When I was just 17 years-old, my aunt and uncle asked me to be the Godmother of their son Luke. He was the 8th of their 10 kids. We lived just a few miles from them and grew up more like brothers and sisters than cousins. I was so, so honored they asked me to be his Godmother. I loved that little boy so much. He gave the best hugs and was such a little spitfire . . . so full of life and curiosity. Thanks to my aunt’s love of birds, Luke knew more about birds than most adults! It was quite comical, actually. He especially loved the cardinal. Christmas 2001, my aunt was pregnant and on bed rest. She asked if I would spend my Christmas break taking care of 3 year-old Luke and his older brother Peter. I jumped at the opportunity! I was a senior in college and had a good month off, so it was perfect! Part of taking care of them was also doing the Christmas shopping for the family, since my aunt couldn’t. Every day, she’d look through the ads and send Luke and I off with a list. (Peter was in school.) Oh, the adventures we had! It was my first glimpse at what it was like to have a child and how much I appreciate 1 stop shopping! We’d get home in time for Peter to get off the bus. I’ll never forget sitting in their front window, watching for him. Peter and Luke were best buds. Christmas break came to an end and I had to go back to college. I was sad to leave my aunt, she was just days away from having the baby. Only later would I realize what a gift this time was for me.
Wednesday, August 21, 2002 . . . Everyone in our family has a different memory of this day. This is my story and my journey . . . In May, I graduated from college and later that summer, began working at my first “grown-up” job – a CPA firm. My first week, all the new hires were sent to Southfield for a week long orientation. Wednesday afternoon, we were going to a Tigers’ game. For “some reason,” (thank you, Holy Spirit!) I ran back to my hotel room for a minute. I am so glad I did. As I walked into the room, the phone was ringing . . . it was my dad. He called to tell me Luke had been in an accident . . .been hit by an ATV and was being airlifted to Ann Arb0r. He was very vague and didn’t have much urgency in his voice, so I didn’t realize how critical the situation was. Looking back, I’m glad I didn’t. He asked if I wanted to go to the hospital and I went back and forth in my head and finally decided I would go down. I’m so glad I didn’t know what awaited me at the hospital. I sat in the typical 5 o’clock rush hour traffic, listening to Catholic radio and thinking about the toy I’d buy Luke in the gift shop.
When I got to “the hospital,” I realized my dad had sent me to the wrong one. I was at St. Joe’s, not U of M. So, I called my nun friends, who live in AA, and they helped me navigate to the Children’s hospital. As I was walking through the hospital, I ran into a paramedic who was on the helicopter with Luke. I must’ve looked lost, b/c he asked who I was looking for. When I told him, he urgently said, “I’ll take you to him.” Then, I asked how Luke was doing. I’ll never forget the look on his face or what he said: “He’s a very sick little boy with a very serious head wound.” The look on his face should’ve told me everything, but I still had no clue.
He led me to a tiny waiting room where my mom, cousin (Luke’s older sister, Catherine) and one of Luke’s aunts were waiting. They all had red, puffy eyes and I could tell they had been crying. Mom my told me his heart had stopped a few times, but they were able to restart it, “Praise God.” (I specifically remember her saying that.) She also told me they had cried and it was ok if I did. I didn’t know why she told me that and as I type this, I still have the same thoughts I did that very day: ‘He is going to be fine, why would I cry?’ Call me naïve, I still didn’t get it.
A little while later, I was hungry. So, Catherine and I went to find something to eat. By this time, another aunt and uncle were there and my dad and our parish priest. First, she (Catherine) wanted to see her parents, who were with Luke. So, we went to find them. They were being led out of the area Luke was in . . . my aunt was sobbing. The dr led them to a conference room and asked if they wanted all of us to come, too. My aunt said, “Yes, we all love Lukie.” I was sitting next to my Aunt Aunt Mary Cay as the dr basically said Luke was brain dead and to keep re-starting his heart was just wreaking havoc on his little body and doing no good. Typing those words still takes my breath away. Luke’s mom was across the table from me. I watched her put her head down and sob. I just kept repeating, “Jesus, Jesus.” I didn’t know what else to say. Aunt Mary Cay put her hand on my leg to try to comfort me. We all sat there, stunned. Fr Mike was the only one able to get out any questions. Then, someone said, “Let’s go in there and storm Heaven for a miracle.” And that’s what we did. We knelt by his bed for what seemed like the longest, but the shortest time and prayed Rosary after Rosary, begging God to heal Luke. We knew He could! Grandpa and Grandma arrived, along with some of our nun friends. Grandpa was yelling at God, saying, “Quit taking my kids and grandkids and take me!” I remember my mom comforting Grandpa. She has always been the rock. I don't know what we would do without her.
My aunt asked if she could lay (lie?) in bed with Luke. The hospital staff said it was fine. They unhooked him from some of the machines and she lay there, talking to him, telling him how much she loved him and that it was ok for him to go to Heaven. She asked my mom to sing “Ave Maria” and somehow, mom was able to do it. Anytime we hear that song now, we are reminded of that day.
Luke’s dad was directly across from me. He was sitting there, playing with his mustache, like he does when he’s upset or worried. The look on his face was so somber.
We weren’t really in a room, so to say . . . but in the middle of a large area in the PICU. As I glanced around the space, there were doctors and nurses standing in a half circle, watching us and crying. That memory still moves me.
And yes, Luke did die. He was unhooked from the machines he was on and went to be with Jesus around 10pm that evening. His mom asked if she could take him with her. I always thought that was an odd request, until I had a child of my own. The thought of leaving Max like that . . . well, it makes me physically ill.
