Memento Mori

At every cemetery's entrance, Fr Pat Keleher tells me, these words are inscribed: Memento Mori (Remember the Dead). Today I went with the good Father over to the medical school for their Memorial Service for those who donated their bodies to the Human Gross Anatomy Lab.

Indeed it was a moving day filled with an outpouring of gratitude for these people who have allowed these students access to their bodies, so that they might better understand and learn about the intricacies of the human body.

Books and models just don't tell the whole story when it comes to the human body. Being able to see a touch and probe an actual human body allows these students to gain not just hands on experience with the body but to examine and see how disease effects the body as well.

An anonymous letter from one student said it perfectly: "The gift of these bodies makes Human Gross Anatomy truly 'human.'"

I've never really thought about this type of gift before, but it truly is one of the more altruistic things one can do. The overwhelming sentiment of the day was that these people had this type of altruism in mind. The letters read by students from family members expressed that very clearly. Their generosity went well beyond, heck, it even literally transcends the grave, avoiding it altogether. Truly death could not hold their gift of self, a gift that might transmit life to another.

I decided to be a donor of my organs some time ago, but now I think I have been inspired enough to consider the good I can do beyond this life with my old bag o' bones.

Besides, it's not going to be of any use to me once I return home to God.

Next semester I plan to volunteer at the lab as someone who assists the students when they get queasy or uneasy or even come to the realization that they're not cut out for medicine. As a minister to medical students it provides me with an opportunity to help them get in touch with their own existential questions, which undoubtedly will come up when time is spent amongst the dead.

Pray for these students today and pray for those who help them be the best doctors they can be.

For even death cannot hold back our desire to give life. And in gross anatomy labs around the country, we see a place where "death delights in helping the living."

R.I.P. - Rev. Joseph A. Novak, S.J.

The Novak brothers Joe and Vin are Jesuits who have dedicated most of their lives to the cause of mentoring and educating those who teach religion to others. They founded the Graduate School of Religion at Fordham along with Dr. Jack Nelson, an institution that I hold a Master's Degree from and which was instrumental in the publishing of my book, Googling God.

At the flourishing excitement of the Second Vatican Council, these three men had the great wisdom to see that religious education was going to soon be in the hands of lay people, alongside religious and that they needed training. Many in the church didn't have that foresight and thus, much of those in the Gen X demographic received their religious education from in Fr Joe's words: "someone who was very nice to the pastor and didn't make waves and who kind of knew the catechism, but had no idea about how to teach!"

So the religious education that was offered to many at this time in the church's history in the United States was the equivalent of 'God is love, now draw a rainbow.' These three men would not stand for that. They knew that the church and moreover these "teachers of traditon" were deserving of a honorable training program, a master's and doctoral level school was their dream and they lived that dream.

Thinking back, my own parish's Director of Religious Education, a Deacon, went to school to be trained at Fordham, so I have benefited from the wisdom of these founding fathers since I was a child. Surprisingly enough, I felt my religious education was pretty good. My older sister was a CCD teacher and went through a rigorous training program a the hands of two different DRE's, both Fordham trained.

But sadness is with our school now as yesterday, after a brief illness, Fr Joe Novak, S.J. passed from this life into his eternal reward.

Father Novak served most of his life as a Jesuit superior, meaning he was either as Provincial, Vice Provincial or the Rector of a community. In the mid 1960s, Father Novak, also coauthored a series of groundbreaking high school religion books.

One of the gutsier things he did as Provincial, was that he willingly sent several Jesuits to the Nigerian missions. Despite the danger and the advice he got to the contrary, he decided that Jesuits from the United States indeed needed to go to Africa and that it would make a huge statement if they did so. It's because of his wisdom and foresight, that Nigeria has a thriving mission today. Moreover, I would say that because of his dedication, the majority of students in the Graduate School of Religion at Fordham are indeed NIgerian priests, sent here to study often with no winter coats and no place to stay. It has been the long standing commitment to their education that enables these men to be able to study, live and serve as priests in the Archdiocese of New York and elsewhere.

