As I listened to the homily I preached at Blessing's funeral, I was again reminded of the grace of God at work in our lives in spite of whatever may go wrong and that God is with us, Emmanuel - the feast of Christmas. Though it may be one of the most difficult ones, this Christmas created a keen awareness of the presence of God in people, in our lives and in the Church. Here is a copy of the homily (the much captured by the video person. There are small portions missed out by him).
I started the homily by singing the first two stanzas of the hymn: It is well with my soul
When peace, like a river, attendeth my way,
When sorrows like sea billows roll;
Whatever my lot, Thou has taught me to say,
It is well, it is well, with my soul.
Refrain
It is well, with my soul,
It is well, with my soul,
It is well, it is well, with my soul.
Though Satan should buffet, though trials should come,
Let this blest assurance control,
That Christ has regarded my helpless estate,
And hath “WASHED NGOZI INHIS” blood.
My dear brothers and sisters, we have come before the Lord today to pray for our sister Blessing whom the Lord has called to himself. We have come to pray that she may be welcomed to eternal life in our home truth. We are grieving but God grace is more than anything in our lives
Song: My brother (sister), cease crying for the dead, please clean your eyes (2xs). Death is a universal phenomenon, cease crying for whatever happens to one, his (her) God knows about, my brother (sister), death is a universal phenomenon, whatever happens to one, his (her) God knows about. A woman went to the native doctor to get medicine with which to raise her child from the dead (2xs). The native doctor told her to go around all the nations, when you enter a home where death never touched, get some leaves from there, with that your child will be raised from the dead. The woman went around the towns but could not find any home where death never touched. She started praying for her child that s/he may go in peace, she prayed for her child that God may bless her (him)...
Today, we are here to grieve but also to thank God for the life she gave to our sister Blessing Ngozi. The first reading from the Book of Wisdom tells us that in the eyes of those who have no faith, this is the end, but in the eyes of those of us who have faith, we know that our sister has gone before us to a better place, a place of true life, the place we all long to God. Christ himself made a promise that he was going to our father and to his Father, and that after he has gone, he will return to take us with him so that we may be with him.
Who wants to go to heaven here? (raised my left hand, everybody raised his/her hand). Who wants to die right now? None (they all started chuckling/laughing softly). Often we sing,
“Heaven is my desire, I will run the race for heaven (and all responded in chorus)
Heaven is my desire, and I will run the race for heaven (2xs)
Me: My brother (sister) do you long to run the race for your life?
All: Heaven is my desire, and I will run the race for heaven
Me: Holy Spirit, help us the grace to run, and reach there
All: Heaven is my desire, and I will run the race for heaven
Me: The comforter, help us to run, and reach there
All: Heaven is my desire, and I will run the race for heaven...”
After singing this song, we are still afraid of going to heaven, one has to die first before going to heaven, right? All responded, “right.” What really is death according to our catechism? Death is the process of the Spirit leaving the body and going to the presence of God for judgement.
According to the first reading, God has sieved them as gold is purified by fire. All those who suffered physically with Christ, are purified by him through their suffering and made ready to shine like pure gold. Their suffering may initially seem like punishment, but it is not, it is a process of preparing them for the purity of heaven, letting them go through the process Christ himself went through his agony in the garden to the death on the cross. With regards to death, like many people, she may have prayed, “God, do not let this happen to me, do not let this be my portion. The intense emotions that people in such a situation feel can be seen in the intense emotion of Christ at the garden, that prayer was so intense that blood and water gushed from him. As a person (human), that suffering was much for him, but as God, he was above that suffering. He knew that if he did not go through the suffering, we would not have eternal life as we do today. He cried out, “Father, take this cup away from me. Not my will but your will be done...” we all know that thousands of people all over the world, here in Enugu, in Nova Scotia Canada and our family friends all over prayed so hard for miracle, for physical healing if not for any other reason, then because she was very young and had a son to raise. But after all this prayer, it seemed like God did not answer our prayers. But, God listens to us, he answers our prayers. If we remember, the Letter to the Hebrews reminded us that Christ himself prayed to the one who is able to save him, and he listened to him. After listening to him, what happened? He was still crucified on the cross.
One of the priests who is with us in Halifax said that when he was still a younger priest, probably a couple of months into his priesthood, a lady once called him to ask, “You say that God answers all prayers?” and Fr. Eric responded, “Yes.” She then told him that she would enter into prayer for a very special need. About three months later, the woman called him back and said, “Father, you are a lier!” He said, “What?” and she responded, “You are a lier. You told me that God answers all prayers. Well, I have been praying for this one intention for the past three month, but God never answered them.” Fr. Eric responded, “He answered you my dear, he simply said NO!”
Sometimes, God can say no to us when we pray even though we desire for the answer to all our prayers to be YES. He knows what is good for us, and what will give us life. Truly in our own eyes my dear Blessing, we would have wished that you live, raise your child, and have grandchildren, but in God’s eyes, it is time to welcome you into the kingdom of heaven. It was not easy for Christ when he went through his suffering, in the same manner, it is not easy for anyone who goes through suffering. What made Christ cry with a loud voice on the cross must be a very difficult and excruciating pain, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” this was not said in a very soft voice as we often read at mass but probably with a harsh loud harsh voice. He knew that God does not abandon his people so he said, “Father, into your hands I commend my spirit.” Let us say the same thing Jesus said, “Father, into your hands we commend the spirit of our sister Blessing. We have in Christ and in God, we cry for her because we are human, but if we remember what Paul told us, let us not cry for her like those who have no faith because we have faith and hope that some day we shall be with our sister in heaven where we will share in eternal happiness. There, God will wipe our every tear.
So, we are gathered here to touch each other’s soul and console each other, to know that though we may not see her again for sometime, but we shall see her again in our true home in heaven when God calls us, if we do his will.
