Eternal Rest, Grant to Her

My aunt, my father’s sister died. The sadness of that statement is magnified by the fact that she was a Jeh0vah’s W1tness. (Sorry for the spelling don’t want trolls or bots.) The venom that churned in my heart when I learned she only had a short time to live caught me off guard. I thought I had put all of that behind me.

Why did such caustic and sinful thoughts attach themselves to thoughts of her—a woman who truly was a good person, who always was pleasant and cheerful, fun and full of life? She was a lovely lady, so why was I in such emotional pain trying to decide what the “right” thing to do—visit before she died, wait for a funeral, nothing…—why was I tormenting myself with this?

The long family history, buried deep in the skeleton closet came up to the front. The religion, the “god” my aunt, grandmother, grandfather, and other aunts and uncles had chosen caused much upheaval, much bitterness in my growing up years. My father had left their church and joined my mother’s and as the years progressed they never visited our house, although at times we were “allowed” to visit theirs. Then there were times we weren’t allowed to visit. There was the time they showed up to help us move. But disappeared again shortly after.

Stress over religion is a leading cause for marital problems and I know the belief issue caused stress for my parents. It caused confusion and hurt for me. I cried more than once when JWs would show up at our door—either by chance or purposefully looking for my father. Later they would follow me a bit. I thought I came to terms with them in my heart about seven years ago during my “desert years.” I thought we could agree to disagree. The more I studied, the more confident I became in our discourses.

But with my aunt’s illness and passing I wondered at the thought some had that I would rush to say “Goodbye” to a woman, who although I knew to be sweet, chose to be absent from 95% of my life. Where was she or any of the other members of my estranged family when I was married? When my children were born? When my mother was dying? Actually I have to be honest and say my aunt did visit my mother once, their history was deeper than hers and mine. And I am grateful she did make the visit, but it really wasn’t for me, but my dad.

It’s odd; I told my sister had this happened two years ago I could have let it go without concern. I “respected” their beliefs even if I disagreed vehemently. They never sought us out so I could have let them be. But as a prodigal Catholic I felt more strongly that I should display more love. Protestants are better at boundaries, I think. The boys and I have been talking about, learning more about the Corporeal Works of Mercy and the Spiritual Works of Mercy and because of this I felt more obligated to “do something.”

I offered it to God, asking for clarity in choosing, asking that if I were to go to visit my family it would be clear when and how. In the end my aunt died more quickly than anyone expected. My father didn’t make it to see her. She chose to be cremated and wanted no service. There was a gathering which we were not told details of so the decision was made for me.

My old scars have surfaced again and are open. I’ve been humbled at just how sinful I really am by my angry reactions. My prayer is for compassion and healing.

~ by throughadarkglass on December 8, 2008.