Giving Up For Lent

 In my childhood home, lent was a somber time.  You had to give stuff up and then there was Good Friday  where my mom wouldn't let me listen to the radio.  Of course eating meat was not to cross our lips.  Boy, was she ticked when the rules got changed somewhere along the line and it was allowed after all.  Those were my Catholic years when we all knew which priest gave us th least penalties for our sins in the confessional.  

I abandoned the Catholic crowd when I was 16 years old, but since then a priest recently scoffed and told me "once a Catholic, always a Catholic."   I didn't debate it, but I still often make the sign of the cross when I am in need of instant help.

My latest adaption of the lenten practice of givng up something for lent is not something superficial like candy or R rated movies  or burning the best seller, "Shades of Gray."  After I read it, of course.  I am giving up Guilt.

It came to mind at a recent Ash Wednesdat at church when we were asked three challenging questions and had to write our answers in our journals.  The first question stoopped me in my tracks.  "What is the worst thing that ever happened to you?"

Immediately I flashed back to the day I signed Des into Treacy Villa, a residential facility after trying to care for him during difficult months of his failing health physically and emotionally.  It was heart wrenching and guilt was a monstor over whelming me.  I lost my job.  He was my job.  I loved my job and him.  

Two weeks later, he had a meltdown and they called the crisis team and took him to the local hospital, and I was left to find another place to take him.  The new place was Mound down the road from the  other place and it turned out be acceptable--but not home.  I won't dramatize the following many months that guilt rode my shoulders on my drives to see him, eat with him, read to him, and sometimes laugh with him.

The staff was loving, he charmed them all but it wasn't home.   As his health deteriorated, the dreaded phone call to me from the facility..."better get here and hurry."  I called my friend Jan who insisted on driving me there.  I call my family and Chuck our pastor, and we all got there in time.  I was able to stroke his face, whisper in his ear, tell him private memories and assured him that he was going on a glorious journey to see his brother and other family members already waiting for him.  He heard me. I could tell by the was his breath paused and then resumed when I stopped and then went on with promises I believed thanks to my faith, past and present.

Later that morning while I sat in the funeral home alone waiting for decisions to be made.  My eyes closed, I saw Des and heard words I never expected - not audible but in my soul.  He said, "You did the right thing."  His last loving gift to me.  I wish I could say that released my guilt immediately.  I took many agonizing months, despite assurances of family, friends and counsellors.

But this is is, my lenten promise.  I am giving up guilt for lent.
So says Sassy