Play Ball

The trip to Whitinsville began in a surreal way. As I drove along the road, I looked for a convenience store or pharmacy that might sell my mother's favorite candies, but I did not see them. I was almost at her place when I decided to take a detour to the place I lived when I was nine years old. I thought there might be a small market where there was one in the 1960's, but it was a liquor store, so I thought of one more place - a tiny market near our old house. It was quite strange for me to be in this area that I haven't visited since 1970 when we were burned out of our tenement house. I went to house number 139 and it was amazing the number of memories that returned. I stopped in to the small market and it has not changed in half a century. How odd that the search for my mother's chocolates would bring me to this place. It is as if life has come full circle.

Before I visited my mother, I stopped to see a man named Gordon who was visiting his wife. We enthusiastically greeted one another and chatted for a bit. "So, at first I did not know you were a priest. We as Christians, we can pray together." "Yes, we can my friend. We are all on the same journey."

When I arrived to see my mother, I found her in a circle with other residents. The stereo was playing music of the 50's and the activities director was throwing a ball to each resident. My mother was semi-asleep. Her head was bouncing to the music but her eyes were soundly closed. I lifted her arms and swayed back and forth and she started dancing - never to open her eyes.

Then, "The Lion Sleeps Tonight" came on and I started singing - alternating between the bass and tenor. She became even more animated and she she swayed in rhythm and all her friends started commenting on the sleeping dancer. Then she awoke when she heard my voice and she said to her friends, "My son, the priest." All the women applauded. Then my mother wanted some chocolate. I obliged. I shared some with Gordon as well.

I picked up the beach ball they were throwing to one another and for twenty-five minutes I played ball with them. They caught the ball and threw it back to me or to another person. They laughed and tried to play along and they sang to music. We danced and kept the circle going. Then, it was time for dinner.

Before dinner was served I asked my mother if she would like to see the new cards I made. "Yes. Yes." I showed each one to her and she started crying. "Why did you let this be hidden for so many year?" "I don't know." "I wish I encouraged it earlier. I wish I knew. I wondered why you did not do it growing up. You kept saying there is only room for one artist in the family. I knew you had this talent."

"What matters is I'm doing something with it now, and I'm very happy with it. Being happy is the whole point of life."

Would you like communion before dinner? Of course!

I read from some of Matthew's Gospel and then from Paul's Letter to the Romans. She oohed and aahed at first and because weepy in consolation, then when I read, "Nothing can separate us from the love of God," she broke down. We prayed the Lord's Prayer and several other women joined us. Each made the sign of the cross.

I asked my mother, "For what would you like to pray?" All the women started chiming in with their prayers: I want everyone to be treated with respect. Let's pray for the old and the sick. We pray that everyone loves each other. We pray for you, too, Father. We pray for peace and happiness, and so forth.

Then we received communion and everyone fell silent.

So, I said to each woman, "I want you to repeat after me: God, show me your special love for me." They all repeated it, except my mother said, "God, show me your special love for you." No, I'd like you to pray it for yourself. Replace "you" for "me." God, show me your special love for me. God, show me your special love for me. God, show me your special love for me.

I want you to keep saying it all night love. God loves you and wants to tell you how much he loves you. Let him tell you.

I like that.