As we all know, Blessing has had to struggle with cancer for the last six year and a couple of months, for many people who go through the process of prolonged illness, there are poignant moments of not believing that this could be true, moments of feeling abandoned by God, maybe even angry at God, moments of feeling that God does not care about what goes on in their lives. In her case, Blessing had those moments, but what really hurt the most for her was the thought that she might not be there to see her son Kevin grow up and do all the normal things young people do, but I am sure she will be there for him in the spiritual sense...
She suffered both physically, emotionally, in her fears and thoughts of what tomorrow may hold. She was afraid of death, just like many of us here are, but she faced it with courage. She probably felt something that made her decide that she wanted to come home for a short visit, and she specifically requested for the flight to be booked for certain date. God knows why it so happened that as soon as she got to Lagos, she fainted and had a mini-stroke. If she missed her flight by a day, this would have happened in the United States. If it did, she may not have been able to get to Nigeria and bid her final farewell to all those who came to see her at home and eventually in the hospital. So, she really longed to come here, to be with all of you whom she had not seen for some years.
Blessing also showed the depth of her love for her son Kevin by taking him for three weeks within which they went to all kinds of interesting places and parks. She took him harbour-trotting in Seattle and had a tour of Seattle with him. She decided to have the best time ever with him for those three weeks, and even though she was already getting weak and knew she was getting sicker, she still insisted on giving him the best moments of his life. Talking with Blessing within those three weeks, one would not know that she was getting quite sick, except that she was beginning to slur in her speech and to take a bit longer to respond to questions as a result of an earlier mini-stroke.
While mom and I were going through her luggage two days ago, we found a note about a dream she had a year last June. In it, she was narrating a dream where our father who died in March of 2009 was inviting our mother to come join him because he loved her and wanted to be with her, but Blessing kept asking him to leave our mom so that she may live for us. The rest of the dram almost described what happened to her. She never showed nor discussed this dream with anybody. I think that even though this dream was written as pertaining to our mother, Ngozi was in a sense telling us that she was getting ready to be with our dad who loved her so much. So, our sister knew that God will call her some day, she prepared herself. We pray, if there was any sin she committed, that God may forgive her those sins for in her life, she desired to do God’s will. Be courageous my people, and have faith in Christ who leads along the way of truth and life. It hurts, but eventually, we will be consoled when we reach eternal happiness.
And I say to mama, our mother, it is true that the child is supposed to bury the mother, but remember that our Blessed Mother also buried her own son. Our Blessed Mother taught us to have faith in Christ. You have faith in God, with that faith, trust in God just as our Blessed Mother trusted in God. We know that if it is something prayer can change, it would have been done as all these people prayed so hard, if it is something money can change, it would have been done a long time ago, if it is something medical treatment or naturopathic treatment can change, it would have been done. Because for the last six years she had been going from one hospital to another and had all kinds of treatment. She returned home here, people came to pray. As Christ prayed, so did they. But it is not God’s will. Let us allow the will of God to be done for we cannot fight against His will. Let us put our trust in God and say to our sister (I turned to the casket and touched and said) “Go in peace, go in peace, go in peace.”
Wednesday, December 22, 2010
Friday, December 10, 2010
Blessing's Funeral Ceremonies
I am hoping that writing this will help those who struggle with the death of a loved one to realize that crises is part of the mourning process. While we all deal with death in different ways, we are all connected by the feeling of loss, maybe anger and confusion, and yet our faith helps us to realize that death is not the end of everything, it is the beginning of new life. While those who are left behind have to struggle emotionally, physically and psychologically, the dead rest in the peace of Christ. Here is my account of the journey to Nigeria for the funeral of my sister Blessing:
As I prepared and did the last minutes errands before travelling back to Nigeria for the second time in a month and three days, this time, the mood was quite sombre. I cannot stop thinking of the final goodbye I said to Blessing, her attempt at saying goodbye (with all the efforts made, her voice box and her brain somehow could not get the words out). I contemplated the tears running down my cheeks as I realized that I would probably never see Blessing alive again, at least in the physical sense. I know that she is asleep in Christ and that she will be raised from the dead to enjoy everlasting life. The questions kept running through my mind: Is this real or am I just having a really bad nightmare? Is this such nightmare that one wakes up sweating only to realize it was not real? I kept hoping to wake up from this bad nightmare and yet I still found myself going through the motions of booking my flight, calling mom and my siblings constantly to make arrangements for the funeral service, and speaking to people who called to express their condolence.
The next day after Blessing died, I was supposed to concelebrate at a funeral for one of our parishioners but the raw emotions that welled through my entire being were so much that I had to send a message to the family to express my condolence but also my disappointment that I was not able to be there for them in their hours of need. While I felt bad about this, I also recognized that I would not have been able to go through that celebration without breaking down. No matter how much one knows that his/her loved one is dying, there is often the shock of realizing that the reality of death once the person dies. That shock can be tremendous and often unexpectedly unpredictable.
That Saturday afternoon I wondered how the rest of the weekend would develop – how am I going to be able to go through the celebration of the Eucharist on Saturday evening and on Sunday morning? I know that Blessing would probably not want me to miss the celebration of the Eucharist because she died, she probably would have wanted me to celebrate it in spite of the difficulty I may face with immersing myself into the mystery of our relationship with God in such a public ceremony while handling an emotional crisis of such magnitude. I am certain of this assertion because it dawned on me that even when she first started losing the ability to speak, she was still able to respond to most of the responses at the daily masses we celebrated the last week of my visit. She was a person of incredible faith and even her fight with cancer could not break that bond of faith.
