Because I Shared With My Students . . .
. . . I thought I would share the following with you. It came out of a writing workshop at CATE. And yes, I must have been crazy to share this with students.
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The phone rings.
“Who is it?” Claire asks casually.
We’ve just returned from a quick Spring Break vacation in Las Vegas. I look at the number and reply, “I’ve no idea. I’ll let it go to voicemail.”
It’s Maundy Thursday. I’ve always loved Easter, but have come to love Lent in the recent past. There is something so wondrous and awe-inspiring about the entire season. I think it is richer with meaning than Advent and Christmas.
The phone beeps. Since someone has obviously taken the time to leave a message, I’ll listen.
It’s my dad?! My face drops and off to the side I hear Claire’s worried voice.
The evening passes quickly. No meditation on Christ’s last supper. It might as well be my own. My younger brother is dead, suddenly, two states north, doing something he loved. What was his last supper?
Remember those games we played as children? Brothers were good for fighting, but also for playing with. I remember freeze tag on late summer afternoons. And now, almost a year later, I realize that I’ve been frozen – like the wife in A Winter’s Tale – and no one has called an end to the game. And I don’t think anyone ever will. I hate crying. I don’t talk about him to my mom, my youngest brother, or my husband. I sometimes wonder what is wrong with me that I don’t grieve publicly.
This year his birthday is on Maundy Thursday because Lent followed swiftly after Advent and Holy Week is two weeks early. I wonder if anyone will notice that this year his death-date holy day is the same as his birth-date? And will it bother anyone as much it bothers me?
Yes