Circle of life

This morning I attend the funeral mass of A.'s father. Her father had fallen ill about a month ago and everyone who knew the family prayed hard for his recovery. I was in Brisbane the last two weeks for training and while I was away, her father finally returned to the Lord, a day before I was due to fly home.

As I grieved with the family who have had to deal with the shock of the suddeness and ferocity of the deadly cancer, I added my own personal grief this morning, reliving the experience of losing my own father. I am sure that A. and her siblings will cover the same ground as I did, crying out, "It's just not right, he's not supposed to leave so soon. Parents are only supposed to die when I am in my 60s. Not when I am in my 30s!!!" Even as I write this, I recall my father's words on death, "When the Lord calls you home, you go, not one second earlier or later".

Parting is indeed such sweet, and rich sorrow.

I am not sure one ever gets over the grief of great loss. We just tuck it into an obscure recess of the heart and learn to live with the pain it evokes from time to time when an errant memory escapes from its designated cubby-hole. For life must go on, and death is what gives life its intrinsic value. Without death, life would not have the flavour and depth it has.

During the time I was away, my god-daughter, Amelie Rachel, was born on December 8th, the Feast of the Immaculate Conception. I was overjoyed to hear the news and I looked forward to meeting her, which I did, the moment I arrived home. Such a tiny little thing, with delicate skin and a cute button nose, this promise of new life who touches all who see her with joy.

I look forward to watching her grow up, and viewing things through her eyes - with innocence and wonder at the beauty that surrounds her.

Syncopated by birth and death, joy and sorrow, the seasons of life tap out a universal rhythm of change. I am reminded that "There is a given time for everything and a time for every happening under heaven". And so, I make time to grieve with A., and to rejoice at the arrival of Amelie.