I was led to this bittersweet poem by Madeleine L'Engle, writing about the death of her husband Hugh.
1. Music I Heard
By Conrad Aiken
MUSIC I heard with you was more than music,
And bread I broke with you was more than bread.
Now that I am without you, all is desolate,
All that was once so beautiful is dead.
Your hands once touched this table and this silver,
And I have seen your fingers hold this glass.
These things do not remember you, beloved:
And yet your touch upon them will not pass.
For it was in my heart you moved among them,
And blessed them with your hands and with your eyes.
And in my heart they will remember always:
They knew you once, O beautiful and wise!
L'Engle just quotes the first two lines, and then writes "Yes. And always will be." This is at the very end of her book Two-Part Invention about her life with her husband Hugh, his illness, and his death. A little before this she writes;
"One evening I sit in my quiet place in my room, to read the evening prayer, write in my journal, have some quiet being time. The sky over the Hudson is heavy with snow. I write in my journal that the more people I love, the more vulnerable I am.
Vulnerable -- the moment we are born we are vulnerable, and a human infant is the most vulnerable of all creatures. The very nature of our being leads us to risk. When I married, I opened myself to the possibility of great joy and great pain, and I have known both. Hugh's death is like an amputation. But would I be willing to protect myself by having rejected marriage? By having rejected love? No. I wouldn't have missed a minute of it, not any of it.
The girls and I have acquired two kittens. They are vying for my attention. One of them starts diligently grooming me. The other bats at my pen. This is less an invitation to play than an announcement that it is time for bed. Even with the kittens I am vulnerable as they curl up trustingly beside me and hum their contented purrs."
There is a lot of wisdom in these few lines.
Tuesday, November 2, 2010
Monday, November 1, 2010
Jesus Lives
I learned this at the Notre Dame Folk Choir reunion last weekend. The composer was the director of music for Gethsemani Abbey (Merton's monastery) and wrote this just before he died in Nov. 2008.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PA2HqlMHmvU
Text:
Jesus Lives
Jesus lives; thy terrors now
Can, O death, no more appall us;
Jesus lives: by this we know
Thou, O grave, cannot enthrall us.
Alleluia!
Jesus lives: henceforth is death
But the gate to life immortal;
This shall calm our trembling breath
When we pass its gloomy portal.
Alleluia!
Jesus lives: our hearts know well
Nought from us his life shall sever
Life nor death nor powers of hell
Tear us from his keeping ever.
Alleluia!
Jesus lives: to him the throne
Over all the world is given:
May we go where he is gone,
Rest and reign with him in heaven.
Alleluia!
It gives me a chill and brings a lump to my throat every time I hear it or read these words.
I post it now for Angela, and for Judith Ann Holm, mother of my friend Suzanne, and for all the others I know who have died recently or have lost a loved one, especially in these days of remembrance, All Saints Day and All Souls Day.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PA2HqlMHmvU
Text:
Jesus Lives
Jesus lives; thy terrors now
Can, O death, no more appall us;
Jesus lives: by this we know
Thou, O grave, cannot enthrall us.
Alleluia!
Jesus lives: henceforth is death
But the gate to life immortal;
This shall calm our trembling breath
When we pass its gloomy portal.
Alleluia!
Jesus lives: our hearts know well
Nought from us his life shall sever
Life nor death nor powers of hell
Tear us from his keeping ever.
Alleluia!
Jesus lives: to him the throne
Over all the world is given:
May we go where he is gone,
Rest and reign with him in heaven.
Alleluia!
It gives me a chill and brings a lump to my throat every time I hear it or read these words.
I post it now for Angela, and for Judith Ann Holm, mother of my friend Suzanne, and for all the others I know who have died recently or have lost a loved one, especially in these days of remembrance, All Saints Day and All Souls Day.
many emotions
This weekend I returned to Notre Dame for the 30th anniversary reunion of the Notre Dame Folk Choir, of which I was a member from 1986 to 1992. (I initially thought I had left the choir in 1991, but my memory is that I stopped singing in the choir when Angela was trying to take care of two children in the pews, and that would make it 1992; also the choir’s history indicates that the choir moved into the choir loft at the church in 1991 and I distinctly remember singing in the choir loft in my last year.)
