Tomorrow,
Wednesday, January 7, we will gather in St Mary’s, Whifflet, Coatbridge, not to
celebrate the life of my brother-in-law John, but to prepare to bury him. John
is, or, rather, was, a Permanent Deacon there. Before we commit him to the
grave we will ask God in the best way we know how, by the celebration of the
Holy Eucharistic Sacrifice, to pardon John his sins and to welcome him into the
new and eternal Jerusalem where Lazarus will be poor no more and where he will
be reunited with his Maker and might (although personally I have no doubt
whatsoever that he will) be reunited with his own mother and father; and mine; and
my brother Owen, sister-in-law, May, and their daughter, my lovely niece,
Paula-bash (-bash? long story).
My
big sister’s youngest son, John Anthony, has paid a moving tribute to his dad
on his Blog upon which I couldn’t improve. But just for the record, my late parents,
Rose and Joe, were delighted when Morag and John got engaged and their pride in
both (a natural, parental pride which can never be a sin) grew over the years,
but most especially over the early years of their marriage with the addition of
each son, the one progressively dafter than those preceding: Martin Joe, Kieran and John Anthony (in decreasing order of age, and hence increasing order of daftness).
AS for me? Words fail me. Gonnae miss you, John. Already do.
