My Little Brother was Buried on St. Valentine's Day

It was St. Valentine's Day of 1983.

It was a Monday.

My brother had committed suicide on Friday. At the time, I had been away from Holy Mother Church for so long, I did not even know that February 11th was the Feast of Our Lady of Lourdes.

Bobby would have delebrated his 21st birthday on September 12th of that year.

I was fourteen years old when he was born. I was in the tenth grade at Allegheny High School.

At first, I could just babysit him by putting him down on my "desk" (aka, old kitchen table relegated to one of the back bedrooms) - - -  least, on one of the rare occasions when I actually did homework or studied.

It was a few weeks until he started rolling and grabbing my stuff and catapulting himself around to roll and grab some more. Plus, kicking, and shimmying. As well as reaching, and all those activities that toddlers engage in while exploring --- and trying to control --- the universe.

Well, I was very happy to have another excuse to avoid studying.

Not that anybody cared what I did, or why. As long as I didn't bother them, or need anything, the parental units were happy to allow me to go about my business.  All the better that I should babysit Bobby. That would put both of us out of the picture.

I had skipped a grade a long time before Bobby was born. It was the second half of first grade, and the first half of second grade, that I missed. I was never happy in school at any time after that.

Otherwise I would have been in the ninth grade when Bobby was born, and not yet at Allegheny, because Allegheny started in the tenth grade. I would have still been at Latimer Junior High. There's no telling what difference it would have made in my life?

Is there ever a way to tell about that?

Now there is a convenience store called, "Uni-Mart" across from the funeral parlor. I had passed this funeral parlor each day on my way to and from school. First, Troy Hill School.

Then, Holy Name ---- Most Holy Name of Jesus --- which was diagonal from the spot where Troy Hill Elementary had been.

But, before that, there was a huge, black, imposing, Gothic structure behind high walls and iron gates. We called it The Home of the Good Shepherd. My friends told me it was a place where "bad girls" had to go. Apparently they could never come back out. We never saw any of these "bad girls," except once.

They went to the public swimming pool, with chaperones.

One of the "bad girls" had a name carved on her legs. It was a guy's name.

Otherwise, they seemed like any young folks having fun at the pool.

Only a little louder, meaner and rougher. Sort of how I would expect "bad girls" to be.

(I became a "bad girl" myself, but not until a few years later.)

I lived on Lowrie Street starting in 1956, when I was eight years old. The Good Shepherd Home was demolished in 1959. I remember eating fruit from Rimondi's, right across from the demolition. I was one of Rimondi's best customers, and had been ever since I was nine years old.

Mr. Rimondi called me inside while I was sitting on the steps of his fruit store. He gave me a bag of fruit, and said, "Now you can go back out and watch your show."

He did not ask me for $$$$.

On Valentine's Day of 1983, my sons and daughters --- ages two, four, five and twelve --- were getting restless sitting in the cramped funeral parlor. They and I walked across Lowrie Street, to look for treats or snacks. I think we bought some little boxes of candy Valentine hearts.

I realized that I had just bought cigarettes for Bobby in this "Uni-Mart" a few days before.

(340)

BY EMILY DICKINSON

I felt a Funeral, in my Brain,

And Mourners to and fro

Kept treading - treading - till it seemed

That Sense was breaking through -

And when they all were seated,

A Service, like a Drum -

Kept beating - beating - till I thought

My mind was going numb -

And then I heard them lift a Box

And creak across my Soul

With those same Boots of Lead, again,

Then Space - began to toll,

As all the Heavens were a Bell,

And Being, but an Ear,

And I, and Silence, some strange Race,

Wrecked, solitary, here -

And then a Plank in Reason, broke,

And I dropped down, and down -

And hit a World, at every plunge,

And Finished knowing - then -

Reprinted by permission of the publishers and the Trustees of Amherst College from The Poems of Emily Dickinson: Variorum Edition, Ralph W. Franklin, ed., Cambridge, Mass.: The Belknap Press of Harvard University Press, © 1998 by the President and Fellows of Harvard College. © 1951, 1955, 1979, 1983 by the President and Fellows of Harvard College.

(it seems that the official "smart people" --- i.e., academics --- have declared the above poem by emily dickinson

 number 340

 is a metaphor for dickinson's "descent into madness." 

 grief itself is a descent into madness. 

love archy the cockroach, but with some punctuation,

 unlike the old days lol)

SOME, too fragile for winter winds,
The thoughtful grave encloses,—
Tenderly tucking them in from frost
Before their feet are cold.
Never the treasures in her nest	5
The cautious grave exposes,
Building where schoolboy dare not look
And sportsman is not bold.
This covert have all the children
Early aged, and often cold,—	10
Sparrows unnoticed by the Father;
Lambs for whom time had not a fold. ~~~~Part Four Time and Eternity,  LI, Emily Dickinson

"There is no Dignity in Death by Suicide."

"Assisted suicide . . . is nothing more than a cruel lie."

Please read the entire letter from Wisconsin Vigil for Life, opposing the Euthanasia Bill, recently introduced by Democrats Sondy Pope-Roberts, and State Senator Fred Risser.

So-called “death with dignity” forces routinely speak of patients dying in intractable pain. They call killing oneself a “basic human right” that should be constitutionally protected. Yet medical studies show that virtually all pain can be alleviated at the end of life. The World Health Organization has found that 95 to 100 percent of the pain experienced by people at the end of life can be adequately controlled. Instead of killing the pain, “death with dignity” activists focus on killing the patient." 

