When I was a kid, my parents would drag me to 7:00am mass every Sunday. I guess I shouldn’t have minded, but simple matter was that I never got a day to just sleep. When my friends were sleeping until 9:00am or later on a Saturday (which I still think is reasonable considering we were always up by 6:30am Monday through Friday), my folks were waking me around 7:45am to let me know they were leaving for church (yes, they went every Saturday too). I really didn’t need that reminder, but my Mom apparently felt it important that I knew where they were just in case I woke up in an panic trying to find them.
I used to be an altar boy (I prefer to be called a server). When you have parents that always make 7:00am mass on Sunday, it doesn’t take long before the other parents realize they don’t have to get their kid to mass that early because my folks would have me there and I would handle things. The worse was when those scheduled wouldn’t show up, and I was sure to see the priest stick his head out of the door signaling me to come save the day. As soon as was old enough to drive, I put the days of 7:00am mass behind me. I’d sleep in on Sundays, and would often end up meeting friends at 8:00pm mass at a different church.
I’m fifty now, so I obviously have more of a choice as to when I go mass, which is usually late morning and I try to work it around a trip to Walmart or the grocery store. The past three weeks, I’ve made the decision to get up and take my parents to mass. As Dad has aged and his Parkinson’s progress, it’s harder for Mom to do what she wants to do and get them both to church on time. Luckily, when they do make it, they have plenty of people who are more than willing to help.
These past two weeks that I’ve gone with them have been enlightening, interesting, and something I am grateful for.
I’ll admit being at mass for me the past couple of weeks had nothing to do with fulfilling any ‘obligation’. I went because I decided it would allow my Mom to focus on her favorite thing – being at mass and being able to pray her rosary and really get into the mass. It also allowed me some more time with my Dad where I knew I could help him in any way he needed while maintaining his dignity. And that I did. He fell asleep a few times each week, and instead of waking him, I just let him lean against my shoulder. There was a true sense of peace in those moments. Dad and I are not touchy, feely people towards each other, but for those brief moments, I think we both were just being there for each other.
Dad doesn’t get as much out of the mass anymore. Neither do I, but for very different reasons. Mine? Well, that’s a whole other blog. Dad is simply dealing with a horrible disease and age. Staying awake and all the standing up, sitting down, and kneeling just aren’t something he can do fully anymore. In fact, today when he genuflected before sitting down, he said, “I think that will be the last time I think I do this.” But he goes because he enjoys seeing the people and enjoys seeing the priests. Dad doesn’t follow the old school ways of putting priests on pedestals, but instead just appreciates them for what they do. I think going to mass gives him an opportunity to feel normal at a time when nothing is normal anymore.
Afterwards, we went to breakfast. Last week, we went to a diner. It was nice to see him get excited about getting a waffle and finishing off a complimentary cinnamon roll instead of eating a granola bar or having a bowl of cereal like he normally does. I took a picture of he and Mom, and when I showed it to him, he simply said, “Well, it’s not centerfold material”. He’s still got his wit.
Today, he struggled to stand up. His brain is not sending the signals to his legs to move when he wants them to anymore. When mass was over, an old friend came over and asked me if I needed any help. I didn’t expect that. In fact, I was kind of surprised when he came over, but I truly appreciate the concern. He shook Dad’s hand and talked just a short while as I went back to get Dad’s walker. Dad made it a point to go back and see the priest and had a conversation with him. He got hugs from the grandkids of friends, and had multiple people say how good it was to see him. Mom instantly translates that to ‘they love him’. I don’t know about that, but I think they see a good man dealing with horrible circumstances, but not letting those circumstances ruin what time he has left.
I’m thinking I can sacrifice a little sleep on Sunday mornings.
Random Thoughts of an Ordinary Average Guy 