PARALLELS WE DRAW

I caught the TV coverage of the John McCain services in Washington, DC. Under the mighty rotunda sat all the government except one. Eulogies were sincere and sometimes very impactful, John McCain was a great man.

As the camera did its work, it started to focus on Mrs. McCain his mother, she is 106 years old and although sits in a wheelchair, is fully functioning. Watching her took me back many years ago to 1991. It was the year my Dad died, and his mom, Francesca was 97-years old and in a wheelchair.

I thought how horrible it is for a mother to bury her child, it is something no mother anticipates. Mrs. McCain, 106-years old is burying her child, a man in his 80’s. What cruel irony.

Grandma Frances was a fierce competitor, filled with life and joy who gave it all for her children and her church, Donating her time for orphans she made pilgrimage after pilgrimage to Italy, raising funds so children could live fulfilled lives.

Grandma Frances was like a ‘godfather’ to her neighborhood, when in need she was where they went, to welcoming and sympathetic arms. She knew people in the right places and she knew how to get things done. Many an Italian immigrant was granted a double asylum, one in America and one in her arms. She supported people and sometimes, whole families with money, food and even wine. She helped people wipe away the tears of despair when they were down to only recreate tears of joy lifting them up.

As Grandma entered the funeral parlor for the first time, as Dad lay there in his coffin, my heart sank knowing she was here to bury her son. Her son, my Dad, was devoted to her, whenever she needed him he was there. Then I thought about myself, and how I would miss Dad, and realized that between my grandmother and my father was the story of Dad’s whole life, in total. That Dad was the link from grandma’s generation to mine.

There is little one can say to a mother when she buries a child. I have witnessed it all too often and have lived it myself, my son passing at a young age and I realize how sobering it is. It is even more sobering when a child loses his or her mother, the most vital connection can fond in the cycle of life. But a child who never meets his mother, is never loved in that special grace that a mother offers, breaks all hearts as my heart breaks for my grandson, and his sister who only knew her a short while.

Somehow we all survive the slings and arrows, the death spears of life, and we go on, putting one foot in front of the other, and somehow survive. We all have our own personal pain, and we bury it by sparing others from it.

So, today I keep my heart open for the Mrs. Mc Cain’s of the world, the Francesca’s and a niece and of course my wife. All have put the next foot forward and walks the path of compassion and pain, tempered with the knowledge that we are all there for them.