The trip was very mixed emotionally. The music was beautiful and often comforting -- much of it written after I left the choir and so new to me. But at the same time I saw many people I hadn't seen in 15 years or more, and had to tell them about Angela. These were people who sang at our wedding, and at Lucia’s baptism. Angela went into labor with Lucia at a St. Patrick’s Day party at the home of the director of the choir, Steve Warner. We went with the choir to Gethsemani Abbey (Thomas Merton’s monastery), and on a tour to Detroit, Toronto and Pittsburgh, both with baby Lucia. Even after I left the choir we returned to special Masses and events where the choir sang, such as Advent Lessons and Carols services, and Masses for the feasts of St. Patrick and Our Lady of Guadalupe. It was strange singing with them in a concert on Saturday night and at Mass on Sunday morning, and not having Angela and the girls there to meet me at the end, or to go home with, strange parking in the same lot behind the Basilica we would park in for special events, walking up to the church without any family to accompany me. I kept wanting to tell Angela about the music I was learning. After the concert, I noticed all the young families from later generations of the choir -- and some very pregnant women -- and thought of my own young family. Seeing two little girls in matching outfits after the concert, I thought about how we would dress our girls up in "flamenco dresses" that Gloria had brought back from Spain, and bring them to the Guadalupe mass (which we had adopted as Rosie's feast day since Roswitha is not a saint) and then to the following festivities. My friend Libby Gray mentioned Angela’s death at the banquet on Friday night, when she reminisced (as a presenter) about her years in the choir, which was nice. After the banquet there was an "open mic" and I sang a song about loss ("Tomorrow is a Long Time" by Bob Dylan) -- I was trembling and my voice shook and I mixed up a few of the words but it felt good to sing it. I was staying with my friends Gretchen and Luc and I sang that song for them too, and when I finished I saw that Gretchen had her face in her hands – I know she misses Angela almost as much as I do. I sang more songs for them and maybe some of them were happier songs. At the open mic a young engaged couple in the choir sang a song that he had written for her based on the Song of Songs, and I remembered how Angela and I read the Song of Songs together at a crucial point in our marriage -- we were so close then, the song brought me to tears. Yet at the open mic I was also able to laugh at some silly skits and appreciate some beautiful singing. It was good to meet some new people as well, such as a man who knows my Aunt Michi (the organist at Angela's funeral), and sang in the choir when he was in a summer MA program here and now has a child in the choir. The whole weekend was full of memories and a lot of new things too. There was an admixture of a strong sense of loss with beauty.
After the weekend, it was also difficult to drive home to Chicago, knowing that Angela was not there to meet me and hear the stories of my experience. (She would have been amused by this: when I arrived I found an e-mail instructing me to wear jacket and tie to the banquet and the concert -- I didn’t have those with me, and ended up buying a suit at the local mall.) I came home on Hallowe’en, and for the first time in at least 15 years, no one was in costume – Rosie had dressed up with some friends as the Spice Girls on Friday, but they all had too much homework to repeat this performance on Sunday. Rosie’s friend Elise came over and we had pizza and ice cream, and I did carve a pumpkin and toast the seeds, and put out the decorations Angela had collected over the years for this time of the year – some sugar skulls from Pilsen and a children’s book, Maria Molina and the Days of the Dead, about Mexican traditions surrounding Hallowe’en, All Saints Day, and All Souls Day, which I think she must have bought in about 1995 (it came out in 1994).