While still running around and getting ready to travel, I was also privileged to encounter many parishioners in ways I never imagined. Blessing had truly been a blessing to many of us. The outpouring of emotions and support after the announcement of her death was made at the three weekend masses surprised me! While I expected some condolences, the rate and sincerity touched the core of my being, and my family was incredibly touched by the Mass cards and other gifts. I knew that if I came to mass early and get emotional, I would not be able to go through the celebration, so I decided to come to mass just a few minutes before each mass and to avoid both eye contacts and questions about Blessing (which many people ask out of care and concern). During the celebration of the 5.30pm Mass, I was doing okay until Blessing’s name was mentioned during the Prayers of the Faithful in which her name was moved from the sick to the dead. At that moment, I had a lump in my throat, eyes welled with tears and with my voice shaking, I managed to say the concluding for the prayers. From then on, I hoped that nothing else would be that emotional because I knew I was on the verge of breaking down. Thankfully I was able to hold myself until the end of the Mass when I formally informed the parishioners of Blessing’s passing on and asking for their prayers for the repose of her soul as well as for prayers for the whole family and especially for my mother. As soon as I got to the back entrance, I could no longer control my emotions, I burst into the Sophia room and cried! After crying and letting out some of the bottled-up emotions, I felt better and then came out and was able to talk with people. Hugs had never made more meaning nor been able to bring such comfort as they did that evening.
The next two Masses were equally packed with emotions. Thankfully I was able to get through the celebrations. While I considered cancelling all the weekday masses, I decided that I wanted to celebrate them even if only for the benefit of getting the graces I needed for my impending journey to Nigeria. I am thankful for the many friends, parishioners and members of the Association of Nigerians in Nova Scotia who dropped-in at the house, called or sent cards.
In spite of her death, there were several subtle miracles throughout her last few months. When Blessing called to tell me that she would like to “visit” Nigeria, I thought she meant going there for the Christmas celebration but she told me that it was to be for the month of September. While we talked about this, I perceived that she really wanted to go between two certain days. Now I realize why she chose these days – if she did not get to Nigeria on the day she did, she would have had the mini-stroke she had at the Murtala Muhamed International Airport, Lagos elsewhere in the United States, and would not have been able to return to Nigeria by herself nor alive. It is divine providence which guided her to make that decision. When we talked about her visit, she kept insisting that even if there was nothing else to be done in Nigeria, she would at least be close to “the people who love me, those I have not seen in a long time.”
Just before returning to Nigeria, Blessing spent three quality weeks with her son Kevin, and as if she knew that it would be her last with him, took him out for all kinds of adventures and activities they normally would not embark on – they went to downtown Seattle for a tour of the city using the harbour-hopper car-boat, they saw all kinds of places of interest and went on different rides. She called more often than she used to. While chatting with her, I felt an energy that was not always there emanate from her within that period. What grace God gave to her and Kevin as they spent this time together. Little did we anticipate that this may be her final farewell to him, at least in the physical sense of it. Reflecting on these two events – her choice of the date to go, and her spending the quality time with Kevin – I now realize that somehow she may have felt that her time was drawing close.
As I started planning for the funeral for Blessing, I realized that it would probably be the most difficult celebration of the Eucharist I will ever have. Not only am I in agony at her death, I was having a real crisis of faith. Intellectually I understand that one will eventually die but emotionally, I was not prepared for how to feel at the loss of a younger sibling. From the day she was informed of the cancer diagnosis, all her friends, our friends and strangers who never met her started praying for healing. I often had confidence that God would answer my prayers (but maybe it was because he had always answered them according to my “will and demand”). I must say that I felt disappointed that my prayers were not granted in the manner I wanted. This I have come to realize is probably in line with the reasoning behind the Letter to the Hebrews’ indication that God answered the prayers of Christ, and yet he had to die! I think that in his humanity Christ must have felt extremely frustrated that God was not willing to take the cup away from him, yet he believed and had the courage to utter these words “Not my will but your will be done.” I felt like all my prayers and those of the many people who prayed for her did not reach God’s ears or maybe he turned his ears away. My biggest struggle has to do with the reality that I found it difficult to reconcile being a priest who struggled to the best of my ability to do what I believe to be right and the possibility that God would not answer my prayers for healing, not even for me, but for my sister. While this may seem trivial, this was a real emotional, creedal and personal crisis. This was contrary to my experience with God. I recalled an incident that affirmed my belief in God. I was about 9 years old, one bright late afternoon my mother sent me to go to the corner-store and buy some cooking ingredients. As I got the soccer field and saw my peers playing, I decided to join them. By the time I realized it, the corner-store was already closed, it was dark and there was no place around there I could buy the stuff she wanted. I prayed that “if God exists, mom will not ask me for what she sent me to buy until tomorrow afternoon.” God granted this as mom did not ask me any question that night, and of course the next day on my way from school I bought the ingredients. As soon as I got to the door, she wanted what she sent me to buy because she needed to use them. This confirmed to my childish mind that there is God and that he answers prayers. But how can he not answer my and other people’s prayers for Blessing? In the midst of all this, I was also supposed to be the strong one who minister to my family and others who were close to Blessing. While all these thoughts fleet through my mind, I started to pray, “God I believe, help my unbelief.” The crisis finally subdued the following day as I woke up in the morning to prepare for the Sunday mass. I felt an incredible peace which was beyond my comprehension. As I went to mass that morning I thought about the possibility that people who are about to die sometimes feel a peace and presence which cannot be described by words. Throughout the day as I talked with family and friends, I realized that the process of healing begins with acceptance of the reality that death brings to an end the earthly life of our loved ones and the resolve to face death as a reality in life.
THE FUNERAL
Preparing for the day of the funeral was the easier part, taking the long flight to Nigeria was a journey of emotions – thoughts of our growing up in the family, my visits to Seattle and the vivid images of all that had happened in Blessing’s life, all the treatments she had undergone both conventional and eventually naturopathic, Kevin growing up without his mother (and what that would mean for any child), how the funeral mass would be celebrated, the love and care from so many people, fear of family members breaking down emotionally, possibility that I was still having a bad nightmare from which I would wake up to realize I was just dreaming and yet knowing that this was real. Sometimes the emotions would come with pain, at other times there was no way of describing them, yet they were there. There were moments of peace too – she is now resting. She is with dad who died in 2009.
