I met Nicole when I was twenty-five. She was—and still is—the most beautiful person I’d ever seen; I knew from those first few weeks of correspondence, that I would forever cherish the time I was given to spend with her in my life. What I didn’t expect? To fall so deeply in love with her family, too.
Nicole and I were raised with stark differences. She was brought up in a farming community; I was raised in an oil town. She was sheltered. I was decidedly not (a credit to my parents, not a complaint.) So, when I met her family for the first time, I’m sure the culture shock was electrifying, to say the least. Their beloved, sweet, innocent Nic showed up with this long-haired, ear-pierced, bartending wannabe rock-star. I smelled like the cigarettes I smoked and I dressed like the love-child of 90’s grunge and 2000’s version of preppy. A confusing and disorienting sight, to be sure.
Her family welcomed me, smiling and nodding—not quite sure what to think. But they were kind and accepting. The greatest of these, was her grandmother.
Virginia Phillips.
Virginia had a way about her, an air of strength that emanated from her small frame. Somehow, you knew you were in the presence of someone special, the presence of a master-seamstress that held this family together, weaving them with love. She chuckled a bit when she met me—an unassuming laugh that didn’t hold me in judgment, but also let me know that I’d better have substance under that swagger. Her granddaughter was a precious treasure to her, and I’d better treat her as such.
I hope I didn’t ever disappoint in that, and I continuously strive to live up to those expectations.
I write today, because someone else will give Virginia’s eulogy tomorrow. I’m certain it will be beautiful, as Virginia was a beautiful soul. It is effortless to write about her because of the way she lived, the way she loved, and the way she included everyone around her into her family. She had this radiance about her that shined, brightly. Soft-spoken, she didn’t have to raise her voice to be heard; when Grandma spoke, the room listened. It wasn’t because she was demanding. It was because she was wise—and she was comforting with that wisdom rather than harshly critical. She shared it in love.
She also had a smile about her that kept a secret, just on the tip of her tongue. It was a secret you wanted to learn; what did that smile hide? What was I missing? It was a knowing visage—but one that never made anyone feel unwanted. Her eyes helped hide it, too. She didn’t need to say much because her eyes did most of the talking. When she listened to someone speak, that piercing gaze saw through the shell of the conversation into the depth of your intent. She was a force. She was country-class. She was beloved. The secret she held? Love everyone, no exceptions.
And she embodied the title of Grandmother, because of how grand that secret made her.
My heart breaks for Nicole, and her family. I know what it is to lose someone so special, and yet, to be grateful for a life that touched and shaped mine. That’s who she was to Nic. Someone who nurtured and shaped her into a loving and caring woman; a woman—and to this we can all agree—who is, herself, a point of light in our lives. Virginia’s legacy lives on in Nicole, and I’m grateful to be a bystander in the wake of that awesome shadow.
We have all lost people this year. Well, most of us, anyway. Covid knows no skin tone or socio-economic class; it knows no creed or religion; it knows no age or health-range. Our grief is deepened daily as we watch those around us succumb to this insidious and rampant plague. None of us is safe from its touch, either physically or emotionally. So, as we travel to say farewell to Virginia, we take with us other names inscribed on our hearts: All those who have died this year—Saad, Janie, Sean, Ruth, Mark, Mike, Dolores …Virginia. And so many more. But their lives were lived with love in their hearts and joy on their faces. These people, though gone, will leave a lasting impression on our souls. Thankfully, we have each other to lean upon, to grieve alongside, and to love.
That’s what this community means. It means loving through our differences when that love is most needed. Putting aside our grievances so that we can mutually carry our grief. Nicole and I are blessed by each of you reading this, as we hope you are blessed by our love in return. Know that we hold you in our hearts and prayers; that no matter what, we will continue to hold hope as our ally and not give in to despair. That we will remember those giants who taught us how to live; and carry on that lesson to generations yet to come. That the smiles we hold now contain the secrets of our ancestors, just waiting to be shared.
That our eyes hold the light of Christ, and penetrate the darkness of this current time, allowing us to see through a glass darkly, yet still glimpse hope. May our grief be holy, our faith remain strong, and our love for one another never waiver. May we remember our loved ones who have left us; but also remember our loved ones who are still here.
And may we continue this journey together, knit tightly by the bonds of faith, hope, and love.
…the greatest of these being love.
Faithfully,
Fr. Sean+