Fruition
This is all, still, so surreal…and uniquely human.
As we have been laser-like focused these past few weeks on Dad’s cremation and the planning of his Catholic Vigil/Rosary and Funeral, and then the private graveside service, and as we begin the resolution of his Last Will and Testament, every now and then my breath catches as I fully realize what the heck we are doing…and why. It’s surreal at times to realize we are where we are even though we knew we’d be here at some near point in our lives…in his life.
We’re here now. And it’s still hard…at times.
Which is to say…
…it’s always been, and still is, 100% human.
More information for you:
Vigil and Rosary: Friday, April 14 @ 6 P.M. (Holy Rosary Catholic Church, Moxee WA)
On Friday night, at 6pm., we will be participating in a Vigil and Prayer of the Rosary—an important ritual of the Catholic faith and funeral liturgy. The rosary was a fundamental devotion of ours, well… of mom’s, as we were growing up. I cannot remember a night in which mom didn’t pray the rosary before bed. I cannot remember a night in which Dad, by himself, did. And he rarely prayed it with us when mom rounded the family up, when we lived in Toppenish, to sit at the round table in the kitchenette where, on more than a few occasions, it was harder to stifle the giggles mid-rosary, much to mom’s stern dismay, then it was to sit still through the 20 minute devotional.
Okay, yes, giggles! God does have a sense of humor right? But I’m not at fault here! For me, this family ritual began before I was a kindergartener! For the giggles, I deserve a bit of a break—I WAS LITTLE! And THAT was a loooong prayer! Besides, I still will swear to this day that my brother Terry purposefully added this silent prayer to himself: “Our Father, who art in heaven, may I make Kert and Trevor snort and giggle after the first and third decades, right after each final Hail Mary, during this rosary. And deliver us from evil, amen.”
Hey, Clary and Toni would giggle too! (And, shh…I think even mom giggled once or twice).
We never discussed this contradiction between mom and Dad with our parents—we never discussed any sensitive topics like that, period. Personally, I just surmised early in my life, observing the different ways faith and devotion manifested through our two formative examples, mom and Dad, that prayer was highly personal and individual and that it didn’t matter the form you engaged in, just that you did it (but as long as you followed how mom wanted you to do it; yes, contradiction there too—you know, the Catholic guilt thing. Mom was good at that.).
But instead, Dad WAS a devout Mass attendee, and offered his voluntary service to the parish in Moxee that included serving as parish president for almost 40 years, and selflessly serving as a tireless caretaker of the grounds and facilities of the church, hall, and residence—all which I knew was a form of prayer and contribution more suited to who Dad was—this man of humble action rather than stillness of prayer in solitude. I should have asked him if he ever said Catholic prayers while he worked. Maybe his devotion to that meaningful and hard farm life was the only prayer he needed.
Instead of the family doing service on the grounds for a couple hours as our Vigil (which would have definitely been more “Dad-like”), we’re gonna pray the rosary, which is what Catholics do at times such as this. I do enjoy and resonate with the contemplative aspect of the prayer that was also the favorite prayer of Pope St. John Paul II—a pope I highly admired for his strength, conviction, and charisma as I was growing up. (Note: I do love the gentleness, homespun practicality, and sensibilities of our Pope Francis, perhaps even more!).
Dad was holding mom’s rosary when he died. Clary, fittingly, has and will keep that rosary now.
Second Note: I won’t try to make anyone laugh at the Vigil’s rosary—I don’t pray like Terry did. (I don’t think anyone does!).
[If you are not familiar with the rosary as prayed by Catholics, here’s a nice, brief, primer for you: The Rosary Oh such memories! Cuz, yes, it’s been a while—in fact, it’s been just over exactly seven years! (Wait, that’s not quite true: our cousin, Bernie, prayed the rosary for Dad, by speaker phone, a couple days before he died—and we prayed along with.) That memory, coinciding with all the other memorable recitations of the rosary, locked now firmly in our hearts.
And also yes, I’ll be praying on my own personal rosary that has been in my life for over 35 years!]
It is all an approach with reverence.
Memorial Mass of Christian Burial: Saturday, April 15 @ 11 A.M. (Reception held immediately following; Holy Rosary Catholic Church and Hall, Moxee WA)
Monsignor John A. Ecker, friend of our mom and Dad, and one of the most influential priests in eastern Washington over the past 60+ years will be our Celebrant with the Very Reverend Jaime Chacón, Pastor of Holy Rosary, co-presiding.
Clary will bear Dad’s ashes during the processional; Trevor will likewise during the recessional. Dad personally selected seven individuals to serve as his honorary bearers. All of Dad’s grandchildren who will be present will have a role to play during Mass, too. I will have the incredible honor of giving my Dad’s eulogy—proudly sharing him, again, with those in attendance. Msgr. Ecker advised to keep euolgies short, like, 7 minutes total short. Um, nope. Not gonna happen.
I’ll be asking for forgiveness instead of permission. Dad was too important, and the church too important to him, to not do justice in remembering him with the community of Moxee.
The Zoom virtual address link for Dad’s Funeral mass is here.
