[Last night after the
Easter Vigil I sat down to put together a homily for this Easter Sunday. I read
the readings, said a prayer for insight, then thought: “Write a story!” I do
that for Christmas. Then the writer’s question: “What’s the story?” Having gone
through a few family deaths and as well
as other deaths and funerals lately – as well as planning on going to the
cemetery with my sister this coming Wednesday – I just sat there last night and
rewrote the Easter story in new wineskins. So the title of story is, “First
Easter”.]
It was their first Easter after his death.
It had been a long, rough winter since his death last
November.
Thanksgiving wasn’t easy. Christmas was tougher. So she
hoped this first Easter after his death would be easier for all around. He was
42 – fourth tour in Afghanistan – planning of retiring in 2 years.
Life wasn’t supposed to happen this way. Death wasn’t
supposed to happen this day. The future wasn’t supposed to happen this way.
He was buried with full military honors in Arlington
National Cemetery. Once a month, she would drive down there – with the kids –
just to try to get in all to crying and holding onto each other – all at once. Sporadic
memory come backs were too sudden and too surprising. Too many reminders –
including some of his scent - clung to too many things in the garage, the
cellar, and some closets. Going to Arlington – going to his stone cold grave – to
pray – to hold onto each other – to tell a “Remember the time when dad did….” story
helped. Then they would stop into a
teenager friendly restaurant on the way back – and then get back to life.
She was happy they had gotten married early – that they had
their three kids early. The kids were 17,
15, and 13 when their dad was killed. An IED explosion – in somewhere, nowhere,
Afghanistan – did it.
Looking forwards was tough. Looking backwards, she was happy
that their kids had many good vacations – great trips – as a family – even
though their dad was away for some of them – serving our country and our world.
Being a marine family they had moved around a bit – they
missed their dad a good bit – those tours were crushers at times - but when he was home he made his presence felt
– big, big time. That presence, that joy - he had a great laugh – told his wife
and his kids he was not the stereotypical tough Marine type. He was a teddy
bear.
Easter was coming. The plan was Mass at 9 AM – then a good
breakfast at Denny’s – and then off to Arlington – for some time at dad’s grave
– and then head home for Easter dinner together.
For some reason – there was a different feeling in the car –
in this trip.
For starters it was Easter – The sermon, the readings at
Mass, the prayers, the music at the 9 AM Mass was all about resurrection –
obviously.
Arlington was beautiful – budding flowers – blossoming trees
– in abundance. Color – color – yellow, red, blue, purple, white, green -
everywhere.
They parked their SUV – in the main parking lot and decided
this was a good day for a walk.
All knew exactly where dad’s grave was. The youngest
daughter, Mary, ran. For some reason she decided to take off and run – and get
to her dad’s grave first. She did. Then Jack, the next youngest, started to run
– and he got there second. Pete, the
oldest, and not that great a runner ran and came in third.
Mom watching their running and the race – got smiling and laughing.
She said to herself: “We’re turning a corner in the road.”
Her tears felt different as well - as she walked up the
macadam road towards where his grave was. Some had a smile in them; some had
slivers of sadness in them.
As she got closer – Easter – the Risen Christ – Faith – Hope
– Love kicked in even more. “Of course,” she thought – “rejoicing and
regretting – can be twins.” Her prayers of “Why God why?” were still there –
but prayers of “Thank you God for all that has been” were showing up slowly
these past two months.
She finally got to her husband’s grave.
No, the stone was not rolled back Yes, her husband’s grave was still as is.
“Kids,” she said, when she got there, “Do you realize what
you 3 just did?”
“No, mom, what,” said Mary her youngest.
“Well,” mom said, “do you remember what the gospel was that
we heard read in church today?”
They all said, “No!”
“Well,” mom continued, “the three people in today’s gospel
were Mary, Peter, and they think the beloved disciple was John.”
“Wow,” the kids said, “That’s funny.”
“When we named you – this gospel and this moment – were
obviously not on our radar.”
Silence.
The 4 of them breathed in the early afternoon cool.
They stood together holding hands – snug up against each
other – especially leaning into mom.
“Thanks dad,” Jack said, “thanks for helping us get from
last November to this moment. Thanks.
Happy Easter!”
Silence.
Then mom said, “Let’s pray for the families of everyone
buried here in Arlington – and what they are going through today.
She had seen lone people here and there – as well as
clusters of people at graves – around the cemetery.
Peter said, “Let’s pray for the many people around the world
who are dealing with death today – especially those in Korea and that airplane
that is still missing. Help them Lord.”
Mary said, “Let’s pray for kids – kids who have lost their
parents.”
That got an extra hard squeeze from Mom to Mary.
Peter said, “Thanks dad. Thanks for being such a great dad.
Thank you!”
They walked the long walk back to the car skipping – even
mom – laughing, and singing, “We’re off to see the Wizard – the wonderful
wizard of Oz.” That had been the high school play that John was in this past
spring and he played the part of a munchkin.
They had a sweet trip home – not too much traffic – and a
great Easter Dinner that late afternoon – and they all toasted dad in the empty
chair – they had at their dining room table – but they knew in a new way – it
was a Happy Easter – because their dad was with the Risen Lord. Amen.
