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So, however you spent the day--a church visitation, prayer or reflection at home or by a religious statue, I wish you a blessed Good Friday.
It is a day of fast and abstinence, so very little was consumed today.
However, the date on which Good Friday falls this year is an especially sad one for me.
Forty two years ago, on this day, my mother died of lung cancer, at the age of 64. At the time I was 24, so that seemed old to me, then. Now, those years have sped by, in a way those ensuing days--each and every one I recall--never did, and here I am, having outlived her, at 66.
Our French poodle, Baby Mouse, died weeks before, of kidney failure. At 14, I saw she was urinating blood, and suffering in pain; her eyes cried out for help, and I knew the time had come. But it was painful for us.
And so my father and I did what was the right thing to do.
When we walked into my mother's hospital that night, she knew.
This was a time when I learned of the venality of two of my father's sisters, and their husbands, all of whom blamed me for keeping him in Jersey, (I was still looking for a job where I could afford to live in New York) because they wanted him in Florida. He got there once I was settled, but his delay I was always blamed for.
I forgive, but don't forget. An apology would have been nice. And though I miss them, I never got one.
But I proved them wrong.
So, this Good Friday was different from others.
Jesus wants me to move on. I try my best.
Perhaps that is what the day is all about.
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