As I write this, I recalled the dream Blessing had in July of 2009, a dream she kept from all of us but had it written on a piece of paper we found in her luggage after she died. She narrated how after dad died, he was beckoning to mom to come to him. Blessing was standing by and telling dad to leave mom for us, but dad insisted that he wanted her because he loved her. The rest of the story pointed to Blessing’s life. Mom and I found this piece of paper in Blessing’s address book while we were going through her things two days before her funeral. She had somehow known that her death was quite imminent and that she needed to get things ready for us. Knowing that Blessing thought about everyone else even in the midst of her suffering speaks to the kind of person she was.
I got to Nigeria and after embracing family members, crying on each other’s shoulder and sharing the story of what really happened on the day Blessing died, I felt the emptiness that comes with loss. One thing that happened before Blessing died kept coming to mind. On that Friday morning (Nigerian time, afternoon) I called as usual to find out how things were going. Mom told me that Blessing seemed to be quite awake (after sleeping for days and waking up for only a few minutes per day). The nurses and hospital staff were all amazed as she would smile at them when they called her name. Many of those who went to see her on that day also felt that she was quite alert. Though it crossed my mind that this may be a farewell moment, I never thought about it again until I got the dreaded call.
On Thursday November 25th, early in the morning the traditional cannon-gun salute which officially announced the death went off. As soon as this happened, mom started wailing and was joined by the women who were gathered there with her. This reminded me of the writing in the Book of Lamentations where Rachael wailed for her children and refused to be consoled. The wailing lasted for about 45 minutes to an hour. Thinking of it, I now realize that it provided the avenue to get the emotions out. Hearing the wailing of the women and seeing mom wail for her daughter was heartbreaking and of course, my tears were running down like rain water. While not wailing most of the men let the tears out. Soon after this, there is the playing of Christian Gospel music which would last all day until the evening when the wake-keeping started.
Just before 10 AM, I took the young people from the kindred whose job it is to dig the grave of any kinsperson that dies (collective effort of all the young adults) to the place we decided that Blessing was to be buried. They started the digging of the grave while we provided drinks and food for them. All this was done by hand with the use of the digger and shovels. By around 2.30 PM, the grave was dug and ready.
At about 7 PM, we started the wake-keeping at the house. The music was provided by the live band of the Catholic Charismatic Movement of the parish in which we grew up in Emene, Enugu. Many of the members also knew Blessing personally as she was actively involved in the parish and in different sodalities while growing up there. At 8.00pm we held a vigil mass, officiated by one of the four priests in attendance. After the mass, there was music, eating, drinking and dancing which lasted until about 2 AM. At 8 AM those who would be on the motorcade from the mortuary with the hearse carrying her remains left to go to Enugu.
When they called to let us know that they were about to leave the mortuary, I decided to prepare myself for celebrating the funeral. I went into one of the rooms, locked the door and cried to let out the steam. I wanted to let the emotions out so as to be able to at least last through the celebration of the Eucharist. When they got closer to the house, I went to the gate to welcome her body which laid in state in the living room. This was followed by prayers by the priests and nuns present. Immediately after this, the Eucharistic celebration started in front of the house. Often the funeral mass is celebrated in the parish church, however it can also be celebrated in front of one’s family home. The mass started, the emotions sought ways to erupt but I did my best to keep them in check as I knew that if I let them out, I would not be able to continue as the principal celebrant. I did okay until towards the end of the homily when I somehow thought about my last conversation with her. I had to end the homily immediately before breaking down. After Holy Communion, I sat on the presider’s chair and tears filled my eyes. All through the celebration, I kept gazing at mom who cried intermittently through the celebration, my older brother who could not control it for a moment, my older sister and my other siblings who sobbed throughout. I am still surprised that I managed to hold it for as long as I did. One of the priests present prayed the Final Commendation, then the body was taken to a piece of land that belongs to us where she was buried. Usually people are buried where the family has a piece of land, except for elders who are often buried inside their compounds. In most communities, there are no cemeteries (even in the big cities too. Mom could not bear to go to the graveside, nor was my older siblings.
As I did the prayer at the graveside, I knew that I would not be able to hold it anymore though I managed to finish the prayers. As soon as the body was lowered and the choir members started singing In Paradise, I thought to myself and said it audibly, “this is real! This is real! She is dead!” My breathing became more rapid, I was struggling to breathe through my mouth and was almost losing consciousness, I started to hyperventilate, clutching on the priest and the nun by my sides. My heartbeat was so hard and I could hear my heart pounding! I thought I was going to die. I whispered for the holy water to be given to me and drank from it. Then I started crying and wailing, “No, this cannot be true! My baby sister is dead! No, God, no!..” I could also hear my other family members wailing. The priests and nuns tried to comfort me and to keep me from fainting and falling into the grave (I was standing close to grave for the prayers). I heard a woman’s voice say to the priests and nuns, “Let him cry, it is his sister that is being buried. He is also human!” I think this was one of the wisest sayings so far. If I did not let out the bottled-up emotions, I was almost certain that my heart would have broken literarily. I started feeling a little better after crying out. Eventually I joined the choir in singing the songs while the grave was being filled by the young men who dug it the day before.
