“Weeping and wailing and gnashing of teeth.”  That was my answer when my cousin, Rachel asked me how I was doing today. This is my cousin who recently pointed out that within a span of 12 months, I lost my religion, my mother-in-law, and my mom.  

But that isn’t why she asked how I was doing.  Her query had to do with the fact that I’m four days into a case of “good old-fashioned” pneumonia (not to be confused with that new-fangled COVID pneumonia) and the recent news that my dad has completely stopped eating and is going into Hospice care today. 

Let me unpack it here.  I am one of seven children, and yes, we are Catholic.  My three brothers were altar boys, I had an aunt who was the mother superior of an order of nuns, my dad brought Holy Communion to the prisoners at our local jail, we had 13 years of Catholic education.  The list goes on, and trust me, we’re bonafide.

Our gender disqualified my sisters and me from even standing on the altar, much less being the altar server who got to bring the priest that singular drop of water to put in the wine, or the blood.  I can’t remember if the one dramatic drop of water went into the chalice before the miracle of the transubstantiation, in which case the water would go into the wine,  or after the transubstantiation, in which case the wine would have been turned into the blood of Christ.  It’s confusing, I know and guess what, it’s a really big deal.

Catholics believe during every mass when the priest says the prayer of the transubstantiation, the bread and water on the altar are turned into the actual body and blood of Jesus.  When a non- Catholic attends a Catholic mass, they are not invited to take Communion, because they may think this is merely a symbol of the body and blood of Christ and they will not eat it with the appropriate reverence we Catholics have.  

Interesting side note here; when I was a child you could not eat a morsel of food before mass.  Nothing could be in your stomach before Jesus.  I don’t care how hungry we were on Sunday mornings, breakfast was not gonna happen.  Mixing Jesus and Cheerios was a sin. Period.

We used to go with Dad to the prison from time-to-time.  Quality time. He would visit the Catholic inmates, pray with them, and ask them if they wanted to receive Holy Communion.  Dad loved Jesus so fricking much it hurt.  Just talking about Jesus, would bring tears to his eyes. If he had ever been incarcerated, he would have missed receiving the Eucharist more than he missed his own family.  I think that’s why he took on this particular ministry.  In Catholic speak we don’t say chores, duties, or volunteering we say ministries.

While we are defining things, I’d like to point out that the Body of Christ, the Host, the Eucharist, and Holy Communion are all the same thing- the transubstantiated bread wafer which still looks exactly the same, but is entirely different now.

A prisoner once told Dad he’d grown up Catholic, but had turned away from the church.  This made Dad’s heart ache.  He didn’t want anyone to live a life without God. God was too good — too loving, too imperative to living.  So my father talked to the man for a long time. When he felt the man’s heart had softened, he asked if he’d like to receive the Eucharist.  The man said yes.  Elated and humbled, Dad put the Host in the man’s mouth and the man turned and spit it out into the commode.

My devoted father put his hand in that toilet bowl, scooped Jesus right on out of there and ate Him. That’s how much my dad loved Jesus, he saved Him from drowning!  How many people can say that?

I can imagine about now, you are thinking I made this up.  My mother used to accuse me of making up stories all the time.  She made me doubt my memory so much, that I now take a sibling poll when I write about something.  Some of my siblings remember things as I have, some don’t, but on this story — we all agree.

Having us all agree is something I’m hoping will happen in the coming days. As we gather around Dad, honor his life, and send him on his journey to be with mom and his beloved Jesus, I hope we agree that we’re all we have now and that we love one other–maybe even enough to save each other from drowning.