grief

the readers.

~ lizabethriggs

reading glasses

His eyes were closed when I walked into the room. He had fallen asleep wearing his readers and they were almost at the tip of his nose. I had to fight the instinct to go and gently adjust them so they were closer to his eyes.

In this brief moment, he looks so much like his own father. My sweet Grandpa. When did that happen?

I quietly stand at the foot of his bed and take in all the tubes, wires, and machines surrounding him.

His eyes slowly open…they crinkle up at the sides as he smiles in recognition,

“Q” (His nickname for me…the shortened version of Lizzy-Q.)

“Hi Dad.”

“You made it.”

We both smile.

I wore those same readers last night just before I fell asleep.

I like to think of it as looking at the world (or even just a good book) through his eyes.

As I get older, my perfect vision is not so perfect anymore. His readers give my eyes the added boost they need…the words on the pages are larger, clearer and sharper.

This is part of my grieving process. I do this every single time. I hold onto a piece of them until I am ready to let go.

My “transitional objects” upset my dad.

He did not like it when I wore my brother’s watch until the band broke.

“It is not healthy, Q. Every time you look down at the watch, you’re reminded of him. I don’t think you should wear it anymore.”

He did not like it when I held onto John’s last letter or wore Brian’s Red Sox cap or stored too many boxes of my grandma’s old knickknacks.

“It’s just stuff, Liz.”

I stopped sharing with him that I held onto these things. It hurt too much to have a mirror put in front of my face and told what I’m doing is not healthy.

And then my mom died, and I did the same thing.

I was not ready.

But, Death does not wait for when we are ready. So, I fell back on my usual coping mechanism to soften the blow, but, this time, I did not talk about it with my dad.

His opinion hurt too much. Maybe he is right?

But, then he called me when I accepted the best offer on the house with the red door.

“This house. It is your heart, Liz, and it’s being taking away and you cannot stop it. I am sorry you are hurting. I think I understand it now.”

A gentle shift in our relationship…
An understanding…
His approval.

All I ever wanted was my dad’s approval.

His readers sit atop a book on my bedside table now.

I like looking at the world (or even just a good book) through his eyes.

(originally posted to Facebook on 10/13/2017)

the seismic shift.

~ lizabethriggs

dad thumbs up

Charles F. Benda, Jr.
September 23, 1947 – August 26, 2017

 

My brain is still processing
this seismic shift.

I still hear his breathing,
I still listen for his stirring,
I still sit in silence awaiting him to call my name,

But, in my heart, I know he is gone.

My dad.
My dad has gone home.

We knew he was close.
All of us.
We sat vigil alongside his bed
Overlooking the river
“This is what he always wanted,”
We whisper and pray…
It makes it easier.

The same hands that…
Held me as a baby
Lifted me up when I fell
Gripped mine in “Left on, Brotha” solidarity
Gathered up my children,
Leads the way…

Yesterday, those hands
were clenched in fists…
Not in anger,
but a natural reflex,
a response to the impending –
His body shutting down.

I chose to pry open both hands
Carefully unfolding each finger
The urge to wash them immediate.

The water in the pink plastic hospital bin just right.
First, the left
(Left on, Brotha)
Lathering up with sweet-smelling baby wash
Pat dry.
Careful, so as not to spill,
I gather up the bin and walk around his bed to the other side.
Move on to his right hand.
Unfold.
Lather.

“Is he still breathing?” his wife asks.

We all look down
I am still holding his soapy hand
It is still warm
We had not noticed the rattling had quieted down
The short breath I saw a moment before,
His last.

It was a good death.

My brain is still processing this seismic shift.

(Originally posted to Facebook on 8/27/2017)

leading the way.

~ lizabethriggs

dad holding my hand

I may be 46 years old, but this is still how I see myself with my dad.

He is strong, kind, handsome, patient (most of the time), intuitive, caring, the best direction-giver and “wicked smart” (per one of the cardiologists who used to work with dad when he was in pacemaker sales).

He is the perfect dad. He holds my hand whenever I need him (and that’s been a lot lately).

He also tells me he loves my writing and wants me to keep at it. And so, I write…

A little over a week ago, my dad called and asked if I could talk for two minutes. He led the conversation with discussions about the unemployment rate and all that was going on in Charlottesville.

