First Holy Communion

On Saturday, my daughter will be making her First Holy Communion. It is a big day which has entailed much planning and preparing. My mother was supposed to do all of the shopping and preparing with me. She could not. And so, bereaved as I was, I picked out a dress, shoes, and accessories without the one person I needed as my guide and support. As bereft as I was, I went to Mass every Sunday so that my daughter could attend religious instruction classes in preparation for the sacrament. Many times I sat crying in the pew because the music and the prayers just made me too sad. But I did it.

I'm not writing this because I expect some kind of special credit. I am writing this because I am shocked. I am shocked that I have done all of this work these past four months while I have been mourning my best friend. I can't believe that I didn't just cancel everything and tell my daughter, "Well, we'll just have to do it next year, I'm too sad to do it now." I am proud that I didn't. It would have been selfish, no matter how hard it has been on me.

I've been experiencing a lot of disbelief lately. Just as I can't believe that I have actually done all I need to do so that my daughter can make her communion, lately I can't believe that my mother is dead. Even though it has been four months, I am breathless when I realize that she is gone. My mother? The person who was always there for me? The one who I laughed until I cried with every night on the phone? The one I would meet for coffee, go shopping with? She is gone? Forever? How did this happen?

Sometimes it is all about me. My pain, my grief, my disbelief. But then I am reminded that those I love are reeling too. My daughter was talking excitedly about her big day on Saturday. Then she got quiet and said, "I really wish Chon-Chon was going to be there." I tried to console her as she has done for me so many times as I've cried for my mother: "She will be there. We won't see her, but she will be there as surely as we will." And I found my breath and I breathed a sigh of relief that somehow I found the strength and wherewithal to keep on keeping on so that my daughter could have her big day and that I could help her deal with the fact that her grandmother is not with us bodily, but certainly in spirit. It's all we have.