I found myself thinking of all the struggles Blessing faced especially from the day she returned to Africa until her death. I kept thinking of the countless days of sorrow she must have endured, especially the sorrow of knowing that one was dying, hoping for a miracle and yet watching one’s frame and flesh being wasted by cancer. The most poignant moment of all was her looking at the mirror one day, sitting down and crying for hours – cancer changed her appearance. There was nothing left of her but her bony frame. For this reason all the mirrors in the house were taken down. I find myself thinking of the feeling of the loss of ability to control one’s bowl movement, continence and the apparent sense of the loss of dignity when one cannot take care of the things we take for granted like taking a shower/bath. The days I spent with mom and Blessing while she was sick helped me to see things from a different perspective – the agony of parents who take care of their grown children who are either sick, challenged or infirmed. While they do these incredible jobs with joy and grace, I cannot stop thinking of the reality that this is not the way things should work. Parents are supposed to take care of their children until they grow up, then the children are supposed to show their appreciation by reciprocating and taking care of their parents in old age. How can one reconcile the reality that mom took care of Blessing in infancy and again as an adult? How can one reconcile the reality that Blessing was not able to take care of her son Kevin until he becomes an adult? How can one reconcile the reality that it seems unfair for a younger person to die before the parent(s)? I found myself feeling for all the parents who carry the burden of having to bury their own children (in infancy or as grown-ups). What goes on in the mind of a parent whose child dies? It was at that moment that I felt the peace of knowing that “the battle” was over for her. She was no longer in physical, mental, psychological or emotional pain, anguish or agony. She is resting in peace in God’s presence.
During the celebration of the Eucharist on the Sunday after the funeral service for Blessing, the homily drifted from the readings to encouragement to all whose loved ones died. I reflected on the fact that people die at different ages and that God must have a reason which we may not fully understand at the present for allowing things to go the way they do. I thought about people like the Holy Innocents who died in infancy at the hands of others, people who lived to be old like Abraham, people who died in-between like Christ who died at around the age 33. What united all those who knew these people is their sense of sorrow at the parting of a loved one, but then the sorrow would differ depending on the individual’s age. What sort of questions would have crossed the minds of the parents of the Holy Innocents in the Bible, and those of the many holy innocents being killed in our world today – people who die as a result of the stupid decisions of others. What emotions flood the mind when a parent faces the individual responsible for the death of her/his child? What are the emotions that flood the minds of a parent whose poor judgement leads to the death of a child? How did Mary feel at the judgement, passion and death of her son Jesus Christ? How does it feel to helplessly watch a loved one go through so much suffering, and eventually die? While dying in old age can be a Blessing, does it diminish the feeling of shock and loss that comes with death? Not really!
The days for my return drew near, the funeral was over, more people came to visit at the house. Soon we all realized how tired everyone had become, especially mom who only slept at home for two nights all through Blessing’s hospitalization. We needed to rest. Though mom was not sure if she was becoming sick or was just tired, she decided to rest for a couple of days – no work, just sleep, wake, eat, sleep, wake, eat… it seemed to be doing the magic. However, on the day before I left to go to Lagos on my way back, it seemed like we all re-lived the sorrow as we told stories that night. Early the following morning I was up to get ready for the bus ride. We gathered in the living room, said some prayers together, said tearful goodbyes and hugged before I left for the bus station. The first hour in the bus was quite sombre and provided a period for reflection. Though our bus was delayed for three hours due to mechanical problem that started just about 45 minutes into the ride, no one seemed to mind (or at least verbalize it).
The reality of all that happened in the last few weeks hit me as soon as our flight left Lagos for Paris. I started thinking, “so this is it? So it will now be said, “when Blessing was alive?” So it is a reality that I cannot call her phone number and hear her voice again? (I called her phone number a few days after she died to confirm to myself but her voicemail was full). The image of her in the casket and the covering of the grave kept coming back to mind. I wondered what those who knew her and had hoped that she would return from her “short” visit to Africa would be thinking. The tears started rolling down my cheeks. I did not realize I still had any tears to shed after all these days, but I decided to let it out if it comes. For a time, I thought that I would soon be an emotional wreck but I knew that tears bring healing. Intermittently I found myself thinking of the many people who have been of support to our family during this process and praying that God may reward them immensely, but more especially, that they may be spared going through the death of a young sibling or child.
What was the lesson in all this? I think the biggest lesson is to be there for your loved ones and to make sure that one would do all s/he can to help them when one can. I have also learned to make sure that we appreciate our loved ones and let them know how much we love them. Death can exert a hard blow on people when a loved one dies, but our faith is in Christ who battled and won over death helps us to hang in and not loose hope. His promise holds true for all who live their faith in him, “I am going to my Father and to your Father. I am going to prepare a place for you so that where I am you too may be.” While the passion and death of Christ presented a sort of crisis of faith in the Father, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” it also presented a moment of intense surrender to the will of God, “Father, into your hands I commend my spirit.” The death of a loved one often presents moments of questions, doubts, and maybe crisis of faith, but at the end, one has to realise that these moments present us with the opportunity to re-affirm our faith in God, our creedal conviction as stated in the Apostle’s and Nicene Creed.
A copy of my homily for the funeral will be posted on my blog as soon as I listen to it and write it down.
I will also be adding clips of video from the funeral as soon as I have enough time to process and edit them.
As I prepared and did the last minutes errands before travelling back to Nigeria for the second time in a month and three days, this time, the mood was quite sombre. I cannot stop thinking of the final goodbye I said to Blessing, her attempt at saying goodbye (with all the efforts made, her voice box and her brain somehow could not get the words out). I contemplated the tears running down my cheeks as I realized that I would probably never see Blessing alive again, at least in the physical sense. I know that she is asleep in Christ and that she will be raised from the dead to enjoy everlasting life. The questions kept running through my mind: Is this real or am I just having a really bad nightmare? Is this such nightmare that one wakes up sweating only to realize it was not real? I kept hoping to wake up from this bad nightmare and yet I still found myself going through the motions of booking my flight, calling mom and my siblings constantly to make arrangements for the funeral service, and speaking to people who called to express their condolence.
The next day after Blessing died, I was supposed to concelebrate at a funeral for one of our parishioners but the raw emotions that welled through my entire being were so much that I had to send a message to the family to express my condolence but also my disappointment that I was not able to be there for them in their hours of need. While I felt bad about this, I also recognized that I would not have been able to go through that celebration without breaking down. No matter how much one knows that his/her loved one is dying, there is often the shock of realizing that the reality of death once the person dies. That shock can be tremendous and often unexpectedly unpredictable.
