Remembrance: Sally Rhen

Read at Funeral Mass: St. Mary’s Parish in Scituate, MA, on 12.29.17

GRATITUDE

I stand before you today filled with an overwhelming sense of gratitude... for our God and Savior, the Lord Jesus Christ, who has graciously brought us to this day... for Father Cannon and the volunteers of St. Mary's who have made this mass possible... for friends of our family who have come from near and far, during an inconvenient season... for my uncles, aunts, and cousins who have always shown up when it mattered... for Missy, my beloved wife, and our 4 great kids for enduring my good and bad grief over the last few weeks... for my nephews, Josh and Max, who loved their Nana well... for my brother-in-law, Bear, who served my mom like he would serve his own mother... for my dad for his lifelong sense of duty, his heart to provide, and his persevering commitment to our mom, his wife of 57 years.... for my sister, Karen, for being such a sacrificial caregiver, advocate, and loving daughter to our mom up until her last hours... and as expected on this morning, I am most grateful for my mom.  

ROOMS OF REMINDERS

She has left us with so many reminders of her. I cannot walk into a room and not be reminded of her. I walk into a dining room and see a well set table—I think of my mom. I walk into a family room and see board games or a bowl of chocolates—I think of my mom. I wander into an over decorated bathroom—I think of my mom. I enter a bedroom and see a well made bed—I think of my mom. I iron my shirt in the laundry room—I think of my mom. My mom liked rooms in a certain way.

HOSPITAL ROOM

But back in late spring of this year, on Tuesday, May 23, my mom did not like her room. The day prior, to our surprise, we witnessed “the resurrection of Sally Rhen” as she came off life support after struggling for three days to breathe, based on complications with her lungs. Now, out of ICU by midday on Tuesday, she had been moved to a room one floor below. There my mom was sitting up in bed asking the nurse if she could have a different room. Her roommate was yelling a lot and she desired a window view. Unbeknownst to my mom, I had been praying to God to get us a new room that afternoon, because I was leaving the next day, on Wednesday, and wanted to formally say goodbye, for I believed I’d never see her again.

By God’s divine intervention and my mom’s prodding, she was moved to a new room with a window view and no sign of a roommate. For 2 hours, I was given the gift of a private room with my mom. During that time of saying my formal goodbye, between the tears and laughs, we shared thanks, regrets, and spiritual thoughts.

When it came to thanks, there were three specific things. First, I thanked her for being such a fun-loving mom. I reminded her of the piggyback rides to bed, endless rounds of junior golf, riding the waves at the beach, running errands around town, or staying home sick under her spoiling nurse’s care. Second, I thanked her for making family a priority. We reflected on the countless regular family dinners we had, the special Sunday brunches, the birthday parties she loved to put on, and the almost two decades of amazing holidays spent with all the aunts, uncles and cousins. The final thing I thanked her for was her faith. Looking back, I realize my mom was used by God to plant a small seed of faith in me that grew greatly over time. It began with Saturday night conversations in the bathroom, with a wet towel wrapped around me after my bath, as she was cutting my toenails. There I would ask her questions about life and God that she did not always have answers for. But I knew she believed. Her faithfulness to Mass, confession, and holy days was a well worn routine that exposed me regularly to the mysteries of a loving God, who yearns to have a relationship with all of us. Her faith left me with deeper questions that in time caused me to seek answers for myself, and to help others do the same.    

As our private room time continued over her beef stew, strawberry shortcake, and Pepsi, which I don’t know how the hospital nutritionist approved, we shared the regrets of things we wished would have been different. Yet, I also explained to her how the stinging pains of death, addiction, and other troubles that pierced our family, had become, through God’s redeeming ways some of the greatest teachers in my life and in the lives of others around me. Recycled suffering was how I framed them now, so no lasting regrets were needed.   

ROOM NOT READY

As the conversation had moved from earthly things to heavenly things about God, I got up from my chair and sat next to my mom on her bed. There I read to her our gospel reading from today John 14:1-6.  

[Jesus said] “Do not let your hearts be troubled. You believe in God; believe also in me.  My Father’s house has many rooms; if that were not so, would I have told you that I am going there to prepare a place for you? And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come back and take you to be with me that you also may be where I am. You know the way to the place where I am going.” Then Thomas said to him, “Lord, we don’t know where you are going, so how can we know the way?”  Jesus answered, “I am the way and the truth and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me."  

When I finished, I looked up, and mom replied with a sparkle in her blues eyes and her typical smile and laugh, “I guess my room wasn’t ready yet.” She was right, but what a statement from someone who had been given last rites, just three days prior, by Father Cannon.

As our final time came to a close, we laughed some more, talked some more, held some more. Not wanting to go, but needing to, I tearfully prayed over her, as I held those aged arthritic hands one last time. I will always remember taking a final look into those wonderful blue eyes, as I reminded her of my love for her.  Then I left her room with a sense of satisfaction and deep sadness swirling within me.

FINAL EARTHLY ROOM

Almost 7 months later, her heavenly room became ready on Monday, Dec. 11. It was inevitable with her lung issues. But fortunately, the road there was actually more gracious than expected for someone with her conditions. Her final breath exhaling just prior to the sun coming up in her bed, in her own bedroom. Her bodily departure just a few hours later. Wanting to be a part of her earthly exit, I watched via FaceTime from the corner of her bedroom. With her soul absent, she was illuminated by the early morning light as she just lay there, finally at rest. Those who had come to remove her body gently pulled back her covers, revealing her petite fragileness, in her blue striped pajamas. And then after some careful coordination, she exited her earthly room. The unmade day lit bed lay empty. The silence in the room was painfully peaceful.  

No more labored breathing. No more bed to be made neatly, no more mental health challenges to be wrestled with, no more shuffling around, and no more wishing and wanting things to be how they used to be.

HEAVENLY ROOM

Instead a heavenly room for eternity—full of health and the deep satisfaction of feeling loved by God and those who call her Sally and Nana.