MULLING THINGS OVER July 8th
You have heard those stories that begin, “It was a dark and rainy night…” Well, guess what? This one begins precisely that way… It was a dark and rainy night. When I looked at the clock at my bedside, I read 2:15 a.m., the phone was ringing. I answered and heard an urgent voice crying, “Hurry, you have to get here quick!” I sat on the side of the bed and began trying to quiet the woman on the other end of the phone. “This is Father Mull, take a deep breath…let’s start this conversation again.” I hear what I would call deep breaths and then, “I am sorry, Father, the police are here and I need you to come quickly.” I asked who it was that was calling and where “here” was. She gave me her name and told me she was “at home.” I thanked her for calling and asked just exactly where home was. She gave me an address. I knew where the road was (it was out in the country) but asked if she could tell me what road she lived near and what her house looked like. I did this because I am not too good with directions. Of course, I thought, I probably would not recognize the house since it would be pitchblack at that hour in the country. I assured her that I would be there as soon as I could. I got up, got dressed, and left the rectory. It was raining. I ran to the car and took off down the street. I had no difficulty finding the place because there were police cars, an ambulance, and a funeral director’s removal car parked around the house. It took me about twenty minutes to get there. As I drove, I still did not know the reason for the call. I suspected someone was either very sick or had passed away. I had no idea whom this might be. As I got out of the car, a policeman met me with an umbrella. We knew one another and he immediately began to fill me in. The young adult male was found deceased when his mother checked to see if he had come in. It appeared to be an overdose but it was too early to make any decisions. The mother is convinced that it is an overdose and is very upset because she feels it is her fault. I arrived at the door, and the mother (whom I recognized) threw her arms around me and began to sob. I tried to move her, me and the police officer into the house out of the rain. When she slowed down, I led her to a chair. We sat down and I told her how sorry I was. She jumped up, “Last rites, last rites, he needs to receive the last rites.” I took her hand and asked her to lead me to his room. We went upstairs and before we entered the room, I asked the police officer if it was all right. He nodded his head and we entered the room. The young man was laying on the bed, I sat next to him, his Mom sat sobbing in the chair, and we started praying the anointing service. When we came to the Our Father, I grabbed her hand, and held his. I gave the final absolution and the room fell silent. We sat in silence for quite some time, I still was holding both hands. “That’s what he needed, Father, that is what he needed, thank you so much for coming here,” were the words she spoke. I got up and led her toward the door. She broke loose, ran back to the bed, kissed her son on the cheek and walked with me outside the room. We stood for a while and returned downstairs. We sat talking for a moment and the police asked if it was okay to remove the body. She said, “Yes, I have made my goodbyes and the Church has blessed him.” A little while later, I saw the funeral director and police carrying the young man down the stairs. As my conversation continued with the mother, she told me that her son had told her he was going out. She asked him to stay home with her. For some reason, he had to go out. He began shouting at her and she finally said, “Go ahead, if you kill yourself, don’t blame me!” She told me he had returned from drug rehab and seemed to be doing okay. But, she was suspicious and she was very uneasy when he was going out so late. She looked at me with tears in her eyes, “He was 23 years old, he was not a child, how was I to keep him here; for a moment, I just gave up.” She cried, “I didn’t mean it, I didn’t mean it…” “Mean what?” I asked. She replied, “I didn’t mean it was okay to kill himself.” We sat there in silence. I then told her that I was sure that he didn’t think that you wanted him dead if anything, he probably was quietly grateful to hear your plea. It didn’t work, though, as he apparently had taken drugs while he was out and gave himself another injection after coming home. She told me that she had waited for him to come home but fell asleep. She did not hear him come in so when she woke up, she went to his door, opened it, and she saw his body, the needle still in his arm and could see he was gone. She called the police and tried to revive him. Then, she called me It all apparently was for naught, as the police reported he had been dead “for quite some
time.” Relatives arrived and joined some neighbors in the kitchen. I suggested that she join them because they needed to be comforted and they needed to be close to her. I suggested that she try not to get any answers this morning and told her definitely not to blame herself. I also confirmed that she was a good mother, and that her son knew of her love for him even though he may not have shown it. “Think about it,” I said to her,” you must have disagreed sometime with your Mom, but she never stopped loving you and you knew it. It is the same story with your son. He would not want you carrying the burden of his death. If you love him, you will give him the benefit of that unconditional love now and entrust him to God. What peace he could not find in this world, he has now found with God.” She gave me a little hug and then I walked her into the kitchen. It was a sad but beautiful scene people cried, and she cried more one by one people embraced her, and she embraced them back few words were spoken and those that were spoken were whispered one by one I could see her encircled in love. It was sad but beautiful. What a strange expression! This scene is unfortunately repeated in too many places and too many times. The names change, the faces are different. So often, though, it is the ones who love the victim so deeply who suffer the most. Did I give enough? Should I have done this or that? What did I not do that I should have done? Where did I go wrong? I suppose these are questions that need to be asked. But, I think once asked they need to be let go. There is great mystery in every death. There is the Presence of God in every death. We need to express loss, sorrow and mourning. We do not need to feel guilty, misguided or alone. We need to show love to those who suffer addiction both soft and tough love. They need to understand that we will do all we can, but the addict also has to play a part in this and he/she ultimately is the one who will summon the courage to fight and make changes or make the choice to escape or do nothing. No one does the forcing because forcing simply does not work. It was a cold, rainy night. It seemed colder and it even seemed to be raining harder as I drove home. I had a certain numbness in my heart because I have seen and experienced this all too often. I have felt helpless and wondered what the answer might be. I must say, however, that after bringing God’s anointing, absolution and final blessing to the victim, I too felt some strange peace, some closeness to God, and a sense that it will eventually all work out. When we are released from the bonds of this world we are totally bound by the hands of God.