Personally speaking, I didn't know "Joe" (as he often insisted on being called) all that well. We had one or two conversations at the annual Sapientia et Doctrina awards dinner for the grad school. The school's motto stood for Wisdom and Knowledge and indeed that is what he shared with us. What he also shared was an unbridled optimism and an encouraging nature. He recommended retreats to my wife and I for married couples and they always were outstanding. "You and Marion should go on this." he'd say. "Great, great people run this. You'll love it." And he was always on target with his recommendations and people knew he stated his reputation on their work and more importantly, their hospitality.

I only remember one extended conversation with Joe. I had congratulated him on receiving the first "Founder's Award" at the Graduate School of Religion's Dinner along with his two founding colleagues. I asked him what those early days were like. He responded simply with two words: "Great! Exciting!" He went on to say that they saw a need and they filled it and that the school continues to serve that need. His simplicity was humbling and while proud of his work, he sought no glory in it for himself, but simply was happy to fulfill Ignatius' great demand of being a "man for others."

Condolences to the Jesuit Community in New York and especially at Fordham where Joe served as the alumni chaplain. Joe's brother, the Rev. Vincent Novak, S.J. indeed needs our prayers today as these brothers were very close and lifelong friends.

I know I stand on the shoulders of giants and we lost one of the bigger ones to whom I will always be indebted yesterday.

Eternal rest grant unto him O Lord and let perpetual light shine upon him. May Joe's soul and all the souls of the faithful departed, through the mercy of God, rest in peace. Amen.

Remembering Dave

14 years ago, my college classmate and junior year roommate Dave Connors died after battling a long illness. It was tough for us to see someone so young die at 25. We all were afraid and confused and frankly angry.

I was a producer at a NYC radio station and upon hearing the news of Dave's death I promptly took an old school reel of tape and chucked it across the studio. I was angry at God, at death, at heart disease and at the fact that I didn't get to say goodbye to Dave.

But time provides reflection after tragedy and when I look back at the time I shared with Dave I'm not filled with sadness but with joy. Dave provided us with much laughter during his stand up comedy routines. It was his way of disarming people. His sickly body would make people treat him differently. People would pity his situation and Dave hated that beyond belief. He knew that he was probably not going to live very long and he wanted to spend that time having fun and not being sad. He'd cheat death with what he called sick humor. He'd offer to play the "dead pool" where you draft famous people who you'd expect to die within the year for points. Dave would always draft himself.

"I guess I'll have the last laugh if I win, sorta." he said to me. We'd all cringe but it made us more sensitive to the fact that Dave was conscious of his limited time.

That was a huge awakening for me. It's easy for me to immerse myself in busyness and ignore the needs of those around me. In college I was driven to be a successful broadcaster but I was missing spending time with friends, family and other mentors who engaged my passions that i misdirected towards radio instead of ministry.

Dave's illness got me on track. And I hate that. Why did it take tragedy to wake me up? I nearly wasted friendships like Dave's and when I look back at our time in college together, I don't remember feeling sorry for Dave but rather, I see all of our friends rallying around Dave and his family and a young man rallying us not towards death but towards a greater appreciation of life itself.

Dave was not particularly religious. He struggled a lot with his faith and with God. A seminarian had a big influence on him towards the end of his life and helped him gain a greater awareness of God in his life. For me, God was always around Dave for like Jesus, Dave gave us all of Himself and held nothing back. His parents gave their very lives to him, supporting their only child all the way to his death, a tragedy that no parent should ever have to live through. And lastly, Dave gave us a reminder that we all really need to support one another in those dark hours. Despite his illness Dave was one of the most giving people I ever met. He always had time for people and for helping and serving others. He loves his family and reveled in bringing joy to others.

It is no surprise to me that Dave died on December 8...the feast of the Immaculate conception. Like Mary, he accepted his lot in life despite knowing that pain was on the other side. Today I hope he is able to not merely be free from his pain but also to be free to laugh with great abandon and understand how much he was loved by all those he touched.