Then, he paused and said, “Lizabeth, the third reason I called is…I think I’m dying.”

Now, anyone who knows my dad knows that he is the best story-teller, totally hilarious and tends to exaggerate from time to time. However, his tone of voice told me that this was not a joke. I shifted gears and tried to encourage him to seek medical attention. He declined because he did not want to go back to the hospital due to some negative experiences with previous hospitalizations.

Feeling completely helpless living so far away, I sought help from one of the helpers – my friend and a paramedic. Because of her advice, my dad changed his mind and his wife, Pam, was able to get him to the hospital for treatment.

This experience has been completely different for my dad.

He is at peace.
He is vulnerable.
He is in charge.

He is able to have his family around him 24/7. In fact, we had the biggest slumber party in his ICU room one night filled with side-splitting giggles, a few tears, loads of heated blankets and crappy coffee. I know he was filled with joy having all of us together. It was honestly one of the most special nights of my life – all of us coming together to be there for the man who is and was always there for us.

He is also becoming the mayor of this awesome hospital. The nursing staff, patient care technicians and room service staff know him, stopping him in the hallway to see how he’s feeling as he’s made his way to/from ICU and back again to a regular room. He is smiling at and charming everyone in this place. He is also having intelligent conversations with the physicians. They are speaking WITH him, not around him about his health care. He is being treated with dignity and respect. And he feels it.

The high-level quality of care that he has received has allowed him to become stable enough to go back to where he wants to be – HOME – on his terms. There, he will be with his team: his wife, kids, family and medical professionals who will keep him comfortable for the rest of his days.

Now, I know I spend a great deal of my life advocating “life is good” – but sometimes we have to have difficult conversations about death and dying.

We have had a couple of those conversations.

His response, “Lizabeth, you are learning something here.”

How do you have a good death?

The answer is probably different for everyone.

There is no one size fits all solution.

For me, my dad is serving as the ultimate role model.

He is still holding my hand and leading the way.

(Originally posted on Facebook 8/22/2017)

my mom and first communion

~ lizabethriggs ~ 1 Comment

I miss my mom.

Like, really, really, REALLY miss her.

Of course, I think of her and miss her every day, but today it is different.

Today, Brian is making his First Holy Communion.

I have been looking forward to and dreading this day for weeks.

I have felt edgy and unfocused, my stomach has been tied up in knots.

This morning, I walked into our family room, just like I did on Emma and Kate’s first communion days. Only, unlike those mornings, this time, the room is empty.

Quiet.

Each of those mornings, when I went to sit in “my spot” on the sofa and turn on ABC news, my mom was already sitting in my spot, the television changed to NBC.

“Good morning, Baby,” she looked up at me and smiled. Her face had changed so much, the scleroderma had really taken its toll.

I said, “Good morning” back; however, I was not sincere. I was more annoyed that my morning ritual had been altered. I’d have to walk a whole two extra feet to sit down on the couch and listen to a different newscaster.

Why wasn’t I more focused on the journey she made to be here, in my family room, the day of our children’s special occasion? How difficult it was for her to pack for the trip? To make her way to the car? To sit in the car all of those hours from Chicago to Fairfield?

No. I was more worried about my morning routine being slightly changed and the day ahead.

I knew how sick she was…you could see how sick she was, how people looked at her when we pushed her into the church in the wheelchair. She was withering away, her face almost mask-like, her skin gray.

Somehow, it was easier for me to just revert back to my younger, adolescent jerk-self, when all I did was walk around with a gigantic chip on my shoulder and talk back to my mom, than it was to just sit with her.

It hurts to just sit…to just sit and be with the pain.

The morning after Kate’s first communion, when I scrolled through pictures, I realized with a panic that I deleted the only picture of my mom with Kate because I didn’t like the way I looked. We didn’t have a single picture with my mom and Kate in her dress.

“Kate, would you pleeeeease put your dress back on?” I pleaded.

Sitting at the bottom of the stairs, her arms folded across her chest, tears in her eyes, she cried, “Please don’t make me put that thing back on! I can’t stand that dress. Please! No!”

I tried reasoning with her, “We don’t know how much longer we have with Grandma. Please. She’s really sick. I don’t have any pictures of the two of you together in your dress. Please, honey. You can take it off right after the picture.”

