Reflection at Boston College
Melissa Weiksnar
May 4, 2010
A reading from the book of Proverbs
12 She brings good, and not evil, all the days of her life.
13 She obtains wool and flax and makes cloth with skillful hands.
14 Like merchant ships, she secures her provisions from afar.
15 She rises while it is still night, and distributes food to her household.
16 She picks out a field to purchase; out of her earnings she plants a vineyard.
17 She is girt about with strength, and sturdy are her arms.
18 She enjoys the success of her dealings; at night her lamp is undimmed.
19 She puts her hands to the distaff, and her fingers ply the spindle.
20 She reaches out her hands to the poor, and extends her arms to the needy.
21 She fears not the snow for her household; all her charges are doubly clothed.
22 She makes her own coverlets; fine linen and purple are her clothing.
25 She is clothed with strength and dignity, and she laughs at the days to come.
26 She opens her mouth in wisdom, and on her tongue is kindly counsel.
27 She watches the conduct of her household, and eats not her food in idleness.
29 Many are the women of proven worth, but she has excelled them all.
30 Charm is deceptive and beauty fleeting; the woman who fears the LORD is to be praised.
A reading from the book of Psalms
5
Into your hands I commend my spirit; you will redeem me, LORD, faithful God.
7
I will rejoice and be glad in your love, once you have seen my misery, observed my distress.
8
You will not abandon me into enemy hands, but will set my feet in a free and open space.
9
Be gracious to me, LORD, for I am in distress; with grief my eyes are wasted, my soul and body spent.
10
My life is worn out by sorrow, my years by sighing. My strength fails in affliction; my bones are consumed.
15
My times are in your hands; rescue me from my enemies, from the hands of my pursuers.
16
Let your face shine on your servant; save me in your kindness.
These two readings from Amy's services contrast starkly with each other. Proverbs is full of life and optimism, grounded in faith, resonating with the best of Amy. I first remember hearing it at age 13, and the phrase "charm is deceptive and beauty fleeting" has always stuck with me. The references to food and drink, and Amy's favorite color purple, made this reading a shoo-in.
Psalm 31 is full of pain and suffering, still grounded in faith, resonating with Amy's darkest moments. I wasn't familiar with it until January, when I looked at the readings from the day she died.
Losing our youngest child has challenged us with extremes. Our daughter Evelyn talks about how she is still so angry with her sister, yet she misses her so much and still loves her. Both reactions are totally legitimate, and will probably co-exist forever.
Losing Amy has also resulted in a curious confrontation of God.
I am definitely not up to speed on the most recent Catholic theology of death. Nor that of any other religion for that matter.
But when Amy died, I kept thinking back to a burlap wall hanging from high school, given to me by Sr. Irene Packer, rscj. Forty years later, I still remember the 1970s felt cut-out letters glued on to proclaim "God is love. Loving is Giving."
In the hours, days, weeks, and months after Amy's death, so many people kept giving to us. They thought of us, they prayed for us. They called, they visited. Their cards and e-mails and Facebook postings kept trickling in with memories of Amy. And those who had promised us meals in the Spring delivered.
All the giving made us feel all the loving, feeling God. It didn't matter if it came from Catholic or Muslim or Jewish or Protestant or Buddhist or Sikh friends. We knew it was God. I even talked about feeling the love to pain ratio being greater than 1, and given how much pain there was, that said a lot about how much love there was, how much God was with us.
Ironically, Amy's death was pretty devoid of the God-talk of deaths in the past. There wasn't a lot of Jesus-speak, or of heaven and angels. Even when our Pastor visited, it all seemed like small talk, a visit much like Jesus or Mohammed or the Buddha might have made.
But there was talk of faith. And I'll admit that when we had to choose the music for Amy's funeral, certain traditions from my Catholic roots were non-negotiable. I had to have Litany of the Saints (which is on this program!), and Pie Jesu. The only version of Psalm 23 I could stomach was "Shepherd me Oh God," which I found myself humming in the weeks after the funeral, as well as "May the choirs of Angels, rise to greet you," both incredibly comforting hymns.
One of my high school teachers, still a dear friend as she approaches 80, wrote to me "Many go through a stage of anger in their sadness and turn quickly on a seemingly "disappointing" God. You, too, may come to a time when you harbor those thoughts." My anger remains at those whom we entrusted to keep Amy safe, and did not. I harbor some anger at Amy, for the repeated lies to me over the years, which only recently I could truly blame on her disease of addiction. Angry at God? I don't feel that. Oddly, I feel that God was merciful. Only God knows how much Amy was suffering -- though I have a good sense from her rehab journals. Only God knows how much more Amy would suffer -- though I knew she would have an incredibly difficult recovery ahead of her.
I don't mind people saying Amy is now an angel. She is safe with God now. When I say "God was merciful," it is because she is now at peace, despite the pain of those who loved her and miss her terribly. And as we remember all those we have lost, we can thank God that we had them in our lives, however briefly. Pardon me, Bill Joel, I don't buy "only the good die young." I've lost some incredibly dear loved ones who were decades older than myself. I've always liked the quote by writer Thomas Moore, "to lose a person is to lose a world." As we mourn the loss of the worlds of our loved ones, let give to each other the love they gave each of us. We will feel them, we will feel God.