Life and Death and Love and Hope

John McCarthy enjoying a fine cigar

Yesterday, July 24, would have been my father's 102nd birthday. Born in 1909 he died in 2005 at the age of 95, a long life by any standard. He was a far better father than I believe he thought he was, but I suspect that's probably true of many of us. So often we focus only on our mistakes and forget about all the good things -- the love, the example, and the hope -- we were able to share with our children. Life in a truly Christian family is always a story of shared faith, of mutual love and forgiveness, a story of godly virtues so often rising above the human failings; and such was the story of our family. Dad was a very happy man who thoroughly enjoyed the gift of his life and the lives of those he loved and those who loved him. And yet he had another gift, the gift of tears, an outward sign of his empathy for the plight of others, an empathy realized in remarkable generosity. I was, in many ways, formed by my father and I owe him a debt I will never be able to repay, and that's as it should be. John Joseph McCarthy, resquiescat in pace.

Nap time: Dad (93) & Pedro (1) in July 2002

Yesterday, however, was yesterday, the past. But today is our first step into the future because it's also the 10th birthday of our eldest grandson, Pedro. Talking about it today Diane and I both remarked how clearly we remembered that day a decade ago and the anxiety we experienced as we waited for him to be born. Since then we have been blessed with seven more wonderful grandchildren who never cease to astonish us with their intelligence and their goodness. One thing I have discovered is that the arrival of grandchildren has brought about a change in me. Oh, life is still full of anticipation and surprises, but everything else pales when placed alongside the grandchildren. My great hope now is to live long enough to experience them as young adults. What a blessing that would be!

Barbara & Pete in 2005

And yet in between these family comings and goings, our lives are graciously touched by many others and we are saddened when they are taken from us. On Saturday we received news of the death of a close friend who had suffered for many years with MS. Although she and her husband had moved to a rural (very rural) part of Georgia, we were able to visit them on a couple of occasions in recent years. It was wonderful to see how Barbara dealt with her affliction with real courage and amazing grace. Watching her reminded me of something Flannery O'Connor once wrote in reference to the many years she suffered from Lupus, the disease that would ultimately take her life:

"I have never been anywhere but sick. In a sense sickness is a place, more instructive than a long trip to Europe, and it's always a place where there's no company, where nobody can follow. Sickness before death is a very appropriate thing and I think those who don't have it miss one of God's mercies." The Habit of Being: Letters of Flannery O'Connor, p. 163.

I don't think it's a coincidence that Barbara and her husband once lived in Milledgeville, GA, the same town where Flannery O'Connor lived most of her too-short life.

We will miss you, Barbara Christian, resquiescat in pace.