That Saturday afternoon I wondered how the rest of the weekend would develop – how am I going to be able to go through the celebration of the Eucharist on Saturday evening and on Sunday morning? I know that Blessing would probably not want me to miss the celebration of the Eucharist because she died, she probably would have wanted me to celebrate it in spite of the difficulty I may face with immersing myself into the mystery of our relationship with God in such a public ceremony while handling an emotional crisis of such magnitude. I am certain of this assertion because it dawned on me that even when she first started losing the ability to speak, she was still able to respond to most of the responses at the daily masses we celebrated the last week of my visit. She was a person of incredible faith and even her fight with cancer could not break that bond of faith.
While still running around and getting ready to travel, I was also privileged to encounter many parishioners in ways I never imagined. Blessing had truly been a blessing to many of us. The outpouring of emotions and support after the announcement of her death was made at the three weekend masses surprised me! While I expected some condolences, the rate and sincerity touched the core of my being, and my family was incredibly touched by the Mass cards and other gifts. I knew that if I came to mass early and get emotional, I would not be able to go through the celebration, so I decided to come to mass just a few minutes before each mass and to avoid both eye contacts and questions about Blessing (which many people ask out of care and concern). During the celebration of the 5.30pm Mass, I was doing okay until Blessing’s name was mentioned during the Prayers of the Faithful in which her name was moved from the sick to the dead. At that moment, I had a lump in my throat, eyes welled with tears and with my voice shaking, I managed to say the concluding for the prayers. From then on, I hoped that nothing else would be that emotional because I knew I was on the verge of breaking down. Thankfully I was able to hold myself until the end of the Mass when I formally informed the parishioners of Blessing’s passing on and asking for their prayers for the repose of her soul as well as for prayers for the whole family and especially for my mother. As soon as I got to the back entrance, I could no longer control my emotions, I burst into the Sophia room and cried! After crying and letting out some of the bottled-up emotions, I felt better and then came out and was able to talk with people. Hugs had never made more meaning nor been able to bring such comfort as they did that evening.
The next two Masses were equally packed with emotions. Thankfully I was able to get through the celebrations. While I considered cancelling all the weekday masses, I decided that I wanted to celebrate them even if only for the benefit of getting the graces I needed for my impending journey to Nigeria. I am thankful for the many friends, parishioners and members of the Association of Nigerians in Nova Scotia who dropped-in at the house, called or sent cards.
In spite of her death, there were several subtle miracles throughout her last few months. When Blessing called to tell me that she would like to “visit” Nigeria, I thought she meant going there for the Christmas celebration but she told me that it was to be for the month of September. While we talked about this, I perceived that she really wanted to go between two certain days. Now I realize why she chose these days – if she did not get to Nigeria on the day she did, she would have had the mini-stroke she had at the Murtala Muhamed International Airport, Lagos elsewhere in the United States, and would not have been able to return to Nigeria by herself nor alive. It is divine providence which guided her to make that decision. When we talked about her visit, she kept insisting that even if there was nothing else to be done in Nigeria, she would at least be close to “the people who love me, those I have not seen in a long time.”
Just before returning to Nigeria, Blessing spent three quality weeks with her son Kevin, and as if she knew that it would be her last with him, took him out for all kinds of adventures and activities they normally would not embark on – they went to downtown Seattle for a tour of the city using the harbour-hopper car-boat, they saw all kinds of places of interest and went on different rides. She called more often than she used to. While chatting with her, I felt an energy that was not always there emanate from her within that period. What grace God gave to her and Kevin as they spent this time together. Little did we anticipate that this may be her final farewell to him, at least in the physical sense of it. Reflecting on these two events – her choice of the date to go, and her spending the quality time with Kevin – I now realize that somehow she may have felt that her time was drawing close.
As I started planning for the funeral for Blessing, I realized that it would probably be the most difficult celebration of the Eucharist I will ever have. Not only am I in agony at her death, I was having a real crisis of faith. Intellectually I understand that one will eventually die but emotionally, I was not prepared for how to feel at the loss of a younger sibling. From the day she was informed of the cancer diagnosis, all her friends, our friends and strangers who never met her started praying for healing. I often had confidence that God would answer my prayers (but maybe it was because he had always answered them according to my “will and demand”). I must say that I felt disappointed that my prayers were not granted in the manner I wanted. This I have come to realize is probably in line with the reasoning behind the Letter to the Hebrews’ indication that God answered the prayers of Christ, and yet he had to die! I think that in his humanity Christ must have felt extremely frustrated that God was not willing to take the cup away from him, yet he believed and had the courage to utter these words “Not my will but your will be done.” I felt like all my prayers and those of the many people who prayed for her did not reach God’s ears or maybe he turned his ears away. My biggest struggle has to do with the reality that I found it difficult to reconcile being a priest who struggled to the best of my ability to do what I believe to be right and the possibility that God would not answer my prayers for healing, not even for me, but for my sister. While this may seem trivial, this was a real emotional, creedal and personal crisis. This was contrary to my experience with God. I recalled an incident that affirmed my belief in God. I was about 9 years old, one bright late afternoon my mother sent me to go to the corner-store and buy some cooking ingredients. As I got the soccer field and saw my peers playing, I decided to join them. By the time I realized it, the corner-store was already closed, it was dark and there was no place around there I could buy the stuff she wanted. I prayed that “if God exists, mom will not ask me for what she sent me to buy until tomorrow afternoon.” God granted this as mom did not ask me any question that night, and of course the next day on my way from school I bought the ingredients. As soon as I got to the door, she wanted what she sent me to buy because she needed to use them. This confirmed to my childish mind that there is God and that he answers prayers. But how can he not answer my and other people’s prayers for Blessing? In the midst of all this, I was also supposed to be the strong one who minister to my family and others who were close to Blessing. While all these thoughts fleet through my mind, I started to pray, “God I believe, help my unbelief.” The crisis finally subdued the following day as I woke up in the morning to prepare for the Sunday mass. I felt an incredible peace which was beyond my comprehension. As I went to mass that morning I thought about the possibility that people who are about to die sometimes feel a peace and presence which cannot be described by words. Throughout the day as I talked with family and friends, I realized that the process of healing begins with acceptance of the reality that death brings to an end the earthly life of our loved ones and the resolve to face death as a reality in life.