Today, I decided with Rosie to read that book, and when I opened it I discovered to my surprise that Angela had collected inside the front cover prayer and remembrance cards for various people who have died over the years – her babysitter Rita, Rita’s husband William (“Honey” to me), her cousin Carolyn’s husband Gino, our house-cleaner’s sister-in-law, my great-uncle Fr. Alcuin Deck, the still-born baby of some friends in South Bend, the wife of a colleague in South Bend who died of an aneurysm at 44, and Fr. Giussani, the founder of Communion and Liberation. After we read the book, I added a copy of the card from Angela’s funeral to this collection. At the back of the book was a recipe for “Pan de los Muertos” – bread of the dead – I have no idea how authentic this is (note to my Mexican friends) but I decided to make it in honor of and remembrance of Angela. The book itself, and making this bread, were so typical of her.
Earlier today I went to Mass for All Saints Day at the University Catholic Center, Calvert House. The priest, a younger Italian-American from New Jersey whose name I can’t remember right now, preached about his grandfather, an illegal immigrant who came to this county and made good, and then helped others in his neighborhood during the Depression by giving out “loans” that he never expected to be paid back. The priest used his grandfather as an example of the saintliness of those all around us, which is often not recognized until later, as his grandfather’s acts of benevolence were not known to his grandchildren until after his death. He preached on the Gospel reading of the day, the Beatitudes, and honored his grandfather as one who was truly blessed for the life he had lived. And I thought of Angela, and all the love her students manifested for her after she died, and how much she had helped so many of them, and I wanted to honor her on All Saints Day as well, as a saint in her own right – not a perfect human being, a sinner like all of us, but also like all the saints – but a wonderful example in many ways of a human life lived for others and meriting the blessing of God. Then this afternoon I learned of the death of the mother of one of Angela’s dear friends, and learned too of the wonderful life she had led through her daughter’s tribute to her, and saw how much Angela had in common with this other woman, another victim of cancer, whom I don’t think I have ever met. And I hoped that she and Angela were now together in the loving arms of the Father who welcomes into his house all those who put their trust in him.
So the last days have been full of a lot of emotions for me, some pulling me down and others lifting me up. Tomorrow, All Souls Day, is also election day – I will honor Angela’s memory at a service at our church in the evening, but I will also honor her memory by voting in the morning, as she would always make sure that we both did, ever since I knew her.
The trip was very mixed emotionally. The music was beautiful and often comforting -- much of it written after I left the choir and so new to me. But at the same time I saw many people I hadn't seen in 15 years or more, and had to tell them about Angela. These were people who sang at our wedding, and at Lucia’s baptism. Angela went into labor with Lucia at a St. Patrick’s Day party at the home of the director of the choir, Steve Warner. We went with the choir to Gethsemani Abbey (Thomas Merton’s monastery), and on a tour to Detroit, Toronto and Pittsburgh, both with baby Lucia. Even after I left the choir we returned to special Masses and events where the choir sang, such as Advent Lessons and Carols services, and Masses for the feasts of St. Patrick and Our Lady of Guadalupe. It was strange singing with them in a concert on Saturday night and at Mass on Sunday morning, and not having Angela and the girls there to meet me at the end, or to go home with, strange parking in the same lot behind the Basilica we would park in for special events, walking up to the church without any family to accompany me. I kept wanting to tell Angela about the music I was learning. After the concert, I noticed all the young families from later generations of the choir -- and some very pregnant women -- and thought of my own young family. Seeing two little girls in matching outfits after the concert, I thought about how we would dress our girls up in "flamenco dresses" that Gloria had brought back from Spain, and bring them to the Guadalupe mass (which we had adopted as Rosie's feast day since Roswitha is not a saint) and then to the following festivities. My friend Libby Gray mentioned Angela’s death at the banquet on Friday night, when she reminisced (as a presenter) about her years in the choir, which was nice. After the banquet there was an "open mic" and I sang a song about loss ("Tomorrow is a Long Time" by Bob Dylan) -- I was trembling and my voice shook and I mixed up a few of the words but it felt good to sing it. I was staying with my friends Gretchen and Luc and I sang that song for them too, and when I finished I saw that Gretchen had her face in her hands – I know she misses Angela almost as much as I do. I sang more songs for them and maybe some of them were happier songs. At the open mic a young engaged couple in the choir sang a song that he had written for her based on the Song of Songs, and I remembered how Angela and I read the Song of Songs together at a crucial point in our marriage -- we were so close then, the song brought me to tears. Yet at the open mic I was also able to laugh at some silly skits and appreciate some beautiful singing. It was good to meet some new people as well, such as a man who knows my Aunt Michi (the organist at Angela's funeral), and sang in the choir when he was in a summer MA program here and now has a child in the choir. The whole weekend was full of memories and a lot of new things too. There was an admixture of a strong sense of loss with beauty.
