The Mass

It's been a while since my fingers graced this keyboard.  A virus struck our main computer, and between juggling time to write on a different computer with Christmas preparations ...I surrendered putting my thoughts to form.
The tree still twinkles and the fire is lit ...and we're all exhausted ...a good exhausted though.  Days for reflecting, remembering ...
I don't like the frantic pace of Christmas ...or, really of the commercialism that's taken deep root in this holy season.  I love the season and all it celebrates.  Finding the quiet to immerse in its true meaning is fleeting.  But yesterday, I was able to capture a little bit that fed my soul. 
I love being a Catholic.  I love the ancient traditions of our faith; and I especially love when those traditions are celebrated in the Mass of the ages, the Traditional Latin Mass.  My heart finds its most sacred, peaceful place there.  Because its a distance from us and because I work many weekends, I don't get there as often as I'd like ...or even need to.  But trusting that God provides us what we truly "need" I take heart and believe that the spiritual nourishment of the Traditional Mass will sustain me as long as I need.  It's at this Mass I find Phoebe.  It's at this Mass I have a sense of all those before me, all those long dead relatives who'd spent years praying for their family.  It's there I have a sense of all those family members to come, and the importance and value our prayers have today.
I don't know how well I would have survived losing Phoebe if I didn't have the experience of this Mass.  It's so different than the ordinary form offered in most parishes.  Not everyone gets the grace or opportunity to attend the Traditional form, and many don't prefer it.  It takes time to be joined to it, takes time to learn it ....and yet, it is so learnable, and so worth it.
Why do I love it so much?  Because it offers to God the best of ourselves:  our humility, our gratitude, our awe, our submission ...our weakness and total, absolute dependence on Him.  It speaks to God in a way that means something ...so outside, above and beyond the culture.  The prayers are powerful and so beautiful ...and complete. 
Phoebe's death broke me into a trillion pieces, and only by His hand could I or can I be restored.  That restoration is every day.  At the ordinary Mass God seems like the nice guy next door, rather than the all powerful, all merciful Creator.  I like the guy next door, but I have no real inspiration to spend eternity with him.  I don't necessarily sense he is capable of ALl things.  But at the Traditional Mass, I know God is not the nice guy next door ...He is God ...the only font of all things ...always. And one day, I want to go spend eternity with Him ...and come to know Him in His fullness.
It's important for me to know God is God ...different from me, from you ...and the nice guy next door.
It is here I can believe Phoebe is someplace ...Phoebe is safe and unafraid ...Phoebe is loved and returned to the complete source of love that created her.  It is here I know and have a glimmer of understanding that God's love for her is far greater than my own.  It is here I find the patience to wait ...the patience to trust one day I will see her again.
I guess it's times like these ...holidays, holy days, family days, that people stop to consider what life might be like for us without Phoebe.  And so more people make comments or ask questions around this time ...both of which I like and welcome.  The surreal fact of her absence is always present.  Her physical being is gone from us.  I miss that.  I shop and prepare for Christmas without her. There are no gifts for her under the tree.   She was my partner for many many years.  I'm not sure anyone can ever move in to that spot of hers.  I carry on conversations with Phoebe while I shop, tears fall while I wrap ...wanting her here with me, telling me what to do ...bossing me around.  I want those conversations and those tears ....they are my hugs to her now, for the little while we are separated.  I might catch a bird diving, a strong gust of wind, a picture of her making a funny face ...and I imagine her there, eyes twinkling, her giggle while she talks ...those are our gifts to each other now.
And people ask me how I've done it, how we've survived and thrived in many ways.  My answer is always the same: "God's grace."  So many people begged prayers for us, for her ...and many, many still do.  And God's grace has stayed steady and strong.  Truthfully though, had I not experienced the Traditional Latin Mass, I don't think I'd be in the same place.  I don't think I would have the trust in God that I do, not sure my heart would be open to His whispers.  I wish that for everyone. 
Years ago, someone introduced us to this Mass.  My first time there I'd felt as if I'd come home.  And I wanted to stay.  When I look back on that, I see God's hand preparing me for the great loss that was to come.  He was showing me the safe haven ...a place to truly be with my lost child.  The invitation to that place was generous, and the continued source of faith and comfort has been beyond profound.  It has been an immeasurable gift over time, for which I remain eternally grateful.  Our life once woven with the person who invited us, ultimately untangled, the loss of my daughter revealed me as someone she no longer liked or respected.  And yet, no matter her thoughts or mine, the Mass remains steady, constant, unchanged for centuries.  Humans can change, humans can disrupt and be cruel ...but the gift of the Ancient Mass never, ever changes.  And it is that constancy which settles me ...because I know, despite human frailty, human error and desire, despite 'reconfigurations' and desires to modernize the church, the Traditional Latin Mass will not change,  the true Church cannot be changed ...ever.  And that is how God is ...despite our desire to make him just like the nice guy next door ...He never, ever will be or can be ...because He is God.  And I'm really glad I know that ... because I'm very certain, when I ultimately find Him ( which I pray I do!), I will find my feisty, sassy, one of a kind daughter ...I'll find my Phoebe.