The Married Life
Every family experiences a death in the family at one time or another. It is a hard cross to bear, but we can help each other bear the cross — like Simeon helped Jesus carry his cross, or Mary, his mother, who was present at the cross and shared his pain.
Several years ago my brother, Matt, started having early-onset Alzheimer’s when he was only in his 50s, culminating in his death in his early 60s. The disease started out in small ways, but grew increasingly hard to ignore.
Prior to the disease onset, Matt was pastor of a large, newly formed Catholic parish near the North Carolina coast. Every time a family member visited our brother, “Father Matt,” the church was bustling with weddings, funerals, parish events and Masses. Yet family was very important to my brother, so he always made time for us. It was during these visits that we saw what a good priest he was.
For one thing, the number of weddings was amazing. During one visit, his assistant pastor told me that he felt there were too many weddings, and that he refused to do more than nine weddings a year. I was aghast. Who would celebrate the rest? Father Matt, of course.
One time I visited when a funeral was going on. A teenager had been tragically killed in a car accident. The church was packed and the family seemed inconsolable. Father Matt shared in his sermon how his own brother had been killed in a car incident. His heartfelt sharing seemed to provide the family with more peace and hope.
A few years later the parish opened a school. Father Matt had a heart for the poor, and when the principal said they could no longer afford any more low-income students, my brother gave his salary for tuition.
Another time, after a hurricane flooded the local public school, Father Matt invited the school to use the parish hall.
Father Matt had learned Spanish in the seminary because of the large migrant farm worker population in the state. I heard numerous stories of Father Matt’s ministry and compassion to the Hispanic community surrounding his parish. He also regularly visited the prison, the hospital and parishioners’ homes.
Eventually Alzheimer’s symptoms began appearing, affecting his motor skills as well as his memory. It was so humiliating.
When he started forgetting to say parts of the Mass, he was moved to a smaller parish. When he drove erratically, a policeman stopped him and handcuffed him, thinking he had been drinking. He could no longer drive.
Parishioners complained to the bishop about his increasing difficulties, and he was moved to the first of a series of care homes.
Our family hired caregivers to supplement the care he received. One was a man named George.
George and Father Matt became fast friends. They talked about life and faith, joked and laughed, and listened to music together. George assisted my brother in everything. George was like Simeon, who helped Jesus carry his cross.
Gradually Father Matt’s left arm and leg became weak. George walked with him. Then he stopped walking, and George pushed him in a wheelchair. Then he forgot how to eat. George fed him. Then he forgot how to swallow. George coaxed him on.
It was a long, agonizing journey, until finally Father Matt went to be fully with the Lord. There were five people with him when he died: two siblings, two from his parishes, and George.
Six months after my brother died, I visited my sister in Portland. She was struggling with grief. We went for long walks and talked for hours. We had so many memories to share. It was good for both of us to talk it out.
Finally my sister said, “I just don’t understand why someone who is so innocent had to suffer so much and die.” I think it was the Holy Spirit who prompted me to say, “Well, Jesus was totally innocent, yet he suffered and died for us.” That was enough answer for both of us.
“But God demonstrates his own love for us in this: While we were still sinners, Christ died for us” (Rom 5:8).