After the weekend, it was also difficult to drive home to Chicago, knowing that Angela was not there to meet me and hear the stories of my experience. (She would have been amused by this: when I arrived I found an e-mail instructing me to wear jacket and tie to the banquet and the concert -- I didn’t have those with me, and ended up buying a suit at the local mall.) I came home on Hallowe’en, and for the first time in at least 15 years, no one was in costume – Rosie had dressed up with some friends as the Spice Girls on Friday, but they all had too much homework to repeat this performance on Sunday. Rosie’s friend Elise came over and we had pizza and ice cream, and I did carve a pumpkin and toast the seeds, and put out the decorations Angela had collected over the years for this time of the year – some sugar skulls from Pilsen and a children’s book, Maria Molina and the Days of the Dead, about Mexican traditions surrounding Hallowe’en, All Saints Day, and All Souls Day, which I think she must have bought in about 1995 (it came out in 1994).
Today, I decided with Rosie to read that book, and when I opened it I discovered to my surprise that Angela had collected inside the front cover prayer and remembrance cards for various people who have died over the years – her babysitter Rita, Rita’s husband William (“Honey” to me), her cousin Carolyn’s husband Gino, our house-cleaner’s sister-in-law, my great-uncle Fr. Alcuin Deck, the still-born baby of some friends in South Bend, the wife of a colleague in South Bend who died of an aneurysm at 44, and Fr. Giussani, the founder of Communion and Liberation. After we read the book, I added a copy of the card from Angela’s funeral to this collection. At the back of the book was a recipe for “Pan de los Muertos” – bread of the dead – I have no idea how authentic this is (note to my Mexican friends) but I decided to make it in honor of and remembrance of Angela. The book itself, and making this bread, were so typical of her.
Earlier today I went to Mass for All Saints Day at the University Catholic Center, Calvert House. The priest, a younger Italian-American from New Jersey whose name I can’t remember right now, preached about his grandfather, an illegal immigrant who came to this county and made good, and then helped others in his neighborhood during the Depression by giving out “loans” that he never expected to be paid back. The priest used his grandfather as an example of the saintliness of those all around us, which is often not recognized until later, as his grandfather’s acts of benevolence were not known to his grandchildren until after his death. He preached on the Gospel reading of the day, the Beatitudes, and honored his grandfather as one who was truly blessed for the life he had lived. And I thought of Angela, and all the love her students manifested for her after she died, and how much she had helped so many of them, and I wanted to honor her on All Saints Day as well, as a saint in her own right – not a perfect human being, a sinner like all of us, but also like all the saints – but a wonderful example in many ways of a human life lived for others and meriting the blessing of God. Then this afternoon I learned of the death of the mother of one of Angela’s dear friends, and learned too of the wonderful life she had led through her daughter’s tribute to her, and saw how much Angela had in common with this other woman, another victim of cancer, whom I don’t think I have ever met. And I hoped that she and Angela were now together in the loving arms of the Father who welcomes into his house all those who put their trust in him.
So the last days have been full of a lot of emotions for me, some pulling me down and others lifting me up. Tomorrow, All Souls Day, is also election day – I will honor Angela’s memory at a service at our church in the evening, but I will also honor her memory by voting in the morning, as she would always make sure that we both did, ever since I knew her.
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