173/365 It will be one of those parish legends

Astrid sits with me at coffee. "The funeral on Wednesday was sad," she says.

"He was, what, 94?" I point out. Sometimes I wonder if I have asperger's syndrome or something like that--not really, but my attitudes about death are obviously out of step on occasion.

"Yeah, but it was sad. They really loved him. His whole family. It was good, but sad. Oh, and Fr. Miguel told a story about visiting him at the nursing home--he wasn't even there very long, I mean, he died pretty quick once he got there."

"I noticed that they were publishing his address in the bulletin and then suddenly he was dead."

"This story, though," she continues. "Miguel was sitting there with him and Joe claps his hands together and says, 'Where are we going now?' Well, Miguel told him he was headed back to the rectory, he had things to do, and then Joe said, 'I'm going to heaven!' And he did."

It catches me off guard, especially after hearing about my Aunt Sarah's last days, the anxiety and fear from a woman who shouldn't have had any worries about her standing with God.

Later when I repeat it to Mike, he says, "Oh, Miguel told that to us at the Stewardship meeting."

It's going to be one of those stories that pass down. I hope, at least. Continuity is important for that sort of thing. But maybe.