A is confirmed

Dear Mom,

Today was Good Shepherd Sunday. All the windows are covered with maple pollen, the dandelions are in full flower, the lilacs have just started to bloom, and the white bass should be biting soon. A was confirmed in the faith of her family, in the church where you were baptized. They took the grandparents’ picture at the baptismal font, to remind everyone of that, that it was like you were there.

They commune by families at confirmation and enough cousins showed to fill the whole communion rail twice. We still stick together, even your funny cousin, Kenny, was there, with his gold necklace and his bright red shirt. He gave A a fishing rod and a devotional book. B and I both wore purple and we sat in the pew together — but next year, she we will be confirmed, and I will sit in the pew alone and wonder how this all perpetuates itself, year after year, generation after generation. We all know all the words. It is meet, right, and salutary. Maybe that’s why; we’ve been singing these words since the 1570s. Longer. Lord, now lettest thou thy servant depart in peace / According to thy word.

A is: different. She’s stronger, somehow, than I was, at that age. She was taller than everyone in her class except one of the boys. She told her mother she wouldn’t wear heels — she wore black riding boots with buckles at the ankle and the calf. She didn’t wear a white dress under her robe — she picked a knee-length sleeveless dress with a circular pattern. At lunch, disrobed, she said the pattern on her dress reminded her of the pictures of meiosis in her biology book. Brother said at lunch that she got in trouble for reading ahead of her grade level in the school reading program and they had to go to a meeting because she talked back to the teacher.

I’ve been so afraid that we’ve been repeating family stories — but today I thought: maybe she is unique. I hope you’d approve.

I admit that I told A today, “Grandma is so proud of you,” even though I don’t believe in an afterlife myself. I think she might. And I know you did. We are still at sea without you. I miss you and Bro is really suffering. He gave to A the gift you gave him for his confirmation and I could see on his face how much it hurt him to pass it on. And yet sometimes I wonder why you let us think you could control every outcome. A death is the most normal thing in the world, we are all dying every second, and we can’t we come to terms with yours?

I don’t know how to end this. It was a beautiful day and I wanted you to know your granddaughter is a marvel. I love you. We love you.

Helplessly,

Serv

~ by Servetus on May 8, 2017.