My priest talked about resurrection, but he also talked about death. He talked about Mary holding her son; he talked about a kid he knew who hemorrhaged on a touch football field after hitting his head and the kid’s mother and her grief.
It was a rough homily for me.
And then he talked about how we would all be restored to our bodies after the second coming. And how the boy’s mother would get to hold her living son again and rejoice in his — in their — resurrection.
And I really wanted to be comforted by that, I did. But I kept wondering how old Gabriel would be. Would he be a baby? In our new bodies, would he grow up? Would we be a family of five (or more?) in the New World?
I know I let the details get in the way of the message of hope. And that’s not like me, especially at this point in my journey. I don’t know what I’m fighting. I’m not 100% sure what all I am grieving.
On the plus side, on Easter morning, Flora walked into the room where her sister and her father were sleeping and declared: “Something wonderful has happened!” She was referring to the Easter bunny’s arrival, of course. But maybe that’s what I need to remember, the root of my Catholic faith: something wonderful happened. Maybe I need to let go of the other stuff — again.
*This is my reaction to this very simple post at Glow in the Woods