Sources of Perpetual Light

“Eternal rest
Grant unto them,
Oh Lord,
And let perpetual light
Shine upon them.
May they rest in peace.
Amen”.
(Catholic prayer for the Dead)

 “Hi mom” I said into the cell phone I was awkwardly holding in my left hand while balancing a brimming glass in my right.  “It’s me”.
“¿Ay Toñito, how are you? Thank you for calling! ¿Donde estas? Are you on vacation yet?”
“Yeah”, I replied, sitting on a wooden lounge chair in the outside patio with tropical island landscaping. “Kathy and I are in Ventura for a couple of weeks. We’re staying at the beach house we’ve rented the last five years”.
“¡Ay, que bueno! You deserve a vacation after the wedding, especially Kathy. Oh, Tony, gracias por los fotos! We got the album in the mail yesterday. Stela and I were just looking at the pictures again when you called. Que lindos, they’re beautiful. Prisa and Kathy look so lovely!”
“Oh” I said, leaning back in the chair, putting my feet up, and placing my drink on the flat arm rest, “so you got them; great. Kathy was hoping you’d get them this weekend. She thought you’d enjoy the pictures more if you saw the physical prints, rather than looking at a computer screen. She ordered the album a few days ago”.
“Tony, Kathy es una maravilla; she is so thoughtful. I can’t say enough about her; and the wedding was perfect. I want you to be sure and tell her I said this; quiero que le digas”.
“Sure mom,” I promised, as I leaned back and stifled a yawn. “I’ll tell Kathy that you loved the wedding”.
“No es todo”, she protested, “that’s not all! Be sure to thank her for the note, it was muy amable y muy tierna. Tell her I would never have missed such an important event as this wedding. I feel a special love and affection for Prisa. She looked so happy and beautiful; it was as if the playful youngster I knew suddenly disappeared, and a beautiful woman took her place. Tell her that the wedding was perfect: the ceremony, the music… The liturgy was outstanding, especially the addition of ‘Las Posadas’. That little touch brought back such wonderful memories of past Christmases. Estoy segura que Mary estaba watching the wedding con mucho orgullo. I always had the deepest respect for Kathy’s mother. The last time we spoke, Mary only talked about how grateful she was for Kathy’s kindness and generosity. Dile a Kathy that I’m very proud and appreciative that she is your wife. I truly love and admire her.”

I was making my weekly Sunday duty-call to my 84-year-old mother, Maria del Rosario. This was the second time I’d spoken to her since Prisa’s marriage, and that event was still the main thing on her mind. On the first occasion, she had gone on and on about the wedding, praising every aspect and detail of the ceremony and reception – from the flowers, to the music, to the personally labeled water bottles at the end. She especially complimented the dresses and appearance of Prisa and Kathy, saying she had never seen Prisa more radiant and so beautiful. By then my mom had received the first batch of on-line photos, but my computer-shy mother was waiting for her daughter, Gracie, to access and review them together. Since that telephone call, we had received additional candid wedding photos from Kathy’s sister, Tere, and merged them into a more comprehensive on-line album. But, Kathy felt my mom would enjoy the photos more if she could hold them, study them, and could comfortably discuss the feelings and thoughts she experienced on that day. So she ordered a small photo album of selected pictures and sent it through the mail, hoping my mom would receive them that weekend. She included a note thanking my mom for coming and staying through the end of the reception. Obviously, the photos had revitalized my mom’s memories, because she was once again repeating many of the things she had mentioned before. However, this time she veered off onto a new subject. At the end of her long soliloquy, when I was getting ready to say goodbye, she suddenly confessed experiencing a vivid flashback of Kathy’s deceased mother Mary Cavanaugh, who died in 2006 (see I Shall be Released). During the ceremony, my mother recalled a party we hosted in 2004 celebrating Prisa’s Master’s Degree and full teaching credential from LMU. On that festive occasion she and Mary sat and talked for a long time. Mary shared many of her private feelings about Prisa and Kathy in that forgotten conversation, and my mother made me promise to convey those sentiments to my wife and daughter.

 

This sudden twist in the conversation jolted me out of my lackadaisical vacation posture and attitude. It was as if the chair I was sitting in had split and shattered, spilling my drink and dropping me to the ground. I quickly sat up, pushed the glass aside, and concentrated on each of my mother’s words. I realized that this was a conversation I needed to hear and repeat. Remembrances of parents who died are sources of great emotional upheaval and confusion to the children who outlive them, especially at momentous events. There is an eternal sense of loss and abandonment that gnaws on the survivors at pivotal occasions in their lives – especially moments that are transformative. I experienced just such a moment of transcendent happiness with the marriage of my daughter and Joe. I made a point of mentioning Joe’s deceased mother and father, Mary and Leonard, at the reception (see Nothing to Do With Me), but I had failed to recognize Prisa’s missing grandparents, my father, Antonio, and Kathy’s mother, Mary. I was preoccupied with the tasks and details of the wedding and the reception. I didn’t have the time, or the inclination to dwell on parents long dead (my dad since 1971, and Mary since 2006). Kathy, however, made two references to her mother that day, stating that she must have been channeling Mary’s spirit at a stressful moment during the preparations at the house and again during the reception. Now, on a summer evening in Ventura, my mother, Maria del Rosario, was calling up Mary’s spirit and words in a nostalgic monologue:

