s story. The women in her family live long and active lives – her aunt was still playing tennis into her 90s. If she had lived as long as the woman we buried on Friday, Francine would still be here with us for almost another forty years.

Instead, a year ago today, we celebrated her Requiem and buried her in the cold earth, commending her soul to heaven.

Saint Benedict, pray for Francine and for all the brethren of our Order.