Part I: GHOSTS--in, “Give us this day our daily ... Pearls.” Family grief explored

There are four ghosts sitting at the kitchen table.

Most ghosts are previous patients. Laypersons don’t know this, but not all patients leave when their bodies die. They have unfinished penances to fulfill. After many years, spirits accumulate. Some can be a comfort and strength.

Spirits are as multiple personalities are to a DID-patient (dissociative identity disorder). We squeeze into closets together. Some ride in the back of trucks. In the mornings, it is difficult getting dressed, when they sit on floors or occupy chairs. Ghosted patients come and go. We pray together and I enjoy their company and stories.

Yet, the spirits laughing in the kitchen are different. These four are the male ghosts of the same family—mine. They include a father, son, brother and brother-in-law. Every birthday, holiday or whenever they bored; they visit this spot. They come to act silly, talk smart and tell tall tales.

The more we are afflicted in this world, the greater is our assurance in the next;
the more sorrow in the present, the greater will be our future joy. — St. Isidore of Seville

Health care personnel learn Grieving-101. Therefore, it is easy to deal with a loved one’s loss if it belongs to someone else. Kitchen ghosts are much more difficult. Self-help books on grieving don’t work. Authors may map the landscape but they provide no compass. If you have ever lost a loved one, you know the pain. Each loss adds a marathon, to our cross-carrying journey toward Jesus.

One short sleep past, we wake eternally and
death shall be no more, death shall die. --John Donne

In the night, I hear four male voices laughing down the hall into my bedroom. As rain pounds the window screens, the clocks flash angry-red 12:00’s from the storm-tripped electrical-outage. Yet, these ghosts live outside time. I work my mortal bones upright to shut windows and reset clocks. During my rounds, I hear Jim’s voice the loudest at the kitchen table. Jim was married to my older sister. He may have drowned at the beach, but he will be 40, forever.

“I raise you and call,” Jim yells excitedly. “You’re bluffin’ again you lyin’ wuss. Let’s see you top these three pretty queens.”

Jim fathered five live children and six miscarriages. Without his moustache, he is Jim Caviezel’s twin. One evening, he took the four oldest kids swimming and then drowned. He could not swim nor could his kids drive themselves home. His oldest, 12-year-old son found a quarter in the mini-van and called for help from the beach’s pay phone

"He reached down from on high and took hold of me; he drew me out of deep waters. —Psalm 18:16

“How about this super straight?” asks my ghosted brother Joe. He was a 21-year-old Chris Pratt. “Come to Papa!” as he rakes in Jim’s queens. The others toss-in and groan. No one sees him cheat, but how does Joe win? As he leans forward, his rebellious cowlick bobs. “Yessir, when God made me, he was just showing off,” he brags. Still as strong as in his high school heavyweight-wrestling days, his massive frame dwarfs the others. He never ages a day, despite his death over 10 years ago. He will always be a free spirit, revving his motorcycle into the sunset; rather than under the semi-trailer truck that snapped his spine and stole his soul.

“My Lord, it is time to move on. Well then, may your will be done.
O my Lord and my Spouse, the hour that I have longed for has come.
It is time for us to meet one another.” —St. Theresa of Avila

“Perhaps He was showing off, but who—here—helped make you?” asks the ghost of my dad. Dad remains 77-years-old with a full head of thick silver hair. He is Mel Gibson’s double with twinkling blue eyes, punctuated with warm, crinkling wrinkles. His electrician hands are calloused and tortuous with a blue blood-blister under his left thumbnail.

He is the JFK-authored, “Profiles in Courage” for cancer victims. He died of metastasized-prostate cancer, which when caught, could have been fixed by radiation. Allegedly, he was diagnosed at Christmas but didn’t want to bother his accountant-wife during IRS-tax season. No one knew that he needed rides to rad-therapy 90-miles away every weekday for 5-6 weeks. He fought cancer for five painful years but never lost his poise.

He will destroy death forever. God will wipe away the tears from all faces. —Isaiah 25:8

“Mind if a smoke a cigar?” Andrew’s ghost asks, as he twists open a metal humidor. He is a 16-year-old Thomas Brodie-Sangster clone. Andrew’s fingers fiddle with a long, lithe lighter. The flame reflects freedom in his eyes—I was a bad mother. Andrew was the high school student-council president, who threatened to run for U.S. president.

All dreams evaporated when his 4-WD Toyota SR-5 left the road, rolled down an embankment and fractured an old oak tree. The tree still lives. The jaws-of-life removed his broken body from the tangled truck. In his wallet, was his shiny new driver’s license—in perfect condition. A male may live as a conqueror, king or president; but he dies a man. Andrew never had a chance; he died a child. He left us 4-5 months after Dad left. All paths of glory lead but through the grave. BTW—thank You Jesus for coming to save our sorry skins, but where are You now?

