The Two Flew Over Lake Immaculata

Andrew and Mrs. Andrew flew over Lake Immaculata this morning. Yesterday I saw them for the first time together, and today they spread their wings for another low-lying swoop down the full length of the pond, then amazingly banked up the slopes and tiers of the Mary Garden, and winged low through the Our Lady of Fatima Rose Garden on the side of the house!

The Our Lady of Fatima Rose Garden is dedicated to my late mother and father. I miss them terribly, for no matter what, they loved and supported me; they believed in me.

They did not love, support or believe in Catholicism, but after six months of not communicating, of sending back my children's photos and refusing to keep any writings, including a bound historical biography (the only book I've written), they renewed contact. I think my mother felt sorry for me when I was having a horrendous pain siege and decided to send Christmas gifts after all.

The other day I lunched with a long-time elderly friend, at the house of another friend. Each time I've been with this nonogenarian, she brings up a setting indelibly etched in her now hazy mind. She remembers visiting my mother and father at their retirement home, and of dining at a restaurant with many friends at a long table. She recalls my father crying due to something, and this time she could not for the life of her remember what that something was. But I remember, for she has mentioned it in past years.

I never saw my father cry. Only during a visit the year after I converted to Catholicism, in a last conversation with his mind marginally lucid, he did get tears in his eyes. He reflected that his mother never allowed him to play with Catholics, and with that he simply gazed off, not looking at me, tears welling in his eyes but never spilling out. But with his friends, probably the summer before when I had converted, he was able to outright cry.

In a dream after his death, though, I was with my angel, and there was shown my father, and he could see me through a screen and I see him through a screen, and he was so pleased and proud of me, of the place at the foot of the table, which the Lord had set for me--my father's and my Father's daughter.

I was with my father all night before the day he died, rubbing his forehead softly, singing to him "Be Not Afraid", and witnessing a miracle and sign around his bed in the middle of the night. My mother could not take listening to his breathing; my sister and her husband could not take it, either. But I could listen and be joyful for his approaching death, and I wanted to remain with him, to soothe him in whatever ways, and to make sure the nurses would give him pain medication when he needed, which he did very much.

Two years later my mother's turn approached, and oddly enough she wanted me to be with her in her final illness. It was not an easy time, and she still did not like what I had done, my becoming Catholic. But, she gradually allowed me to read aloud from the Breviary (Psalms, prayers, and bits of Scripture), and she enjoyed a couple of books I read aloud to her: St. Francis de Sales Art of Loving God and St. Therese of Lisieux's edited book I Believe in Love.

I recall one morning walking into her room, as I went daily and spent hours doing as she desired most of the time, and regretting that I had not patience to do her desires all the time--she greeted me with the words "You are an angel!" The day before she died, when she was barely able to speak any words, she told me with tears in her eyes (and I rarely saw my mother cry, either) and deep emotion in her voice, "I love you SO MUCH. I love you SO MUCH. I love you SO MUCH."

It made me feel guilty, as she did not have such deep love for my two sisters, and they felt it.

Yesterday after the anniversary Mass for couples in the Diocese, I went to the reception, although I'm sure I wasn't supposed to, as it was not for the extraordinary ministers of Holy Communion to crash the party! But I really needed a drink of champagne after a painful recognition of how I hurt others. I visited with a couple who were celebrating 25 years of a second marriage. The waiter thought I was the man's wife! "No," I replied with laughter, "I'm a divorcee of 23 years!" Later, the photographer wanted my phone number. He asked about dinner, and I said I have not cooked it. He asked if I was a bad cook then, and I said, "No, I am an excellent cook but obviously make a very bad wife."

I got my photo taken with the Bishop. The couple asked him if I could, and he relented. After, I told him that I'd had a rough time of it that day, and revealed a touch of how I have been feeling, that I have no place. He did not seem to comprehend the depth of what I was saying, and this is understandable in such a brief snippet of someone's pain. I concluded then with simply telling him that I have been praying to the Blessed Mother to come and get me, and to my mother and father to come and get me. He said that this has to be in God's time and that would be a while. I said, "No, soon!"

Yesterday for that Mass I wore the beautiful necklace my father gave my mother on their wedding day. It is a gold lotus with a large, pale blue gemstone and a delicate gold chain. He gave it to her over 66 years ago. I wear this to every major feast day Mass and it seemed fitting for this anniversary Mass, since my parents were married for 60 years and six months.

I have read that Great Blue Herons remain faithful to their mates all their lives. Their life expectancy is not long; they are not quick birds in bulk, but they are very quick in reflex to movement and fishing. It is just that they cannot rev their engines fast enough for take off and quick get-away flight. They soar through life with wings flapping heavily; they glide gracefully but somewhat slowly until the energy builds for the distance.

They remind me of my parents. I must also be reminded for my own marriage, a mystical marriage which does not include meals prepared by me or dinners with photographers, nice as they might be.

I must remember each moment day and night, Who is my Spouse and that we fly together over Lake Immaculata and everywhere, here and there.