IN THE VALLEY OF THE SHADOW OF DEATH . . .

The Revd Deacon Polly M. Bowen

My children’s father died suddenly last week.  We had been apart for many years, but neither of us ever remarried, and with nine grandchildren and two great grandchildren, we remained “coupled” forever.  We took seriously our wedding vow of “until we are parted by death.”  Our children took us to dinner on special occasions – birthdays, anniversaries, etc.  We celebrated the 50th anniversary of our wedding – and the 51st - with our family.  For the month before his death, he was at the Waters for rehabilitation after a fall.  His mind was clear, and we shared some fond memories – stories that only we remembered. 

            Grandson Brandon (age 23), with whom he shared a special bond, moved into his grandfather’s mobile home so Grandpa would not be alone when he came home – as we fully expected him to do.  Daughter Holly, the capable organizer of the family, stocked his freezer, paid his bills, bought him some new clothes, had his car serviced and ordered a LifeScan monitor for him to wear when he returned home.  The rest of us – Rob and Lorri, Carla, Jake and Deanna, Brandon and his sister Holly, and even the sisters from out of town, came and went, sharing stories, good wishes, plans and memories.  His rapid rehabilitation progress banished any fears that he wouldn’t be with us for a very long time to come.

            So it was a shock when I returned from assisting at a funeral to find that my children were frantically searching for me.  I rushed to the Waters and attended him with a tearful “Ministration at the Time of Death” from the Prayer Book (a lovely, strengthening service – page 462.)   

            After that my children and I simply stared at each other, wondering what to do next.  Holly, the efficient one, notified the sisters, made the necessary arrangements for burial in his hometown in the Adirondacks, and we all went home.  Then began the telephone calls, since none of us was really ready to let go.  Our lives, now on hold until we could accomplish this last trip together, simply would not resume their former patterns.

            In the Eucharistic  preface for the  commemoration of the Dead,  the church prays,

“ . . . for to your faithful people, O Lord, life is changed, not ended.”  We discovered that not only is life changed for the person who has died, it is changed for all who remember and love him.  We shared memories on the telephone, I skipped EFM classes to go to dinner with my children, each of us cried, though privately, since we are not demonstrative people – this was one of the times I regretted my staid British heritage just a bit.  Oldest son Chip, his father’s namesake who lives in Massachusetts, kept in touch with us by telephone and E-mail, promising that he and Grandson Evan would meet us in Lake George for the funeral. 

            Family times are precious times – the memories, the renewal of bonds, the sharing of hopes and dreams.  We regenerate them all at transition times.  But transition times are not limited to deaths – there are births, first steps, proms, graduations, religious rites such as baptism, confirmation, marriage, and a host of other events big and small that crowd the memory and soothe the soul.  The happy times prevail; unhappy ones recede.  In our grief, we discovered what countless sorrowing families have discovered before us: that reminiscences keep the loved one close. 

            The church has a word for that – anamnesis – which means “memorial.”  But anamnesis is more than that – it is “making a past event sacramentally present so we can participate in it.”  It is a term that is dear to my heart as I teach Eucharistic theology. 

            In grief, I discovered that anamnesis can apply to non-sacramental events as well.  It’s why we encourage family anecdotes and memoirs at funerals.  “Letting go” is painful,  and  sharing the memories helps us to hold on for a little while longer.  It’s why we weren’t quite sure what to do after the prayers were said.  It’s why my family members kept calling each other in the days after Charlie died.  It’s why we will keep the memories alive as the days go on.

      And it’s why I write today...