[Posted with iBlogger from my iPhone]

The Worry of Death

My friend from college Nancy Keelin Tannucilli, posted a brief note on facebook tonight saying how much she misses her dad, who died 21 years ago when we were just freshmen at Fordham. You might find it hard to believe that I remember that event so clearly (I didn't even have to do the math to remember when it was) but, Nancy was the first person I knew that was my own age who had a parent die.

For most of my adult life I lived with the anxiety of thinking that my mother was going to die...and die sooner rather than later. Always with a myriad of health problems, my mother has shuttled in and out of hospitals since I was about 9 years old.

"How's your mother?" was an oft-heard question to me as a child.

"Well...she went into the hospital..."

"AGAIN!?" was the exasperated response from my questioner who found it hard to believe that mom had been hospitalized for probably the fifth time that year.

So when Nancy's father died, our freshman year, I kinda thought I would be the next college student who would be experiencing the loss of a parent.

But through the grace of God, mom made it to graduation. I didn't take a few out of state jobs that I had opportunity to venture into, so that I would be near home, just in case something went wrong with mom. Although continually making her frequent hospital visits, mom muddled through. It takes a toll on her, but she continues her battle with rheumatoid arthritis (which is a dreadful disease that is a killer and we are only recently finding out more about this disease today), severe asthma, anxiety, colon problems and more that I won't bore you with.

Suffice it to say that she's gone through a lot. And for a good portion of my college and young adult life, we suffered along with her emotionally.

On the day of my wedding, when she should have been dancing with me, mom was getting prepped for major colon surgery. I thought surely thought that was going to be the end. But she rallied, given only a 29% chance to live, she somehow, someway, recovered. She and my father struggled with her recovery, as some of you may have read about on Busted Halo® but with some help from Fr Jim Lloyd, CSP, who calmed my mother's anxiety and got her to believe that she indeed was going to live much longer, mom was still with us.

Last year, mom turned 80. My college roommate, Joe Patane called me up on her birthday.

"Hey isn't it your mom's 80th birthday today?"

"Yep, I'm headed there right now."

"That's awesome! You know, Mike, for as long as I've known you, you've lived with the anxiety that your mom is going to die. And I've known you now for 20 years!"

"Yeah, you're probably right about that.."

"Mike, I think you can let that one go now..."

I laughed and then of course, I cried. Because he was right. Nancy and all those whose parents died much too young have had it much worse than I have. My mom, though sick, is still here at 81. And my dad, also 81, has had a rich life, filled with much joy, some pain, some sorrow, but much love.

And now that they are in their 80s, I have to be OK with the fact that every day for them is gift. And there are more days behind them than ahead of them to be sure.

And therein is the point for all of us really. Each day is gift and for some of us, we may not be here tomorrow. We need to bless each day with the joy of life in Christ, which gives us hope for our death, that we might live with him forever.

For Mom, each day is grace and has been for nearly 30 years.

And for each of you who have lost their parents, each day is also grace in which you remember a life that blessed you with the very gift of life itself. Let us remember the joys of our parents, for upon our birth, we were such joy for them (perhaps not in our teen-age years but hey...that's another story). Eternal rest grant unto them, O Lord and let perpetual light shine upon them. May their souls and all the souls of the faithful departed, through the mercy of God, rest in peace. Amen.

And Nancy, your dad is very, very proud of the woman and mother that you have become.

A horrible baseball season...but we still look good

Here I am with my college buddies Victor (the dope wearing the Phillies shirt and hat) and Kevin. While the Mets had a terrible season, I rather enjoyed their new park, Citi Field, albeit it took them forever to at least make it look somewhat like the homefield for the Mets and not some homage to the Brooklyn Dodgers.

I grew up a Mets fan as many of you know but after covering the team as a beat reporter I stopped rooting for them because Fred Wilpon really treated us media types poorly as did most of the players at that time (Jeff Kent was by far the surliest guy I ever met). So I vowed that I would never root for them again until Wilpon sells the team.

Still waiting...

I will miss going often to major league baseball games after I move to Buffalo. But the Mets triple A affiliate is in Buffalo and I am considering getting a partial season ticket plan to those games. Toronto is not far away and so I will travel to some Blue Jays games and Cleveland is also not that far and I have not been to a game at their ballpark.