 

“Sabes Toñito, one of my biggest regrets is not having cultivated a stronger friendship with Kathy’s mother. I always liked and admired her. From the moment we were first introduced at Lakeside Country Club to the last time at your party, Mary era muy amable, cariñosa, y bien educada, and she passed these same qualities to Kathy and her sisters. We should have been better friends, but I never learned to drive (another regret) so I depended on family birthdays, parties, and gatherings to meet, chat, and keep up on our children. Nunca querida molestar a nadie, so I never asked for a ride to visit her at her home. These family occasions became less frequent as your children grew older and the Doctor and Mary retired to Capistrano Beach, and then relocated to Pasadena. I remember como si fuera ayer, when we met for the last time at your house. We sat close together on the couch near the sliding glass door, watching the children enter and leave. She leaned close to me and spoke very intently y con mucha confianza. We created a small timeless bubble of honesty and she told me how proud she was of Prisa and her accomplishments – college, graduate school, and two years of high school teaching, all in the space of 6 years. She saw Prisa growing up to be just like her mother. They were smart, determined, funny, and caring women – but most important no tolerában tonterías o mentíras (they didn’t put up with nonsense and lies). She said that despite her failing eyesight and hearing (or perhaps because of them), she was becoming more and more aware of the unique qualities and characters of her children. Mary prayed that she would have the chance to speak privately with each one, telling them of her insights and unconditional love for them. Pero tambien me díjo que Kathy made people happy. She worried about others and put them first. She was intrinsically caring and loving, and fiercely loyal to her family. Mary hoped that she had conveyed these sentiments, especially after one of Kathy’s “flying visits” to Capistrano. Mary told me how Kathy would drive from Canoga Park, picking up Prisa at LMU, and then continuing the two-hour journey in the carpool lane to their house on Beach Road. Those sudden and unexpected appearances were so delightful, that Mary found it hard to express her gratitude. Prisa would accompany the doctor in a walk on the beach, and Kathy and her mother would talk privately of their lives and their joys. Mary was unsure she had adequately communicated her pride and happiness at seeing the woman and mother Kathy had become”.

As my mom talked of these things, I knew that Mary was speaking through her. Reaching across time and eternity, Mary was transmitting a message to her daughter and granddaughter and telling them how much she loved them and how proud she was of their accomplishments and the wedding. I knew I needed to do more than listen to this tale of remembrance; I was being commissioned to deliver a report to my daughter and wife. It would be a difficult tale to tell, because I realized that I missed Mary too, and in repeating her messages to her daughter and granddaughter, the pain of her absence would gather new strength. I finally admitted to myself that I had deliberately ignored Mary’s presence on the day of the wedding. I wouldn’t acknowledge that her spirit was present in her daughter and granddaughter’s thoroughness and care in their preparations, in their attention to detail and the people who were providing the services and products, and in the serenity they emanated to everyone who observed them on that day. Before hanging up, I thanked my mom for telling me about Mary, and making me promise to tell Kathy and Prisa. I also told her I loved her.

 

That evening, after three abortive attempts, I finally told Kathy of this conversation with my mother. It was close to impossible repeating the scenes and images my mom described. Strangling hands of grief and pain reached up and choked off the words I was trying to piece together. In a very fractured form, stopping between sobs and gasps of air, I managed to recount a facsimile of my mother’s story. This was the price I paid for denial. Mary would have told me to just relax, take a deep breath, and tell the tale as if she were in the room talking. She would sit comfortably on a couch, always leaning toward to the person she was addressing, to better see and hear them. Her clothes would be bright and crisp, and her speech would be sharp and to the point:

“Kathy, the wedding was beautiful, and Prisa looked gorgeous. You were right on the dot about the dresses; they looked great. I loved the flowers, and the lighting of the church was excellent. Father Sal did a great job with the ceremony, not too long, but taking the time to make Prisa and Joe comfortable and establishing their connections to church, school and family.  A marriage needs a lot of love and patience, and religious faith is a great help in troubled times. I don't want you to ever question the time, effort, and expense you put into this wedding. I married off 8 girls and the expense was well worth their memories. That was a wonderful day for Prisa and Joe, you and Tony, and everyone there. They will talk about it all their lives. A wedding is a small gift to give a daughter, and Prisa deserved it. I wish I could have been there for you both, but all I could do was watch. I’m very proud of what you have done as a mother and what Prisa has accomplished as a woman, teacher, and now a wife. I’m glad I was able to meet and get to know Joe before I died. He’s a fine young man, and he married an excellent woman. I’ll always be here when you or Prisa need me. Now I need to visit Beth and Brenna. Goodbye sweetheart”.