- Feb 5, 2002
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Don’t wait to take your child to a cemetery. Run there, play and pray …
The drive was the same, taking a left and following the sod fields toward the highway leading to Narragansett, where St. Thomas More Church sits like a beacon just blocks from the beach where ocean waves crash on an endless sea, a celestial place where God comes to visit those who stand at the shore.
This was nothing new to my daughter, now 4, who has driven this road for days on end with her grandpa going to daily Mass and always on Sunday, too.
But the entrance was different: no helping Grandpa with his cane down the long hallway; no racing him to the pew. Instead, she found some familiar faces as I clutched her to my chest in an effort to hide my face, overwhelmed with emotion, as tears overflowed. I saw the baptismal white draped over the coffin containing my father, a man known to every single person inside this parish, his second home, as Father Marcel Taillon remarked during the homily for the Mass of Christian burial.
Processing in with our family, Annabelle may have thought things were normal again, as we filed into the second row — just this time without Grandpa, who always sat in front. More recently his pew place was because walking was an issue with his cancer-ridden body, but forever, as always, he desired to be close to the tabernacle, where Our Lord is forever present.
Continued below.
www.ncregister.com
The drive was the same, taking a left and following the sod fields toward the highway leading to Narragansett, where St. Thomas More Church sits like a beacon just blocks from the beach where ocean waves crash on an endless sea, a celestial place where God comes to visit those who stand at the shore.
This was nothing new to my daughter, now 4, who has driven this road for days on end with her grandpa going to daily Mass and always on Sunday, too.
But the entrance was different: no helping Grandpa with his cane down the long hallway; no racing him to the pew. Instead, she found some familiar faces as I clutched her to my chest in an effort to hide my face, overwhelmed with emotion, as tears overflowed. I saw the baptismal white draped over the coffin containing my father, a man known to every single person inside this parish, his second home, as Father Marcel Taillon remarked during the homily for the Mass of Christian burial.
Processing in with our family, Annabelle may have thought things were normal again, as we filed into the second row — just this time without Grandpa, who always sat in front. More recently his pew place was because walking was an issue with his cancer-ridden body, but forever, as always, he desired to be close to the tabernacle, where Our Lord is forever present.
Continued below.
All Souls’ Day: Visiting Grandpa Continues Now That He Is ‘Back With Grandma’
Don’t wait to take your child to a cemetery. Run there, play and pray …