Even as I said those words, I didn’t believe it…

My mom will always be here.

It was those words that convinced Kate, she said, “Okay” and walked up the stairs to change.

Minutes later, she walked into the family room in her crumpled dress and sat next to my mom. I grabbed the wilted floral headpiece and planted it on Kate’s head, her bedhead hair soft and curly around her face.

I snapped the picture.

image

Mom complained that she didn’t like the picture because her robe looked like a straight-jacket.

I posted it anyway.

A few hours later, my mom left.

As they pulled away from our house, her head barely clearing the passenger-side window, she locked eyes with me. I could see she was crying. I started crying too.

Did she know?

Did I know?

One month later, she was gone.

That was three years ago.

I am worried I will cry during mass this morning. The songs, all of those familiar songs, from my childhood are now a part of my own children’s history.

I used to get so annoyed with my mom at church. She sang louder than anyone. It wasn’t only that she was loud…it was also more like opera singing with a head-bob. It was seriously embarrassing.

She couldn’t sing toward the end because the disease started hardening her lungs…it was hard enough to just breathe.

I will take some deep breaths today and think of her.

I will stand behind our son as he receives this sacrament.

I believe.

Maybe I will sing really loudly this morning too.

I miss my mom.

the anti-suicide squad

~ lizabethriggs ~ Leave a comment

Over the last few weeks, I have cringed every single time I have seen a movie trailer, interview, promotional material or review for the recently released movie: Suicide Squad.

suicide squad
photo credit: google images

I’ll be honest, I really have no idea what the movie is about other than it seems to have some comic book villains and Will Smith is one of the stars. I love Will Smith and I’m sure the movie will do really well at the box office.

Maybe if I was familiar with these characters and the plot the title wouldn’t bother me so much.

Maybe…

Probably not though.

It’ll probably be one of those words that just really bothers me the rest of my life.

It has affected too many of our family members.

I will probably always cringe when I hear the word: suicide.

But, I won’t stop saying the word.

I won’t stop fighting or fundraising or learning or sharing or walking in an attempt to prevent suicide.

And, our team, our squad, is back again this year…

IMG_6947
Choosing Grace 2015

We are the Anti-Suicide Squad and we are BADASS.

We are Choosing Grace.

IMG_6948For more information on how you can join us in Chicago on October 15th and/or donate (we have a long way to reach our goal!), please click on this link: http://afsp.donordrive.com/index.cfm?fuseaction=donorDrive.team&teamID=104761 or visit http://www.chicagowalk.org and enter “Choosing Grace” to find our team.

weekly rak up

#206. Sent a thank you to a friend to thank her for a very thoughtful and generous gift.
#205. Asked manager to turn down volume when everyone in the theater was plugging the ears from deafening sound. She was so nice about it and checked in on us afterwards.

back to school

~ lizabethriggs ~ Leave a comment
rodney-back-to-school-cameo1
google images

Just like Rodney Dangerfield, I’m going BACK TO SCHOOL!

Starting tomorrow, I will log into my online class at the University of Missouri at Columbia (“Mizzou”) and start a two-year graduate certificate program in Positive Psychology. Founded by Martin Seligman, this is a relatively new field of psychology, although it draws upon theories and research from many of the great psychologists and philosophers throughout history. I am hopeful that this certificate will allow me to take the skills I have built in my college counseling work and branch out into other areas, such as life coaching and curriculum writing for the various kindness projects in which I am involved.

As I have learned through recent losses and the subsequent complicated grief I have experienced as a result, helping others really does make you feel better. I don’t mean to oversimplify here, but in my experience, it is completely true.

While I have always been drawn to helping others, the life-changing shift that took place after my step-father’s suicide, especially since my brother died the same way, completely altered the way I look at my own life as well as the lives of others. From the moment I learned he was missing, I started looking at him, his life, where he could be, and what he could be feeling through a different lens. I call it “the suffering lens.” It’s when I try to step into a person’s shoes and really feel what they might be experiencing, their pain. I know, I know…it all sounds strange and “out there”, but it’s what I do and how I see the world.

And, because I started to see the world with a “suffering lens” I became even more motivated to help others, which is why my work with the AFSP (American Foundation for Suicide Prevention) became (and still is) so rewarding. I am actively helping, searching and fundraising for a cause that is going directly to suicide prevention efforts.

