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.