Lastly, please pray for the brother of our friend Phil Guibileo. Kevin and his wife Jen joined us for the final game at Citi Field under unfortunate circumstances. They were Phil's tickets and his brother died suddenly on Saturday night at a rather young age of an apparent aneurysm or something similar. Sad. Phil is a great guy and a broadcaster for a minor league hockey team and was just recently married. So it's tough on him during this so-called honeymoon period.

"Eternal rest grant unto him and let perpetual light shine upon him. May the souls of all the faithful departed through the mercy of God, rest in peace. Amen.

Finding Someone "Wonderfully Imperfect"

Over at a thought provoking blog "In Him We Live and Move and Have Our Being," we find some wonderful reflections on marriage all this past week. However the capstone of these posts came down the pike today. Take a look and a listen at this:



In marriage we all find out each other's flaws very quickly and part of marriage that I think a lot of people don't understand is that we need to do our best to blow off the behaviors or tendencies or quirks that someone has that really aren't that big of a deal. Somehow my wife overlooks my morning grumpiness and the fact that I'm often a slob who leaves clothes where I'm not supposed to. I know I snore sometimes and I can't count the number of times my wife has "kneed" me in the back in the middle of the night, or pulled off the covers. She once fell asleep mid-sentence late at night when I was talking to her and she was exhausted and I was troubled by something.

But God do I love her. And her me.

We've both worked hard on our more rougher edges and have really come to understand what it means to work at relationship--and it always has paid off great dividends for both of us and our relationship.

It seems to me that this is what we call commitment and it is a reflection of how God also stands by us no matter what we might do. That all we need to do is utter those two simple words "I'm sorry" and the slate is always wiped clean. And God does this perfectly, unlike me who always tends to keep just a slight bit of resentment lingering--something I'm trying to work on that is challenging and never easy.

But fortunately for me, I have a wonderful woman by my side, who often teaches me much about unconditional love.

May you find someone as "wonderfully imperfect" as I have. And may your wonderful imperfections be tolerated and loved by someone who loves you.

How We Die (part 2)

I was going to write about wakes and funerals today but instead I was moved by NC Sue's response so deeply that I thought I'd give it special attention:

She writes:

I've worked as a nurse for 35+ years, and I've been at the bedside of the dying more times than I can count. I am not afraid of being dead, but after years of experience caring for the living... and the dying... I'm afraid of what I might have to go through between now and then.

There comes a time when it may be appropriate to embrace death - NOT out of depression or desperation, but out of a recognition that our earthly life IS finite, and rightly so.

There are times when the greatest gift we can give to those we love is permission to die in comfort surrounded by those we love. Read my earlier post at http://acts17verse28.blogspot.com/2009/04/janice-and-matt-true-story.html to see what I mean.

"Eternal life" doesn't mean that our current bodies continue forever. It means that our souls continue after the death of our earthly bodies. I pray that the transition I make... and that YOU make... will be gentle and surrounded by love.

For those of you who didn't follow her link in the post above. Here's a brief tease snippet:

Matt was reluctant to talk about it at first, but I think he knew that Janice was dying. We all did. And there were tears shed by all of us, especially on the day that Matt brought their little baby in and laid her on the bed beside a mom she would never know.

After seeing the extent of Janice 's suffering and after numerous heart-breaking conversations with the staff, Matt decided that the time had come for us to remove the breathing tube and to allow Janice the opportunity to die if, indeed, it was her time. I was working with Janice that day.

After the decision was made, I talked with Matt about what to expect. I told him that the ventilator would be turned off, the breathing tube would be removed, and that Janice probably wouldn’t live long after that. I told him that she might have some noisy and irregular breaths and that her color would change. I told him that he could remain in the room if he wished but that I would stay with Janice and be sure she wasn't in pain. Matt decided to stay.

Go read the whole post, get a hanky but also be sure to notice how beautifully this man loved his wife.