But my work with the AFSP did not prevent another loss in my own family…my sweet nephew, Patrick. When he died, my brain and heart literally could not process the magnitude of losing him, of losing another family member to suicide. It’s just too big. Too much. I’m still struggling daily with this loss and I’m “only” the aunt. I know my grief is secondary to his parents and others…I also know and respect that we all grieve differently.

My response to my grief last summer was to start performing acts of kindness in Patrick’s or “Noochie’s” name. I called them NoochieRAKs. Now that I reflect upon it, I think it was a defense mechanism – like denial or avoidance of the truth. But, it was positive and creative and it was helping others. I was completely overwhelmed and honored by how many other people participated in acts of kindness in his name. It gave me hope.

Now, as we approach the one year anniversary of his death, the feelings of sadness, despair and sorrow are slowly seeping in. I will let those feelings flow because NoochieRAKs and time have softened those sharp edges of grief…

NoochieRAKs also led me to the study of Positive Psychology and this certificate program. Last night when I started the required reading, I came across one of the reasons Martin Seligman decided to pursue this field. He wanted to research “the offbeat idea of a psychology about what makes life worth living.” (Flourish: A Visionary New Understanding of Happiness and Well-being, Seligman, 2011)

I wept. Life IS worth living.

martin seligman what makes life worth living

The #365ActsofKindness Weekly RAK-Up:

#146. Wrote thank you notes for school project.

#145. Ding dong drop-off dog treats. (Put together a belated “welcome puppy” basket for a friend’s new dog, will deliver this week!)

#144. Wrote thank you notes to some helpful friends.
#143. Returned a random shopping cart, which had rolled into a parked car in the parking lot to Home Goods.
#142. Gave a few new pets a new home through adoption.
#141. Wrote TWNMLL (The World Needs More Love Letters) letters.

Happy Feet and the Weekly RAK-Up

~ lizabethriggs ~ 1 Comment

Over the last several months, I started to notice that my feet resembled this…

rhino feet
Southern White Rhinoceros (google images)

I hadn’t had a pedicure or a manicure in over two years.

I also stopped practicing yoga around the same time.

I made appointments for and treated myself to all three of these things yesterday.

It’s weird, but there were these moments during the yoga, the pedicure and the manicure, that I had a big ole’ lump in my throat.

I couldn’t figure out why…and then I realized that I stopped doing some of these nice things for myself just around the same time my mom died.

Why? I have no idea.

While focusing on my drying nails contemplating that very thought, the door opened to the salon. I looked up to see a woman with a familiar-looking face. I knew I had seen her before, but I couldn’t place her.

Then it hit me.

On January 14th, my mom’s birthday, I went into that same nail salon and bought a gift card for one of their patrons as a random act of kindness. After “scoping out the joint” I pointed to a woman with blond curly hair who was sitting all by herself. I asked if the manager would give the card to her after I left the salon. The manager’s response, “Good choice. She is a nice, happy lady.”

It was that lady.

If I had left just two minutes before or looked down at my phone or skipped the manicure, which was my original plan, I would have missed her.

But, I didn’t miss her.

And, maybe this all sounds “out there” but I think there’s a reason our paths crossed again.

What’s the reason? I’m not sure, but I did learn something about this woman several weeks after my mom’s birthday. This “nice, happy lady” decided to do something kind for another person after she received the gift card. She left another gift card for someone else. The recipient of that gift card paid it forward as an auction item for an important cause, which she posted about on our NoochieRAKs page.

So, maybe the reason that she (unknowingly) crossed my path is to remind me of the ripple effect of kindness to others and ourselves.

And maybe that the big ole’ lump in my throat is what happiness feels like sometimes.❤️

weekly rak up

#119. Wrote TWNMLL: The World Needs More Love Letters (x3)

#118. Treated myself to yoga and mani/pedi (RAK of the Week).

#117. Gave a little extra tip at the nail salon.

#116. Complimented a stranger’s outfit in the parking lot. She was taken aback smiled and said “thank you, this old thing?”

eatin’, trippin’ and rak’n

~ lizabethriggs ~ 2 Comments
IMG_4245
google images

 

I always thought the expression “eating your feelings” was a little silly.

That is, until my mom died.

Now I completely understand it.

