Yesterday was such a day. We arrived in southwestern MN Saturday night. Three of Phil’s brothers were already with his Mom & Dad, so we stayed in Redwood. Sunday Phil was ready to drive away, to go be with his parents & siblings, and his cell rang. As he drove away, he turned around and came back. His dad had just died. So we left our kids with Cat & Jess and drove to his home town. We were the first to arrive after his death, and I had knots in my stomach. I had never seen “unsterilized” death- Phil’s mom had requested that his Dad’s body be left in the house until 9 that evening. What would be find?

The aroma of burnt toast met us at the door. Do dead people smell burnt? No- just the pizza that was forgotten in the oven.

We met Phil’s mom, one granddaughter, Phil’s brother Charlie, and the family priest in the dining room. Then his mom took us to see his dad. The livingroom had been rearranged to be a hospice room, and Amandus was in his bed. He looked like he was sleeping. His mother was weeping, and Phil was telling her she had been a good wife for almost 60 years. She kept him home, she took care of him, slept in a bed next to him, fed him & cleaned him. Had 15 children with him. My husband is number 12. What if they had stopped at 3- 8- even 11?

I have never really been close to my in-laws. Parents, at least. I enjoy them, but there has been a wall. We are not catholic. Some catholics have a hard time with that. Some don’t. But I asked God to give me compassion for him as he was dying, to help me see. Watching him hold my children to him in his hospital bed two months previous, blessing them and crying, knowing this was his last time to hold them- gave me the love I needed.

So as I watched my husband love his mom and encourage her, I felt grief for this man that I didn’t know. Leona told us that his breathing had gotten fast and loud, and she said, “this can’t be normal!” Then it slowed. Phil’s brother Charlie laid his head on his Dad’s chest and felt his heart- stop beating. And he was gone. I wished I had known him better, heard his stories, walked his fields with him. But even my husband didn’t get that priveledge. So we take what we can, right?

My husband and his mom made their way to the dining room. I am left alone with my father in law’s body. All I can think to do is wave at him- say goodbye- and thank him for having more than 11 children. How many people do that? Hack a farm out of prairie grass and raise 15 children? Fight in WWII while they’re at it? Stay with the same woman, faithfully, for 60 years?

More and more family and near relatives come. Aunts bring food, plastic cups for the SunnyD. Gingersnaps, ham sandwiches. A few neighbors come who enjoyed morning coffee with him. Phil’s mom Leona takes them all to see him. They remember good times, they are thankful his suffering is over. They cry. There is some regret and guilt. My husband sends that packing. “No guilt- no regrets. It is what it is. He knew you loved him. You gave all you had.” He died peacefully, praying the rosary in his home with his wife and son.

We have rare opportunities to speak true words. You are loved. You are wanted. You are a good parent, a good son, a good daughter, a good wife. Mercy is greater than you think.

A granddaughter, 7-ish, flits around all day, like a butterfly. At one point I see her sprinkling purple flower blossoms on her grandpa’s body. Another granddaughter, 10-ish, takes a nap on the couch opposite him. An aunt brings a photo of my father in law when he was a boy- he had the wiry, curly ringlets that my son has. Most of the family attends Mass. Phil and I and brother Leonard, the “non-catholics” stay back with “Pops” as most of the family had come to call grandpa. We sit on the front step, under the shade of hundred year old trees, small town Minnesota. We talk of life and death and growing up on a farm. We talk of Mom hearing her sons sing of the glories of grass after Leonard left his Cheech & Chong album with his younger siblings. The album mysteriously disappeared.We talk of our own children- are we loving them well? Do we see them? Do they know that no matter what they ever do or how they dress or how they act- do they know we love them, that home is a safe place? Or do we love with an agenda?

Leonas garden is lovely, and I pick a fresh tomato, eat it like an apple. We say our goodbyes and head back to our children and friends. We watch a funny movie about doing whatever you have to do to get your family back. We field calls from siblings, can I help with flowers? Can Grace make a video? Times for this and that. Plans to get cousins together. Writing times & events of his life. Set off fireworks that our six year old son has been “waiting and waiting and WAITING for….”

It really was a beautiful day.