The First Mother's Day Since Mom Passed Away

We went from sunny days to clouds and rain in an instant.

This past Sunday, my wife possessed saintly patience as rogue waves of grief came over me. A few messages from friends warned me about what happens when holidays meet graves. Salt water seas that need to be freed. 

In Spanish, these little notebooks we keep are called diario; literally river of the day. These past pages have been terse. Less words, yet somehow more hurt.

My son, not yet three, now claims, “the Pope is named after me! Pope Me!” He says triumphantly. Then he perceives something is gnawing at me. “You want to pray the rosary?” he says softly swaying back and forth as though the invitation alone is fait accompli.

This little devotion taken up at my mother’s diagnosis is now the greatest solace I know. I can’t finish the thing without feeling my mother close to me. Her voice and her undivided attention comforting me. 

No one ever completes a rosary. Where prayers begin, there they end and begin again. Years into this devotion, I can’t help but think how many days were swiped away. Sacred thieves are these pocket screens stealing away our senses from eternity. Now when my fingers meet that small slab of glass they become startled before starving to return to the beads. My body knows what my soul really needs.

Years ago before I became a parent, I asked a mother of four wonderful children at our parish, “What is your secret?”. Every fiber of her skin between her hair and her chin were slowly becoming pensive. Her pause pregnant enough to produce her fifth kid. Then in all wisdom and humility she confessed to me:

We all wound our children. 

I still squirm when I remember these words or remember that sin hurts to the third and even fourth generation. Here was one of the great mothers of our village yet she could see how far she was from perfect. Her humility in that moment was a milestone on my own journey to forgive my parents.

Jesus, Jesus, Jesus. There is power in the name of Jesus they say. No wonder why the apex of every Hail Mary is the fruit of thy womb Jesus. Powerful people rarely give the poor powerful gifts, but this God on his cross says here take this: It’s my mother and you are my bride, so this is a bit like getting your mother-in-law as a gift for Christmas from Jesus Christ.

Only Jesus could make a gift like this miraculous. Those of you who have kept this devotion know the Coronation of the Queen of Heaven. I must confess, I have been tended to by this royal woman.

In the ancient days Caesar claimed to be a divine offspring, but his heresy was in exclusivity. Divine parentage is available to every earthly being. Not only is there a Father in Heaven but a Queen who tends to the broken things that come from a mother’s passing.

Don’t you know you can just pray to Jesus, so many friends have said. You don’t need a middle man! But what if the kingdom of heaven is like meeting your parents perfected. Lord knows the forgiveness I finally had for my dad when I accepted he didn’t need to be perfect because God the Father in heaven is perfect and is perfecting my dad. All glory to this King, his mother and mine have conspired in Heaven to relieve from me the burdens of being unforgiving. 

I have heard it said by some Christians that those who want heaven without Jesus want a kingdom without a king, but to those same people who may think we cannot speak with every saint: you may not be looking for a Kingdom and its King. All the Angels and Saints don’t go away when you pray. Rather the King turns to these and says, “Don’t you see in them, me?”

The invitation to repent came because the Kingdom of Heaven is near. Not only in time but in space; an invasion already underway. There is not only a King at the head of an army, but a Queen on eagles wings, bringing peace to the grieving from the other side of eternity.

Until next week,

-Steven

PS. I know I keep signing off these letters with until next week. It is my desire to return to a weekly cadence. Please pray for me and my family.