Ever since June 16th, 2014, the day she died, I literally feel like I cannot stop eating at most meals. And by meals, I mean breakfast, snack, lunch, snack, dinner, snack. I’m not going to get into this too much, other than I know this is a process and I’m working through this and many other “issues”.

Anyhooooo, in an attempt to make healthier choices and lose (I’ll even take maintain at this point!) some of the weight I’ve gained while eating my feelings, I decided to run on the treadmill this morning in the workout room. And, to clarify, when I say “run”, I mean that I jog at a somewhat faster pace for several minutes and then walk for a few minutes and keep rotating walking and running (er, jogging) for an hour. I used to be able to run for the entire length of time, but along with my eating habits, my workout schedule has really been in a slump the last couple of years.

I’m always amazed by how many thoughts you can have when you’re just staring at a treadmill display or looking out the window at the lake. Today, my thoughts sounded like this:

I cannot believe it was exactly one year ago that we were saying goodbye to Mom’s house. I cannot believe that both Vanessa and Patrick were there, and now they’re gone. I cannot believe how many people we’ve lost this year…

All of these thoughts were running through my mind when I heard Vanessa’s voice say, “You know I love you, right?” followed by her hilarious, one-of-a-kind laugh. Of all the people we’ve recently lost, she is the one I “hear” most often. I haven’t exactly heard Patrick just yet…he’s been a quiet presence…more like a shadow. Right after that thought, the song “Just Breathe” came on, which I sent to my mother-in-law, Carolyn, when she was sick and, therefore, I think of her every time I hear it. Within the first few notes of the song, I imagined her saying, “Hey! What about me?!” followed by her laugh.

Girrrrrlllll, you are trippin’ was my next thought.

I wonder if I’m the only one whose “inner dialogue” (i.e., hearing voices, seeing shadows, etc.) sounds/feels like this…I sure hope not. If I am, then I’ll need to start working on this along with an ever-growing list of issues.

Anyway…back to the treadmill, I continued with my workout and random, not-so-interesting thoughts and was doing really well when I suddenly became overheated. And not just a bit overheated, but the I’m going to pass out or get sick right here kind of overheated. I paused the display, slowly stepped off the treadmill and went to turn on one of the fans that sits in front of the machines. It wasn’t working so I tried to reset it, unplug, plug it back in, etc., still no luck. I gave up and when I turned around an elderly lady had jumped on the treadmill.

“Oh, looks like you had a pretty good workout!” she said pointing at the numbers on the display.

“Uh…well, I, uh…yes, thank you…I did. Oops, just have to grab my keys.” I stammered, reaching over the treadmill display and into the cup holder for my keys.

I can’t really pinpoint what I was feeling, which is part of my problem, but sometimes this kindness project presents itself at just the right moments. :o)

IMG_4247
How I feel today – except substitute “JB’s pizza” for cake (google images) : )

 

 

image#99. Let someone else use the treadmill. (RAK of the Week)

#98. Complimented a stranger on his (awesome) cowboy hat.

#97. Cleaned off counter at rest stop.

#96. Donated gently used clothes to Good Will.

#95. Wrote an encouraging note to a friend.

#94. Donated dog treats to pet shelter.
#93. Re-shelved cleaning supplies sitting in middle of aisle.
#92. Paid a compliment to a stranger at Stop and Shop.

cheering on amanda’s grace…

~ lizabethriggs ~ 3 Comments

Something unexpected happened when I started completing NoochieRAKs this past summer…

I met the most AMAZING cheerleader.

Okay…maybe he’s not what you would necessarily picture when you first hear the word cheerleader. In fact, I’m 99.99% sure that he’d rather wear his Green Bay Packers jersey over a cheerleading uniform. However, I bet he’d feel right at home with a megaphone. :o)

While he’s not your typical cheerleader, he has made it his life’s work to encourage people both on and off the court, field and/or wrestling mat. He’s the kind of guy who would stand on the sidelines during a torrential downpour to watch you play, cheer you on up until the final second even when there’s no way your team can make a comeback, and coach you through some of your toughest, most un-coachable moments.

I am talking about Patrick “Noochie” Berg’s uncle – Uncle Dan.