A huge h/t to NC Sue over at her fine blog, In Him We Live And Move And Have Our Being

Remembering Rhythms

I posted this on Amy Welborn's blog today after reading about her own struggle with her husband's recent unexpected death, but thought I'd re-post it.

Amy spoke of the following:

It is surreal and odd. Here one minute, gone the next, without a chance to say goodbye. Sunday’s experience did not really help in that regard for as fearful as I was, anticipating, when the moment came, without getting too specific, the line from the gospel flashed through my soul, “Why do you seek the living among the dead?” I could not connect that experience with the smiling face in the pictures surrounding us and the voice still echoing in my ears and memory. And the fear was gone. But the dissonance remained. And does.

To use the old phrase: It does not compute.

There is a mystery, as I was telling Dorothy, and what I feel driven to do is not “understand” it, really. It is not even to “accept” it. It is something different, and I don’t get what that is - where that space is and what it looks like.

I am opening comments on this post, but with a specific purpose. If you have had similar experiences, or any experiences with loss and grieving that you would like to share, please do. It will be helpful to me and to others.

I have had three of these, as you say, strange deaths in my own life. They never get easy:

As a young man 2 fellow altar boy friends of mine died much to young. The first died at a summer camp. Friends had received a call from him just days before telling them how awful his camp experience was. Days later reports came back that he vomited in his sleep and choked to death. All kinds of stories followed and all of them speculative at best. Was he drunk, was he high, or just sick? His brother was devastated, his mother even worse.

It wasn't until a year later when a simple weekday mass was said in his memory that I began to feel any comfort. Mass was the rhythm in which I came to know James. We served mass reverently and easily knowing cold what we were supposed to do and our motions moved without much thought around them until the odd thing would happen. A friend tripped and fell into the aisle once. A large candle fell and hit a priest nearly burning him another time. We would react and then move back into reverence once the issue died down and probably we would laugh about it later over dinner. It was all about presence. Being present to one another without thought, with ease, with the rhythm of the mass parts--sometimes mundane, but mostly joyful.

I think much of our lives are indeed like that. And even when those lives are taken unexpectedly, disrupting that rhythm, it is the rhythms in which we knew them that keeps them in relationship to us, praying with us, living with us. It is a different experience for us Eucharistic people who need the tangible and visible sometimes to make sense of the mystical. But the mystical is no less present even without those "accidents". These rhythms to me are indeed communion, and they are always revealing God to us in some way--the God who always lurks where we least expect to find Him.

The last of these strange deaths was my college roommate, who was always a sick young man and who many of us expected that he would die young. He had a heart condition and even had a defibrillator attached to his heart our senior year. That machine gave him and extra 3 years or so. He had been doing so well and so, when he told us that he was simply having his defibrillator replaced we all relaxed and thought it was rather routine.

Surgery is often tough to recover from and in this one, Dave, my friend, just didn't have the fight. Without any warning one of our other roommates called and gave me the news straight. Dave was dead. I beat up a studio pretty good that day at the radio station--angry wasn't the word for the emotion that poured out of me--it was more like frustration. I hadn't had the chance to say goodbye. I didn't feel like it was his time yet--although I knew it probably wasn't far off. His parents lost their only child and had given their very lives over to his care for over 25 years and now he was just...gone. Unfair. Even the dog was upset at it.

But what happened next reminded me a lot of this friend, who was possibly the most unselfish person I had ever met. Everyone rallied around each other that week. We made sure people stuck together, got the things done that needed to be done. We shopped for Dave's family and made sure people had rides to all the week's events. We laughed a lot (he was a stand up comic), cried a lot and prayed together. In short, we lived very full days noticing all the small stuff. It was how Dave, full of illness and pain for most of his life, lived each day and taught us how to live. Dave often healed broken relationships between people by simply making fun of how ridiculous arguments could be--so even now, one of us often plays that role when others are fighting or simply acting stupid.

Timing, rhythm, the adding up of time shared, it is often is like a dance and that all gets lost when the music abruptly stops. But the best dancers don't even need to hear the music. They know the rhythm intimately --and for me it has been remembering the rhythms of the shared experiences where I find that we all almost always find comfort and where we will always dance with joy.