Dying Alone…

November has been an especially melancholic month, the melancholy actually started late September with the anniversary of Justin’s death, October lasted about a minute, and here we are in November. Having just passed the anniversary of mom’s death we move right into remembering the anniversary of our brother, Vincent’s death. He will be dead six years today, November 10th, at least that is the date recognized as the day of his death.

It would not be unusual to not hear from Vincent for a couple few weeks, he had a busy book business, and time gets away from everybody. He lived alone, I can’t remember if he had an assortment of animals at the time or not…Vincent loved animals and had a way with them…birds, fish, dogs, chickens, cats…didn’t matter they were all drawn to him.  So it was a shock to get a phone call saying that Vincent had been found dead in his home, a massive heart attack or stroke the coroner said…what plagued me with such unbearable sadness is that he had been dead for perhaps as long as two weeks. I could not bear the thought that he died alone, I could not imagine being so alone.

I remember sharing with Fr. John that sadness of Vincent dying alone, he looked at me and said, “he wasn’t alone Terri, your mom and dad were there with him.” I had not thought of that, of course our Lord would be so gracious and tender  as to allow that comfort to Vincent…and not just our parents, but the Lord Himself and our Lady, our mighty guardian angels, fierce warriors  they are, to guard and protect us at that moment of death, to guide the soul back to its Father’s house.

This unbearable sadness though has crept up again in regards to Justin dying alone. Not just alone, but did he die struggling to get out of a submerged car, on its roof in cold, murky, silt filled water…the disorientation, the fear…swallowing water in the dark. Those dark tumbling images still fill my head at times and I need to retreat to sort through them.  The first 24 hours of learning of Justin’s death was filled with phone calls, several with police officers from Minnesota…phone calls where you carefully write down who you spoke to, what time was the call and take as concise notes as you are able so that you have a timeline, a point of reference.  I spoke to one officer who told me that my boy didn’t have his seat belt on. I respectfully told her that was most unlikely, Justin always wore his seat belt.  She said that he was not wearing it when found…well no…he was floating in the vehicle. She conceded that he could have had his seat belt on but undid it in his struggle to escape drowning.  At her words a silent keening erupted in my heart that has never stopped.  Inside there is a pain you can not escape and yet…you have to engage with the person whom you are speaking, you continue to take notes…you do the next thing. We finished our conversation and I sat for a long time, thinking of my son, my gentle Justin, struggling to escape and succumbing to death…alone. The phone rang again and I could see that it was a call from South Dakota, so I answered…it was the priest from the Newman Center, Justin had always spoken so highly of Fr. Scott.  We spoke for a few minutes and then he asked if there was anything in particular that he could do for us…and so I told him what the officer had said about Justin and the vision of him struggling that was consuming me. He said for me to go to that place in prayer, to have no fear…go that place of pain and Jesus would be there to give me His Peace, that Jesus would be waiting for me. I did and He was…the pain did not stop…but there is peace in knowing that Christ sanctified every event of our lives, every pain, every suffering…His grace is sufficient to lift you up to walk the next step. Fr. Scott reminded me that Christ was there with Justin, as was the Blessed Mother.

I fielded another call that day, I remember sitting on the basement steps…speaking to Jeff, the funeral director out in Minnesota, he was caring for Justin’s body. He asked if there was anything he could do, I told him about the seat belt question and asked him how our boy died. He said that Justin had contusions on his left shoulder and that only one thing makes that type of bruise…a seat belt. Jeff said there was no question in his mind that Justin had his seat belt on at the time of the accident. He also said that Justin was most likely unconscious when he drowned. He said that Justin’s face was peaceful, no anxiety on his face, other than a cut above his left eye…his face was untouched. Several months later we received the coroner’s report that confirmed that Justin was indeed wearing his seat belt. A terrible thing to have to read, a coroner’s report, lines from it linger in your head…coming to the surface and filling your mind with images and a  wearying sadness that does not abate with time, it simply becomes part of  your being. Coloring every way you think, every way you listen to conversation, every way you live. I have learned that sometimes I have to go to that place of  anguish, I have to carve out time to go to that dark watery place, sometimes that “box” needs to be  taken down, opened and its contents sorted through again. To leave a box on the shelf, hidden from the light…it is not good. I have to trust that every time I open the lid, I do not open it alone…Christ is there to meet me and He never gets tired of being in that place, never wearies of resting His Sacred Head with mine in silence.

St. Paul told the Thessalonians that he did not want them to grieve their dead like the rest, who have not hope…he did not say that they would not grieve, he did not say to not grieve, but somehow we are to grieve with hope, to keep our minds and hearts fixed on eternity.  Only eternity makes sense.

I think of Justin free of the limitations of this earthly life, the joy and discovery of seeing God…of walking with Jesus, of the Father’s great delight in reunion of souls, His children greeting each other…cries of recognition, for Justin did not go home to strangers. He had spent time with the saints, had longed to be part of the great conversations between Lewis and Tolkien…to have sat with Chesterton and laughed. When Justin was five he told us that he had a conversation with

Grandpa Dyer out by the lilac bush my father had planted two months before he died and we believed him, through God’s mercy may they pick up where they left off.

Vincent and Justin, Christmas 2001

http://www.youtube.com/watch?NR=1&v=rOmfaUXriCQ