 

Dan Berg gb wig
Uncle Dan

A devoted father, husband, son, brother, uncle and friend to many, Dan is a true person for others. While I’ve known Dan for over 22 years, it wasn’t until we both lost our beloved nephew this summer that we really got to know one another. I choose to believe that our Noochie had a hand in that, and I feel so fortunate to be the recipient of Dan’s uplifting spirit and words over the last several months.

 

While Dan and his family have endured incredibly difficult and sudden losses over the last year, he remains focused on others. He doesn’t even realize he’s doing it; it’s just the way he is.

This is the Berg way.

A freelance reporter and blogger for high school and college athletics, Dan was recently interviewing a coach at McHenry County College when an “In Memoriam” picture caught his eye. He shares,

While covering the MCC Women’s Volleyball team this past season, I came to learn about a fantastic young lady who was taken from us at a very young age.

Amanda Lynn Williams, a freshman from Rockford, who lived in Woodstock, died tragically while driving to school on an icy day last February…”

Dan was so moved by Amanda’s story, the joy she brought to others and the impact she had on her teammates, coaches and athletic director, that he has teamed up with her parents to help raise funds for the ALW Endowment Fund. This fund was created to raise money to help pay the tuition for another MCC volleyball player who might otherwise not be able to afford to attend and/or play for the school.

After the unbearable, sudden loss of a young person, there are so many ways a family can grieve. Amanda’s mother and father chose to channel their grief into kindness, grace, gratitude, thoughtfulness and the greatest gift for another student-athlete who loves the sport of volleyball. 

I can just imagine “Uncle” Dan and Amanda’s mom and dad in the stands cheering on this new player…Amanda’s spirit will undoubtedly be there too.

Amanda Williams
Amanda Lynn Williams (photo credit: bergsworldlive.com)

 

 

Act of Kindness #87: Donated to the Amanda Lynn Williams Endowment Fund.

Last week, in honor of Patrick’s birthday, our family was giving out a few Starbucks gift cards to people who inspire us. While at the grocery store, we bumped into a former teacher and happily gave her one of the cards. A couple of days later, we received a thank you note in the mail from this (awesome!) teacher with a donation to our NoochieRAKs’ cause. She asked us “to continue to inspire through Noochie.”

So…it is through our Noochie and thanks to “Uncle” Dan, that we will pay this teacher’s donation forward to the ALW Endowment Fund. We are inspired by Amanda’s story and the strength, kindness and willingness of her parents, family and friends to continue her legacy by helping others.

A Message from Dan: Family and friends of Amanda Lynn Williams are hosting a fundraiser at Buffalo Wild Wings in Algonquin on Randall Road on Saturday, April 16th. Please consider attending, as the proceeds for the entire day will go to Amanda’s Endowment Fund. We are also asking that you make a donation of any kind or size to help make this event successful. We will provide signage at BWW’s to show attendees of your much appreciated generosity. Please help us remember Amanda by helping with the tuition of a volleyball player in need. Thank you very much for your help! Please click here for details: http://heyevent.com/event/wfojatdahx7bya/amanda-lynn-williams-endowment-fund-fundraiser

love-volleyball-walldecal
google images

Welcome to the Crew

~ lizabethriggs ~ 1 Comment

 

small-act-of-kindness
compassionkindness.com

 

I walked into the church a little early. There was already a decent crowd gathering in the vestibule and starting to fill in the pews. The altar servers, deacon and priests were all busy prepping for the mass.

Holy Thursday Mass.

…probably one of the most important, complex and profound days of celebration in the Catholic Church. Holy Thursday celebrates the institution of the Eucharist as the true body and blood of Jesus Christ and the institution of the sacrament of priesthood.” ~Catholic News Agency

I was really, really nervous.

Oh, come on…what is wrong with you? All you have to do is say “Body of Christ” and carefully place the consecrated host into the people’s hands or mouths. It’s not that difficult for cryin’ out loud!

My inner pep-talks usually sound something like this. I don’t have a ton of patience with myself. If I was talking with one of my kids, friends or students, I’d be a little gentler and cheerful with my delivery, “You can do this! You’ve got this!” However, I didn’t have time to be patient, I needed to figure out my post. I sat in the first pew and a few of the regular Eucharistic ministers arrived shortly after me and were more than willing to show me the ropes.Thanks to them, I began to feel a lot less nervous.

