We have in our possession, through the generosity and love of Justin’s dear friends, a picture of him holding their oldest son as a newborn. The picture is priceless to us, one we had not seen until last week, a moment captured in time of two souls quite delighted with each other.
The little one’s gentle mother offered her newborn for Justin to hold, she shared that he was a bit apprehensive, but the two of them settled in quite nicely. I could stare at the picture for hours, except I cannot stem the flow of tears. Profound joy, exquisite sorrow. From all appearances Justin was quite at home holding a baby, he had strong large hands and an innate gentleness…but it is the shared gaze of he and the baby that takes my breath away. At that moment in time, I can feel such a peace from Justin, for a moment there was nothing else but that little one, the smile on his face tells me of his joy to be holding that precious baby.
The picture has brought to the surface a hope and dream that must be let go, but not without a sorrow in my heart that is beyond words. I shall simply say that I would have very much liked to have held one of Justin’s babies. He wanted children, dreamed of a large family. He had started a small collection of children’s books, planning their library, I am sure his dream included beautiful furry cats to join the storytelling sessions.
To our knowledge, the last picture taken of Justin was of him holding his newly baptized godson.
There again is that smile, those strong hands, the little guy has his hand holding onto to Justin’s I have stared so many times at that photo, I am not even sure what I am looking for, some detail, some hint that in less than 12 hours Justin would be dead, that his great heart that loved so loyally, would cease to beat.
You may do well to chide me for my sorrow, Justin could have lived to 100 and not experienced the privilege of having a child, ’tis true. But at the same time it was not an unnatural hope, or a disordered desire, to dream of the hope and anticipation of a grandchild, to see across their face a hint or remembrance of their father or mother when they were little. To carve pumpkins or make gingerbread houses with…to read all the favorite stories and have them be new again.
But it is not to be so, and to deny the grief and sorrow is to sew tight a wound that needs to weep. And if it were to be sewn tight, bitterness would be allowed to fester, it would invite its close relations, envy and greed. No it is best to face it, bathe it in the salt of tears and offer it all to God. I had read something from St. Faustina’s diary a couple of years back which the essence of had never left me and I had been longing to read it again, but could not find it. In great kindness, a friend found the very paragraph I had been searching for:
p.1318
October 10, [1937]. O my Jesus, in thanksgiving for Your many graces, I offer You my body and soul, intellect and will, and all the sentiments of my heart. Through the vows, I have given myself entirely to You; I have then nothing more that I can offer You. Jesus said to me, My daughter, you have not offered Me that which is really yours. I probed deeply into myself and found that I love God with all the faculties of my soul and, unable to see what it was that I had not yet given to the Lord, I asked, “Jesus, tell me what it is, and I will give it to You at once with a generous heart.” Jesus said to me with kindness, Daughter, give Me your misery, because it is your exclusive property. At that moment, a ray of light illumined my soul, and I saw the whole abyss of my misery. In that same moment I nestled close to the Most Sacred Heart of Jesus with so much trust that even if I had the sins of all the damned weighing on my conscience, I would not have doubted God’s mercy but, with a heart crushed to dust, I would have thrown myself into the abyss of Your mercy. I believe, O Jesus, that You would not reject me, but would absolve me through the hand of Your representative.
And so I will try to offer to Jesus this sodden mess, my misery, and to hope in His mercy that knows no bounds.
I have thought of what might have been for Justin many times. He would have been a wonderful father. My dad had written a booklet about his own faith- which was great-and how he saw things. One entry said…”Death- when God can no longer bear to be without you”. It doesn’t quell the pain, but it is a gentle thought. I am sorry for your pain and I pray for your continued grace and endurance, my friend.
Dearest Liz,
Thank you for sharing such a wonderful, very personal insight into your dad’s faith life. It is indeed a gentle thought. Thank you for your continued love and support. You are a treasure in our lives.
Love, Terri
Justin would also have made Hawaiian shirts to go along with the cats. I know he would. He actually did once talk to me about vocation to being a father (one of those Fraciscan discussions). It’s a great picture of him and little one. I’ve asked him to (in heaven) be godfather to Amber’s son Max (he was the little tyke we brought to the funeral). He would have been wonderful.
Dear Laura,
Thank you seems so inadequate for the treasure that you share with us, thank for that wonderful memory of “one of those Franciscan discussions”…those were his favorite kind! And yes, he would have had a collection of Hawaiian shirts to go with the kitties. I probably won’t say this well, but I like to think that Justin now has the freedom to be a most wonderful intercessor for little Max and for all the little ones of his friends.
And I’m throwing in a philosophy quote, even though I can’t remember who said it, but I’m sure Justin would have liked it, “The most painful state of being is remembering the future- particularly one you can never have.”
Oh my….what a terribly wonderful quote…so painful, so true. I miss those meandering conversations with him, I know you miss them too. I sure am grateful for your friendship. God bless.