This was an unusually emotional week for me. This week my oldest
daughter turned 16, an age which for a parent is both heartbreaking
and joyous. Seeing your own child transition from child to adult is
less
”
sweet sixteen
”
than bittersweet.
This was an unusually emotional week for me. This week my oldest daughter turned 16, an age which for a parent is both heartbreaking and joyous. Seeing your own child transition from child to adult is less “sweet sixteen” than bittersweet.
All I can do is cheer her on, reminisce, fear for her safety, start to let go, and hold on tighter. If this much emotion is tied up in her 16th birthday, I can only imagine how I will get through her transition of leaving home and going away to college. I will cherish these next two years with her.
This week my Pope died. I am vaguely aware of another Pope when I was a child, Pope Paul VI. He visited New York when I was young, and that was significant to my mother.
I was a freshman in college when Pope John Paul II started his papacy. I attended a Catholic college, and I remember attending a big party thrown by my neighbors to celebrate the election of the new Pope. This Pope was truly a giant among men. While I have had my own private disagreements with some of the teachings of the Catholic Church, I have remained devoted to my church.
Pope John Paul II was a man for the ages. His love of humanity, his devotion to God, and his steadfast belief in the dignity of all mankind was an inspiration to me. His ability to ask for forgiveness on behalf of the sins of the church was only matched by his ability to forgive the man who attempted to assassinate him. His efforts to reach out to the leaders of the other great faiths of Judaism and Islam were awe-inspiring. He led a flock of more than a billion people through a tumultuous time with quiet grace. He was for me the single most influential political figure of the second half of the 20th century.
This week I had to come to grips with my own mortality. The death of Terry Schiavo has left me a little shaken. I have told my family that I would not want to be kept alive through extraordinary means should some horrible accident befall me.
At the same time, I am grappling with whether I would want to be starved to death. Not knowing what Terry Schiavo may have felt in those last 13 days is what bothers me most. Seeing the pictures of her as a younger woman, juxtaposed with the pictures of her lying in a hospital bed in an uncommunicative state makes me wish that this story had never become such a national cause celebre.
I imagine that the younger Terry Schiavo would not have wanted the world to see her as she was in her final days, but as she was when she was a newlywed. At the end of the day, this story is really about a family mourning the loss of a wife and daughter for 15 years, not just 13 days.
This week I have needed to pray a lot. I have prayed for the many lives lost in Iraq, the many lives lost in natural disasters and the many lives lost locally this year. I have had to pray for friends who are in desperate circumstances through no fault of their own. I have had to pray for family members who are going through difficult times. I have had to pray that I can offer some comfort to those I love.
So it has been an emotional week. But it is spring, and spring is a season of hope, so I am hopeful that my prayers will be answered.
