Grief is a tricky thing.
I keep thinking this as the days and weeks have gently rolled by and yet I keep being surprised by it.
Several weeks ago, a man I knew from prison died.
Were we friends? Yes, in a way that I feel inclined to categorize in my head as “prison friends.”
There is almost no chance we would have known each other except for meeting in prison, life and circumstances being so entirely different for each of us. I never quite knew how many of his stories to believe or how to wrap my brain around his understanding of Scripture. I was often unsure what transpired inside his mind, as he would silently survey all and thoughtfully form an opinion which, if asked, would take several minutes to unfurl. How did all of his stories mesh together? What happened in the years he was silent about? How exactly did he end up where he did?
A mystery.
He was very much a mystery to me.
It was in prison that he chose to enter the Catholic Church. At a Saturday evening Mass, he was baptized and confirmed. In a place where touching between inmate and visitor is frowned upon, it was memorable to step up behind him and place my hand on his shoulder as he was confirmed. I prayed for the Holy Spirit to descend powerfully upon him and remain with him even while I also wondered why he picked me as his sponsor.
Over the years, we spent hours talking. He spoke more than I did, but he would remember to follow up about different things in my life about which I had shared. What I was teaching, what I was learning, the paper I was supposed to be writing. He’d share fantastic stories about his youth, about his thoughts on a passage of Scripture, about advice other guys would ask for, about observations about staff and inmates. There was always something formulating, fermenting, bubbling up inside of him.
So it is a bit striking for all of it to stop.
Suddenly.
A surprise death. One which lingered suspensefully for a few days as we sat in the “is he dead or isn’t he?” And even when it was revealed that, yes, he was dead, it was still unbelievable. A memorial Mass was offered and a visit to the gravesite occurred and yet it still seems unresolved. There was a statement from the DOC, a smattering of news reports, and an oversized pile of dirt in a small rural cemetery. But there was no body that I saw, no funeral pictures, no casket, no obituary, no headstone. Just enough to show that he was gone and little enough to force my brain to recognize how absolute it is.
So I find myself each Saturday evening getting ready for prison Mass and re-remembering that he won’t be there. The spot he was wont to sit in during his final weeks and months won’t be occupied by him. Mass will conclude and he will not be sitting there, waiting for me to meander over to him and engage in a conversation. I miss him and yet feel somewhat odd missing him. Even when it comes to telling other people, it seems odd to share that his death has caused me tears and grief, despite the fact that it is a very natural, human response. And so the grief remains, more or less depending on the day. It seems like there is little place else for it to go.
So what I can do for this mysterious man who seemed to drop into and out of my life so suddenly? I pray for him, for the repose of his soul, and for peace for his family. He is the first person I’ve sponsored for Confirmation who has died and I want to do my best to fulfill a spiritual responsible I took on a few years ago. And as I meet the grief again each Saturday, I will strive to commend him to the Lord, trusting that the God who began the good work in him will bring it to completion.
Eternal rest grant unto him, O Lord, and let perpetual light shine upon him. May his soul and the souls of all the faithful departed, through the mercy of God, rest in peace. Amen.
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Photo by Attila Lisinszky on Unsplash
Seeking After His Heart 