“It is a loving act to show sadness when our dear ones are torn from us,
but it is a holy act to be joyful through hope and trust in the promises of God.”
--St. Paulinus of Nola

“Would it make any difference if we did mind your sorry stench?” asks Dad.

Andrew blows a long stream of smoke at the ceiling. Then, with one hand, he pen-spins the empty cigar wrapper and eyes the cigar’s length at a distance in his other hand. Eyebrow cocked, he thinks aloud, “it is my generation that will finance your Medicare-enemas and Depends-diapers. Truly, I am honored to indirectly remove the BS of the past.”

“Them cigars will kill you,” interrupts Joe. “Best to use beer for cleansing purposes.” He fished a cold brew from a floor cooler. He popped the top and slid it expertly across the table to my son. “At least with alcohol, you know your insides are sterile.”

Jim stares eye-daggers at Joe for pushing underage drinking.

“No thanks Uncle Joe.” Andrew warned, “and Uncle Jim, don’t look at us in that tone of voice.” Everyone smiles.

Normally, underage drinking and smoking are a trigger. But alcohol and cigars cannot hurt the dead. Second, it doesn’t matter what I say, since these ghosts never answer.

“He made the moon to mark the seasons, & the sun knows when to go down.” —Psalm 104:19

Reverse-psychology has been tried, i.e; “if a man talks in a forest and no one hears, is he still wrong?” Nothing. Over time, I accept being ignored. Perhaps their presence is because more prayers and Holy Masses need to be offered? Or is it guilt, from my loving them less than they deserved?

My bare-feet pad cold-tile to the bar. Armed with coffee mugs and an old bottle of cognac, I plop in the chair between my son and father, dwarfed. My little boy is 6-feet, and my silver-haired dad is 200 pounds. They haven’t changed since their death, except dad, who died a mere 110 pounds. Today, he has bulk, color and twinkling eyes. Dad went through every stage of life described by Shakespeare in, As You Like It. He started and ended life in the fetal position. For a suspended moment, he has shed his fatal cocoon.

“Live so as to not fear death.
For those who lived well in the world, death is not frightening, but sweet and precious.
-- St Rose of Viterbo

Goethe once said, “in the beginning, there was the deed.” If he referred to the fall of Adam and Eve, perhaps the better translation is, there was the death.” Lives change in a single second when looking into dead eyes. As everyone ages, family reunions become cemetery visits and the reverse.

Tonight is about phantom-pains, positive and negative versions. It is fun to count blessings and celebrate the good memories. Not-so-fun is to face grief, yet here we are. Denying grief means living in the past—which is not what God wants. Yet, living in love is easier than grinding through grief. If these ghosts wanted me to move on, they would not have come. Where lies the problem—in me or them? While I am afraid, they are family. Patient spirits are less painful and easier to pray around. With them, grief textbook stages make sense. However, some neglect the afterlife. Here, we won’t make that mistake. Or at least we will try.

“You guys are loud enough to wake the dead,” I offer. I am the only one who laughs.

We are condemned to kill time. Thus, we die, bit by bit. —Octavio Paz, 1914-1998

Feeling lost, how do we deal with this? Usually, nurses with mileage have intuition from shady situations. A seasoned nurse can destroy entire plots. One would think we could cure cancer. Yet, unparalyzing ourselves from family phantoms takes God’s help. Death-in-the-home brings entire families to their knees—wherein, lies the answer. If you are still here, let’s figure this out this grief thing together, tapping God’s grace.

By and by, his Maker caught his eye. —A waiter’s gravestone in a London cemetery

A Prayer when in Grief

O Lord, You know the ghosts who stay, who laugh in kitchens night and day.
Grant peace to souls that ache and roam & let Your mercy bring them home.
When those who die still linger near, whose voices drift for us to hear.
Hold in light their sorrows please & wrap their wandering souls in peace.

For fathers, sons, and brothers gone; whose stories still in dark live on.
Let every memory, sharp or sweet, be grace beneath our weary feet.
When storms flash red across the night, & grief returns without respite.
Be near the ones whom we loved best & place their restless hearts at rest.

And when our journey’s cross feels sore; Lord, help us trust Your promise more …
... the last shall first, in heaven rise, where tears are wiped from every eye.

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Click on links below for next chapters. Some may not be posted yet.

I. Ghosts—in, “Give us this day our daily … Pearls." Family grief explored

II. Humor—in, “Give us this day our daily … Pearls." Brotherly grief explored

III. Courage—in, “Give us this day our daily … Pearls." In-Law grief explored

IV. Strength—in, “Give us this day our daily … Pearls." Paternal grief explored

V. Freedom—in, “Give us this day our daily … Pearls.” Grief over a child, explored

VI. Goodbye Ghosts—in, “Give us this day our daily … Pearls”