Sunday Greetings

Buona Domenica!--as the Italians would say. Have a good Sunday, everyone. I said Mass at St. Anthony's Church in Sullivan, Missouri, this morning. That was Aunt Marie's parish. The only other time I was there was for her funeral. Aunt Marie was the last member of our family with living memories of World War I. The morning of her funeral I remember standing at her casket before it was closed and I had a fantasy, as if the end of the casket behind her head opened into another dimension and I could see all the lights of the 20th century as she had seen them: the wars, the Depression, the Titanic, the Hindenberg, the abdication of Edward VIII, radio, television, Wonder Bread, the space shots, Americans on the moon, the rise and fall of European Communism, hula hoops, the turbulence of the 60's, and on and on. It was like looking down a tunnel full of stars. She lost a brother in World War I, and she lost her husband and at least two of her sons before her own death. How painful that must have been. After the funeral Mass, while I was standing next her casket waiting for the funeral directors to organize the pall-bearers, I found myself suddenly grieving the loss of that generation, of all the people (our forebears) who loved us, and I felt her hand on my shoulder reassuring me. Remember how she was so tall, and what beautiful blue eyes she had?

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