THE FUNERAL
Preparing for the day of the funeral was the easier part, taking the long flight to Nigeria was a journey of emotions – thoughts of our growing up in the family, my visits to Seattle and the vivid images of all that had happened in Blessing’s life, all the treatments she had undergone both conventional and eventually naturopathic, Kevin growing up without his mother (and what that would mean for any child), how the funeral mass would be celebrated, the love and care from so many people, fear of family members breaking down emotionally, possibility that I was still having a bad nightmare from which I would wake up to realize I was just dreaming and yet knowing that this was real. Sometimes the emotions would come with pain, at other times there was no way of describing them, yet they were there. There were moments of peace too – she is now resting. She is with dad who died in 2009.
As I write this, I recalled the dream Blessing had in July of 2009, a dream she kept from all of us but had it written on a piece of paper we found in her luggage after she died. She narrated how after dad died, he was beckoning to mom to come to him. Blessing was standing by and telling dad to leave mom for us, but dad insisted that he wanted her because he loved her. The rest of the story pointed to Blessing’s life. Mom and I found this piece of paper in Blessing’s address book while we were going through her things two days before her funeral. She had somehow known that her death was quite imminent and that she needed to get things ready for us. Knowing that Blessing thought about everyone else even in the midst of her suffering speaks to the kind of person she was.
I got to Nigeria and after embracing family members, crying on each other’s shoulder and sharing the story of what really happened on the day Blessing died, I felt the emptiness that comes with loss. One thing that happened before Blessing died kept coming to mind. On that Friday morning (Nigerian time, afternoon) I called as usual to find out how things were going. Mom told me that Blessing seemed to be quite awake (after sleeping for days and waking up for only a few minutes per day). The nurses and hospital staff were all amazed as she would smile at them when they called her name. Many of those who went to see her on that day also felt that she was quite alert. Though it crossed my mind that this may be a farewell moment, I never thought about it again until I got the dreaded call.
On Thursday November 25th, early in the morning the traditional cannon-gun salute which officially announced the death went off. As soon as this happened, mom started wailing and was joined by the women who were gathered there with her. This reminded me of the writing in the Book of Lamentations where Rachael wailed for her children and refused to be consoled. The wailing lasted for about 45 minutes to an hour. Thinking of it, I now realize that it provided the avenue to get the emotions out. Hearing the wailing of the women and seeing mom wail for her daughter was heartbreaking and of course, my tears were running down like rain water. While not wailing most of the men let the tears out. Soon after this, there is the playing of Christian Gospel music which would last all day until the evening when the wake-keeping started.
Just before 10 AM, I took the young people from the kindred whose job it is to dig the grave of any kinsperson that dies (collective effort of all the young adults) to the place we decided that Blessing was to be buried. They started the digging of the grave while we provided drinks and food for them. All this was done by hand with the use of the digger and shovels. By around 2.30 PM, the grave was dug and ready.
At about 7 PM, we started the wake-keeping at the house. The music was provided by the live band of the Catholic Charismatic Movement of the parish in which we grew up in Emene, Enugu. Many of the members also knew Blessing personally as she was actively involved in the parish and in different sodalities while growing up there. At 8.00pm we held a vigil mass, officiated by one of the four priests in attendance. After the mass, there was music, eating, drinking and dancing which lasted until about 2 AM. At 8 AM those who would be on the motorcade from the mortuary with the hearse carrying her remains left to go to Enugu.
When they called to let us know that they were about to leave the mortuary, I decided to prepare myself for celebrating the funeral. I went into one of the rooms, locked the door and cried to let out the steam. I wanted to let the emotions out so as to be able to at least last through the celebration of the Eucharist. When they got closer to the house, I went to the gate to welcome her body which laid in state in the living room. This was followed by prayers by the priests and nuns present. Immediately after this, the Eucharistic celebration started in front of the house. Often the funeral mass is celebrated in the parish church, however it can also be celebrated in front of one’s family home. The mass started, the emotions sought ways to erupt but I did my best to keep them in check as I knew that if I let them out, I would not be able to continue as the principal celebrant. I did okay until towards the end of the homily when I somehow thought about my last conversation with her. I had to end the homily immediately before breaking down. After Holy Communion, I sat on the presider’s chair and tears filled my eyes. All through the celebration, I kept gazing at mom who cried intermittently through the celebration, my older brother who could not control it for a moment, my older sister and my other siblings who sobbed throughout. I am still surprised that I managed to hold it for as long as I did. One of the priests present prayed the Final Commendation, then the body was taken to a piece of land that belongs to us where she was buried. Usually people are buried where the family has a piece of land, except for elders who are often buried inside their compounds. In most communities, there are no cemeteries (even in the big cities too. Mom could not bear to go to the graveside, nor was my older siblings.
As I did the prayer at the graveside, I knew that I would not be able to hold it anymore though I managed to finish the prayers. As soon as the body was lowered and the choir members started singing In Paradise, I thought to myself and said it audibly, “this is real! This is real! She is dead!” My breathing became more rapid, I was struggling to breathe through my mouth and was almost losing consciousness, I started to hyperventilate, clutching on the priest and the nun by my sides. My heartbeat was so hard and I could hear my heart pounding! I thought I was going to die. I whispered for the holy water to be given to me and drank from it. Then I started crying and wailing, “No, this cannot be true! My baby sister is dead! No, God, no!..” I could also hear my other family members wailing. The priests and nuns tried to comfort me and to keep me from fainting and falling into the grave (I was standing close to grave for the prayers). I heard a woman’s voice say to the priests and nuns, “Let him cry, it is his sister that is being buried. He is also human!” I think this was one of the wisest sayings so far. If I did not let out the bottled-up emotions, I was almost certain that my heart would have broken literarily. I started feeling a little better after crying out. Eventually I joined the choir in singing the songs while the grave was being filled by the young men who dug it the day before.