The mass is to begin promptly at 11am on April 15—which, as I just realized, will mark exactly one month since Dad died in our home at 4:41 A.M. on March 15. Our Zoom manager is one of Dad’s great-grandkids, Alec. The chat will be inactive as will your video image—when you log in, you will be able to see and hear the proceedings live (though you may have to insure you have connected your audio to your wifi source). Chat and your video likeness will be disabled so it will be like you are bearing witness to something personal, profound, and sacred—with only and simply your avatar presence. We’re not sure the quality of the audio feed from the church itself so please be patient in your understanding of the constraints we will face in this very old Catholic church in Moxee. We honestly have no control on the audio portion but we will do our best.
We are offering this opportunity if you want to check in to the Mass live. We will also record the Mass from the Zoom camera’s vantage point and I will try to upload that link in a future post. A Mass like this can be over an hour in duration—and because of who Dad was, and what the church meant to him, and he to the church, it will. Wherever he will be, and he’ll be everywhere in that church at that time, Dad will be smiling. He will love that 100% of the focus will be on him—you’ll remember, as authentically humble as he was to his core, he could also be a pretty big ham (despite us turning him vegan during his last year—we tried our best! Hey! Maybe Dad’s a plant-based ham now!).
Private, Family Graveside Service: Sunday, April 16 @ 7:30 A.M.
On Sunday, April 16, fittingly just after dawn breaks (the time of the morning Dad always started his work day, if not just before), we will hold a private family inurnment service at Holy Rosary Cemetery in Moxee where we will say our final goodbyes to the dust that was Dad’s earthly incarnation; call to remembrance stories from the past; and offer blessings as we then move on into the rest of our lives with Dad’s whole presence more intimately a part of us then he ever was when he was in his body—remember, we point to our hearts now. During that time at the gravesite, the family will participate in a meaningful ritual to solemnize that time of gathering in remembrance of Dad.
I might post about that time at some later point. And likewise, because I’m sure there will be profound moments unexpected, I aim to reflect/post on the entire weekend.
We have to live it first.
Once the funeral and inurnment are complete, and we’ve caught our breath, I will send out information on the Strawberry Ice Cream Ritual that will include the things we, here, will have on hand should you want to fully participate with us. This is just an opportunity to engage in a virtual ritual as a Substack: “Dad’s Journey Home” community. Because, you know, rituals are important. And you have been important to me.
Ritual is a performative art—it is something that one does that brings a mindful presence to the liminal, threshold moments of our lives. Ritual also helps to build a container for a community bearing witness to grief and sorrow; remembrance and goodbye. If done with solemn, benevolent intention, ritual also becomes a key ingredient in the alchemy that is healing—and all by itself, it can be beautiful. It will be for Dad.
These are times for ritual. Times OF ritual. Rituals are vital in the development of humans and culture and family—especially the human family. And we don’t engage in them as much anymore, much to our loss. Heck, we’re so far down that road as a society that we’ve even forgotten what we’ve lost when we don’t come together at liminal times to celebrate and participate in ritual and ceremony. This is another Eldering from Dad—choosing as he did, that is, to have these Catholic and secular rituals at his death and burial, certainly more for our benefit than his; he has no need for them anymore, we certainly do.
Especially if it involves oatmilk strawberry ice cream (or even plant-based ham)!
Amiright?
If you have read this far, not just with this post, but throughout all of the “postcards” from Dad’s Journey…his Journey Home, the most profound journey he’s ever taken, then, well…I do not have the words of gratitude that adequately expresses how I feel about you. Even if you were an audience of one, and that one was only me, I’d still have written about Dad. But you aren’t one, you are many. And you have come to know my Dad through the filter that was me as I grew up with this introverted, strong, quiet, and humble farmer; and then again when Kristin, Sammy, and I became his 24/7 caregivers.
This blog has been my way of sharing his story, and recording it for posterity and progeny’s sake. Through the writing of his story, whenever a reader happens upon any of those posts which, I presume, will remain forever out in “digital etherville,” Dad will stay alive. Heck, if you’ve allowed even a small part of him into your own heart, you’re taking him out into your future now too—to experience a way of being in this world, through you, that he could never even imagine let alone dream. That makes me so proud…of him. No son, certainly any of us three, who admired a father as much, could ask for anything more.
As I reflect upon my Dad’s life now from this point of distance following the end of his earthly presence, those memories and reflections yet unchronicled seem to carry more poignancy and urgency—the ones already expressed herein certainly have, now, a deeper and more soulful tone (as I’ve gone back to read them again).
Dad has more Eldering to do. And it remains my privilege to be his scribe.
Thank you for reading,
Always.
Always love.
~ kert
🙏🏼
~~~~~~~~~~
i find myself grateful this day
for the beautiful awful power grief has
to remind me
how much
i have loved. ~~~~~~~~~~
What are YOU grateful for?
Dad’s Memorial Mass of Christian Burial (zoom link: Sat. April 15 @ 11am)
Actually looking forward to Saturday and seeing you all gathered at Holy Rosary...Of Bless✝️
Great send off planned for Wally, I’m sure he’ll enjoy it.