292/365 Children and Death

We spent the weekend on the Gasconade River, at a wonderful place called Rock Eddy Bluff, where we've been going year after year for 10 years now. Layers built on layers of experiences there. It's important in our family story. This past April, we scattered our dog Dara's ashes down at the creek near the cabin. Dara loved going to Rock Eddy. She was a city dog who loved the leash-free fence-free lifestyle.

It was really important to the two girls that we "visit Dara" while we were there. So we did, skipping rocks in the water, finding stones shaped like hearts or with holes all the way through. Unseasonably warm (it was my birthday, trust me, it was too warm), the girls waded and I took pictures.

Maeve, afterward, told me she was glad we got to visit Dara, but also that she hoped Dara wasn't lonely there, and that she wished we'd saved some of the ashes for our house so we could visit Dara all the time. She's the only one who consistently mentions our old rottweiler. She named her long-sought-after "pillow pet" after her.

And me, I stand there on the banks of Clifty Creek half in the adult world feeling like I'm humoring her (but in a good way), but half in her world hoping that Dara knows we're there, thinking of her. I mean, what does it hurt? Might as well feel connected.

297/365 November is coming

November is my favorite month to decorate church. More than advent, certainly more than Easter or Christmas. November means the book of the dead up on the St. Joseph altar, with candles and flowers. A table with photos of those who have died. More flowers at our Lady of Sorrows shrine. Mums, sunflowers, browns and golds. These transition from death to harvest (similar themes) with a thanksgiving tableau up by the altar the weekend before, with pumpkins and gourds, grains, more golds and oranges and darkest greens. It's the end of the liturgical year, end of the growing season, end of ordinary time. I love it.

My list of things to do balloons about now, for church and for my own life. I am busy from here until Christmas night--I've been busy for over a month already. But crisp fall days and falling leaves and halloween and mortality and chapped lips and sweaters make me start moving in a way that the languid humidity of July never ever can.

304/365 Mass of Remembrance Prep

The day got away from me. I meant to be there in the morning, but I forgot about music class with Leo. And then I had shopping to complete. And then lunch with Mike at Cravings (sigh). I got home at 2, but by then Leo needed a big old nap. So Mike picked the girls up at school and came home early. I checked the website of the florist supply house and knew I had a little time.

Sr. Vanda had been there in the morning. She waited for me. I never came. She got nervous and put the table out and covered it with a white cloth. Set up the candles. Waited. Decided to make herself not worry and went away.

I dragged everything in at 5:15 and got to work. The mums were crappy but I was excited about the cut flowers--I hadn't arranged in a long time, perhaps since last November, actually. I got it in and around, and then looked for the easel. We set it up to put a large board on, a board with the names of parishioners and parishioners' close relatives that have died in 2010. Last year Mike's uncle Tom was on the board. This year we didn't have anyone on the board, and that was good. But I couldn't find the easel and that was bad.

I called Sr. Hildegard and left a message about the easel. Then I got things done, including this arrangement. Sorry about the lighting; I took it with my phone. As I was leaving, Hildegard called me back. She didn't know where the easel was either--no, wait, was it in the basement in the back closet? Suddenly it appeared in my mind, too. But I was hungry and dinner awaited me and I went home.

At home, Sr. Vanda fretted.

And then Hildegard called to reassure her.

She was glad.

305/365 Mass of Remembrance

I found the easel, with Sal's help, in the kitchen. Of course. It must have been there for the chili cookoff. So I extracted myself from the conversation with Sal: We decorating church on Sunday? Before Christmas, yes. We going to put up the trees and the wreaths? Yup. Sure are. I'll be there. Sr. Hildegard told me not to touch the trees! I don't touch them! I didn't touch them last year! I have a rotating number of conversations with Sal, who is developmentally disabled, in his late 50s/early 60s and has been our janitor for probably forever; he lives in short walking distance with his sister's family.

Sr. Vanda was upstairs when I got back up with the easel. Ursula and Carlotta were setting up for the reception after the mass. They do beautiful work. Vanda told me all about her worries yesterday and how glad she was that I hadn't forgotten. I have yet to forget this, and every year she worries I'm going to forget. But not in a mean way. She just wants it to go well.

I got the rest of the seasonal corner ready, and went back to light candles to place in the candle stands behind the table where folks can place photos of those who have died. I thought about how we'd had to print a picture of Tom out from a Belleville diocese website, that we hadn't had a photo and the last moment I'm cutting printer paper and trying to find a frame.

I stood in the priests' sacristy and lit the candles. And one of those "I am in the right place" moments happened in my heart, the kind of moment that happened all the time the first year I worked at our parish in this capacity but hasn't in a long time. I lit the candles and put the burnt match on the aluminum sink draining board.And carried the candles out to the table where I put everything just so.Normally I would have stayed, but this weekend, next weekend, all weekends are so busy. Sr. Vanda asked if I'd carry in the incenser (incensor?), but I just couldn't.

"I'll mark you down for next year," she promised, not offered, me.

"That would be fine," I agreed. I like the task. I just couldn't rearrange the time today.

The conversation turned to Infant of Prague and what statues used to be in the nave of church and what I knew about the architecture--could I give a tour if need be?--and I thought I probably could. St. Joseph statues came up, and then we stood there staring at the still-dim church ready for this one last ceremony for those who have died. I thought about my grandfather and how he'd had three memorial masses and ceremonies, that it never seemed to be officially over, I mean, he died in February and there was one then, there was on in May for all the people who donated bodies to science at SLU, and then one when I was in labor with Maeve in October when they buried remains at the national cemetery.

I missed all three of them.

I told Sr. Vanda I'd see her later and made my exit. Tae Kwon Do and housework awaited. I turned off the radio when I started the ignition in the car. Didn't need the noise.