----- Excerpt from the Vigil For Life memo, link above.

http://www.notdeadyet.org/http://www.notdeadyet.org/

http://www.icmda.net/http://www.icmda.net/


This week will be the 32d anniversary of my own little brother's suicide. He was born in 1962, when I was fourteen years old. He remembered sitting in his playpen while listening to everybody discussing President Kennedy's assassination, when he was a little more than a year old.

He would have turned fifty two years old in September of 2014. He used to sit in his little baby seat, or recliner, on the table, while I did my tenth grade homework. Of course, he outgrew that quickly, and became too active.

He died on February 11, 1983. I was away from Holy Mother Church. I did not even know at the time that February 11 was the Feast of Our Lady of Lourdes

February 11th is also World Day of the Sick now.

I felt greatly relieved when I rediscovered it was the Feast of Our Lady (I must have known it previously), as if Our Lady is taking a special interest in him, as she does for us all, of course.

He was buried on St. Valentine's Day. My kids and I took a little trip from the funeral home, to the convenience store across the street. They were getting restless at the funeral home. We bought a little box of candy Valentine hearts.

I remembered that I had bought cigarettes for my brother a few days before, in that same store.

This week is a very horrible week for me. I have psychiatric and emotional problems anyway, due to a traumatic past.

I would like to ask for my readers to pray for all those in Purgatory, and for all those with depression and panic disorder, and for those who are contemplating suicide, that they may remain hopeful.

If he were here now, I think he would probably laugh about whatever silliness had made him think of committing suicide back then.

Yet, some folks seem to think that was his "choice," and he had every "right" to do that.

Other, equally ignorant folks, tell me, they're sorry, but my little brother is in Hell, because everybody who commits suicide goes there. Therefore, my brother cannot possibly be in Heaven with Our Lord.

My brother did not have any assistance committing suicide, but the basic idea is the same:  Life is meaningless and without hope.

Catholics know better. We have the three great Theological Virtues:

1. Faith. 
2. Hope. 
3. Charity.

(Not to mention those other four. )

Anti-Catholic bigotry at the Soup Kitchen

Corporal Works of Mercy

In my city, there is a place to go for a meal when you have no money to pay for it. For some of us (including me), that’s pretty often.

Especially now that I have no kitchen or home.

This program --- and all the volunteers who make it happen --- is quite a blessing, obviously.

The only requirement is that you have to be there on time, and times are pretty strict. I am not a newbie to this meal. Even when we had a home, we had to go there sometimes. My kids grew up knowing this place. My kids and I have gone there at various frequencies since 1983.

Further, there are times when we have stand in line to wait for the meal to be served. I try to pray the Rosary while the Rosary is  in my pocket, so that nobody will notice much. 

I can't just stand there without doing anything, or my arthritic knees will distract me with pain.

 I always make the Sign of the Cross and say a silent prayer before eating my meal. I try to be as discreet as possible, lest someone accuse me of "proselytizing."

But, I do have to make the Sign of the Cross at the end of each decade, of course, for the Glory Be (Doxology).

 

Pagan at the Table

A couple of years ago, a man seated at my table noticed that I made the Sign of the Cross before beginning to eat. He started a conversation with others at the table about how he wanted to ask the bishop about his (the bishop's) wife. I was kind of hungry, and not really interested in what anyone had to say, mostly. Just enjoying my food, and thankful to have it.

It took me a few minutes, to finally realize that this man was making these remarks for my benefit -- apparently because I had made the Sign of the Cross. He started talking about how horrible it was that there was an Egyptian obelisk in the Vatican. He said that this object should not be in the Vatican because it was "pagan" and it meant that Catholics worship the sun.

He and some other "sola scriptura" fans at my table --- all in agreement regarding the obelisk at the Vatican --- started arguing amongst themselves about the role of women apostles in the early Church, as well as a few other things. Each had her or his favorite quote from Scripture that meant something different or similar, according to each claim.

Ironic, right?

The sola scriptura crowd couldn't finish the meal before breaking down into factions.

 

Nobody Likes a Tattler, but . . .

That obelisk incident was the first time that this man had an anti-Catholic rant. I reported this to the administrator of the meal program --- who happens to be Catholic. That wasn't the issue, though. The program has a rule that diners are supposed to be respectful to others, regardless of religion, or lack thereof. (The program is privately funded.)

He agreed with me that this was unacceptable.

The anti-Catholic guy did not harass me anymore, although I also tried not to let him see me making the Sign or the Cross, or saying the Rosary.

Until a year ago, when this man started up again. I actually started to cry this time. The administrator of the program came out to me as I stood on the sidewalk. He said, “Mitch bothering you again?”

I said, “Yes.”

The administrator said, “I think he used to be married to somebody Catholic.”

I said, “I guess she was mean.”

I have not heard anything from Mitch ever since. He claims to be a preacher. He has his own ecclesial community, which he calls a "church." He always has his Bible with him, and receives calls during the meal.

 

The Sixty-Four $ ?

So, my question is this:  Should I stop saying the Rosary while waiting, because I have to make the Sign of the Cross during the Glory Be?

Or, should I just say it anyway, but not make the Sign or the Cross at all? (I don't care much for that option, to tell the truth. I feel that I should not say any Rosary at all, rather than do it half-baked.)

So, if I stop making the Sign of the Cross for the Rosary, should I also stop making the Sign of the Cross before beginning my meal? (Or, perhaps do that when I'm sitting at the same table with Mitch? But normally just say it anyway? Nobody else seems to care, or even notice.)

Maybe I should just say a silent prayer? But, the Sign of the Cross is very public, and not silent.

Although, nobody seems to mind except this alleged "preacher" or "minister."

God bless.