When the coordinator originally asked me if I could make it to this mass, she also asked if I would like my feet washed. Seeing as though it’s been WAY too long since my last pedicure and my feet are really ticklish, I politely declined.

As it turned out, the washing of the feet was one of the most moving moments of the mass.

Because I had VIP/front pew seating, I was able to see exactly what goes on during this part of the mass, which I just cannot see from my usual spot in the back row. The priest poured water over the person’s foot, wrapped a towel around his/her foot to dry it off, and then he gently kissed the person’s foot. To see the priest kneel before twelve men, women and one child and perform this act of gentle loving kindness and service to others, was powerful and humbling.

When it was time for communion, I was sent to the side of the church to serve the parishioners. Unless you have done this before, it is really difficult to explain how sacred and special this moment is with another human being. I think that’s why I was so nervous…I take this role very seriously.

After we finished there, we worked our way back to the center of the church to assist the priests. My “mentor” told me where to stand and I waited. I didn’t get too many people lining up and I figured it was because they knew I was a “newbie”.

And then a veteran walked up to me.

After he responded, “Amen”, he smiled and said with a twinkle in his eye, “Welcome to the crew”. He caught me by such surprise that I giggled and gushed “thank you”. I only hope my extreme gratitude didn’t come off as inauthentic. I was truly grateful. I felt so proud to be welcomed to his crew.

Right after the veteran, a middle school student walked up to me, smiled and placed her cupped hands towards me. This smile. It’s exactly the same sweet and genuine smile she had for me over five years ago shortly after we arrived in this town. I had met this girl and her family at an Irish dance class and we would hang out weekly in the crowded Sportsplex. I’ll never forget walking down the hallway of my oldest daughter’s school, feeling nervous in the unfamiliar setting. I was trying to figure out where the cafeteria was located, when I heard a little voice call out, “Hi, Mrs. Riggs!”. There was this adorable blond-haired, blue-eyed girl standing in line with the rest of her class. She didn’t know that I was nervous that day or that it was so nice to finally be recognized in a school hallway…just like my days as a high school counselor or at my children’s former school. Her simple gesture meant more to me than a third grader could possibly even know. Her teacher put her finger to her mouth to signal “quiet”, but she still smiled. I haven’t seen her in years as she left the school a while ago, but we still recognized each other and I gave her arm a little squeeze. I’ll never forget her simple, yet moving gesture.

Shortly after her, one of the fifth graders from the school walked up to me. This boy has the most piercing blue eyes; he smiled in recognition and I smiled back and served the host to him. Just a few weeks ago, I had interviewed him for a school project. I asked him, “What advice would you give a 4th grader?” He responded, “FAIL means First Attempt In Learning”. Maybe his parents have drilled this saying into his head over the years or maybe he heard it from one of his coaches. In any case, now that he shared that advice with me, I can take it myself and pass it along to my own children. He’ll never know his impact on me either. 

Ever since I was very young, I’ve held onto the belief that people come into our lives for a reason and that it’s up to me to find that reason. The words spoken by the veteran, “Welcome to the crew” and that both of those children just happened to be in my line for communion during my first official time as Eucharistic minister, just couldn’t be a coincidence, could it?

At the end of the mass, we were asked to remain silent as it is a time of intense and solemn reflection. We enter into another’s suffering with the knowledge that there is light at the end of the darkness.

It was easy for me to “go there” – that is, to feel the suffering, especially that night as it was Noochie’s birthday and the first one we celebrated without him. It was a hard day for so many, especially his parents. I also missed my mom, who was a Eucharistic minister for years. She loved serving the sick and homebound…she would have been so proud of me.

I also think it is easier for me to enter into others’ suffering because I am constantly aware that I am surrounded by such bright lights. I know I am lucky. What a crew!

see the light
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#85. A young woman was nervously going through her purse in one of the self-checkout lanes at Target when I walked up. It turned out she short 10 cents on her transaction. When I gave the dime to her, she thanked me over and over again. :o)

#84. Wrote three letters for TWNMLL | The World Needs More Love Letters.
#83. Surprised a former teacher with Starbucks gift card when we saw her in line at the grocery store.

#82. Gave a gift card to a Stop and Shop employee at Starbucks.

#81. Helped a student with his service application essay.
#80. Let a woman who was in a hurry go ahead of me in line at Barnes & Noble.