I found myself thinking of all the struggles Blessing faced especially from the day she returned to Africa until her death. I kept thinking of the countless days of sorrow she must have endured, especially the sorrow of knowing that one was dying, hoping for a miracle and yet watching one’s frame and flesh being wasted by cancer. The most poignant moment of all was her looking at the mirror one day, sitting down and crying for hours – cancer changed her appearance. There was nothing left of her but her bony frame. For this reason all the mirrors in the house were taken down. I find myself thinking of the feeling of the loss of ability to control one’s bowl movement, continence and the apparent sense of the loss of dignity when one cannot take care of the things we take for granted like taking a shower/bath. The days I spent with mom and Blessing while she was sick helped me to see things from a different perspective – the agony of parents who take care of their grown children who are either sick, challenged or infirmed. While they do these incredible jobs with joy and grace, I cannot stop thinking of the reality that this is not the way things should work. Parents are supposed to take care of their children until they grow up, then the children are supposed to show their appreciation by reciprocating and taking care of their parents in old age. How can one reconcile the reality that mom took care of Blessing in infancy and again as an adult? How can one reconcile the reality that Blessing was not able to take care of her son Kevin until he becomes an adult? How can one reconcile the reality that it seems unfair for a younger person to die before the parent(s)? I found myself feeling for all the parents who carry the burden of having to bury their own children (in infancy or as grown-ups). What goes on in the mind of a parent whose child dies? It was at that moment that I felt the peace of knowing that “the battle” was over for her. She was no longer in physical, mental, psychological or emotional pain, anguish or agony. She is resting in peace in God’s presence.
During the celebration of the Eucharist on the Sunday after the funeral service for Blessing, the homily drifted from the readings to encouragement to all whose loved ones died. I reflected on the fact that people die at different ages and that God must have a reason which we may not fully understand at the present for allowing things to go the way they do. I thought about people like the Holy Innocents who died in infancy at the hands of others, people who lived to be old like Abraham, people who died in-between like Christ who died at around the age 33. What united all those who knew these people is their sense of sorrow at the parting of a loved one, but then the sorrow would differ depending on the individual’s age. What sort of questions would have crossed the minds of the parents of the Holy Innocents in the Bible, and those of the many holy innocents being killed in our world today – people who die as a result of the stupid decisions of others. What emotions flood the mind when a parent faces the individual responsible for the death of her/his child? What are the emotions that flood the minds of a parent whose poor judgement leads to the death of a child? How did Mary feel at the judgement, passion and death of her son Jesus Christ? How does it feel to helplessly watch a loved one go through so much suffering, and eventually die? While dying in old age can be a Blessing, does it diminish the feeling of shock and loss that comes with death? Not really!
The days for my return drew near, the funeral was over, more people came to visit at the house. Soon we all realized how tired everyone had become, especially mom who only slept at home for two nights all through Blessing’s hospitalization. We needed to rest. Though mom was not sure if she was becoming sick or was just tired, she decided to rest for a couple of days – no work, just sleep, wake, eat, sleep, wake, eat… it seemed to be doing the magic. However, on the day before I left to go to Lagos on my way back, it seemed like we all re-lived the sorrow as we told stories that night. Early the following morning I was up to get ready for the bus ride. We gathered in the living room, said some prayers together, said tearful goodbyes and hugged before I left for the bus station. The first hour in the bus was quite sombre and provided a period for reflection. Though our bus was delayed for three hours due to mechanical problem that started just about 45 minutes into the ride, no one seemed to mind (or at least verbalize it).
The reality of all that happened in the last few weeks hit me as soon as our flight left Lagos for Paris. I started thinking, “so this is it? So it will now be said, “when Blessing was alive?” So it is a reality that I cannot call her phone number and hear her voice again? (I called her phone number a few days after she died to confirm to myself but her voicemail was full). The image of her in the casket and the covering of the grave kept coming back to mind. I wondered what those who knew her and had hoped that she would return from her “short” visit to Africa would be thinking. The tears started rolling down my cheeks. I did not realize I still had any tears to shed after all these days, but I decided to let it out if it comes. For a time, I thought that I would soon be an emotional wreck but I knew that tears bring healing. Intermittently I found myself thinking of the many people who have been of support to our family during this process and praying that God may reward them immensely, but more especially, that they may be spared going through the death of a young sibling or child.
What was the lesson in all this? I think the biggest lesson is to be there for your loved ones and to make sure that one would do all s/he can to help them when one can. I have also learned to make sure that we appreciate our loved ones and let them know how much we love them. Death can exert a hard blow on people when a loved one dies, but our faith is in Christ who battled and won over death helps us to hang in and not loose hope. His promise holds true for all who live their faith in him, “I am going to my Father and to your Father. I am going to prepare a place for you so that where I am you too may be.” While the passion and death of Christ presented a sort of crisis of faith in the Father, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” it also presented a moment of intense surrender to the will of God, “Father, into your hands I commend my spirit.” The death of a loved one often presents moments of questions, doubts, and maybe crisis of faith, but at the end, one has to realise that these moments present us with the opportunity to re-affirm our faith in God, our creedal conviction as stated in the Apostle’s and Nicene Creed.
A copy of my homily for the funeral will be posted on my blog as soon as I listen to it and write it down.
I will also be adding clips of video from the funeral as soon as I have enough time to process and edit them.
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