Uncle Jeff said we had to get home and tell everyone (Luke’s brothers and sisters). He wanted to tell them before they somehow heard it from someone else. So, we all made the trip to their house. Another aunt and uncle were waiting there. They decided not to come up to the hospital and stay at the house, so no one would tell the kids what happened before we all got there. My siblings were there. My 2 sisters were actually at the house when the accident happened. I know being part of such a tragic event has affected them for life, too.
We all walked in the house together. Uncle Jeff and Aunt Cheryl sat all Luke’s siblings on the couch and told them “Lukie didn’t make it.” I think they were all stunned. I couldn’t see their faces, but I remember little Meghan saying, “But I didn’t even get to say goodbye.” She shared a room with him. It broke my heart. Then, Uncle Jeff said, “Kneel down, we’re going to pray the Rosary.” The Rosary is a staple in our family. We pray it at most family gatherings. One of the prayers is “Glory be to the Father, to the Son and to the Holy Spirit as it was in the beginning is now and ever shall be . . . “ I was looking at my uncle, shaking my head and wondering, “How can this man be praising God when his son just died?” I am moved to tears by his faith.
After hugs and tears, we all went home. I went to sleep and had a dream about Luke . . . he hugged me with one of his famous hugs (they were so tight!) I believe that is a gift from God . . . one last hug. When I got up the next morning, I remember talking and crying with my mom in the kitchen. We were talking about the passage in Scripture “If you have faith the size of a mustard seed, you will move mountains.” “But Mom, I thought I had that faith!” It was just the beginning of a long journey of questions and struggles I would face about my faith.
Luke died on a Wednesday and the funeral was the next Monday. Every waking moment was spent at Uncle Jeff’s and Aunt Cheryl’s. It was so good to be there with family. We talked, we cried, we laughed as we tried to muddle through those days. I am a doer, so I put the picture boards together for the funeral home. It helped me to stay busy. I remember very little about the funeral, other than walking arm and arm into the church with my cousins Catherine and Phyllis. Aunt MC spoke about the trials our family had gone through and that, while tested, we WOULD keep our faith. And then, we all went home to try to settle into the new normal. Whatever that was.
It’s so hard to believe it’s been 10 years. The images from that day replay in my head regularly, like a bad movie. They are still so vivid. His death changed my life forever. It changed all of our lives. It has made me acutely aware of how fragile and short life truly is. When I can’t get ahold of my family, I start to panic. When I leave Brook or Max, I think ‘I might never see them again.’ It has produced this fire in me that I can hardly explain . . . an urgency to fight the injustices of this world, like abortion and hunger. And b/c of that, I am not good at idle chit chat and I hate it (not being good at it). Sometimes, it’s isolating. I would loooove to not have a care in the world. Would. Love. It!
A few months after Luke died, I moved out, to be closer to my job. I was alone much of the time and really struggled with my faith. His death made me ask questions most 22 year olds would never think of asking. OOOOOHHH, I was SO mad at God! I wish I had the faith of a person who can lovingly accept whatever God has planned. But I question. We prayed so hard and He still let him die! What kind of God was He?! Was He just playing games with our lives? I wanted to not believe in God. I wanted to not be Catholic. But when I thought about not believing in God, I’d think of Peter’s words, “But to whom shall we go?” And if I chose to not believe in God, that meant I was saying there was no Heaven and I’d never see Luke again. I had no choice. And I realized saying I wasn’t Catholic was like saying I wasn’t American. It was impossible. I love the tradition, beauty and richness of the Catholic Church. I love Her teaching on suffering. Then, I wondered ‘Well, what kind of God is He? Is He really a loving God? Do our prayers mean anything? Why should I pray if God is going to do what He wants anyway?’
I was talking to a very wise nun about this and she very gently said, “God is our Father and, like any good father, sometimes God says no.” He says no, because He sees the bigger picture. He says no, b/c He knows what’s best for our souls and what will lead us to Heaven. And, sometimes, it’s (gulp) suffering that is good for our souls. It brings us to Jesus, if we let it. And the world teaches us lies and says we should hate God when there is suffering. But, as Christians, "We also rejoice in our sufferings, because we know that suffering produces perseverance; perseverance, character; and character, hope." (Romans 5:3-4)
The saints provide so much encouragement when it comes to suffering:
“One day, I saw two roads. One was broad, covered with sand and flowers, full of joy, music and all sorts of pleasures. People walked along it, dancing and enjoying themselves. They reached the end of the road without realizing it. And at the end of the road there was a horrible precipice; that is, the abyss of hell. The souls fell blindly into it; as they walked, so they fell. And there numbers were so great that it was impossible to count them. And I saw the other road, or rather, a path, for it was narrow and strewn with thorns and rocks; and the people who walked along it had tears in their eyes, and all kinds of suffering befell them. Some fell down upon the rocks, but stood up immediately and went on. At the end of the road there was a magnificent garden filled with all sorts of happiness, and all these souls entered there. At the very first instant they forgot all their sufferings." --Diary of Saint Maria F@ustina K0walska, #153
“If God gives you an abundant harvest of trials, it is a sign of great holiness which He desires you to attain. Do you want to become a great saint? Ask God to send you many sufferings. The flame of Divine Love never rises higher than when fed with the wood of the Cross, which the infinite charity of the Savior used to finish His sacrifice. All the pleasures of the world are nothing compared with the sweetness found in the gall and vinegar offered to Jesus Christ. That is, hard and painful things endured for Jesus Christ and with Jesus Christ."--Saint Ign@tius of Loyola
This is what the world doesn’t get. It is what
I do not get! I still do struggle with some of those questions, especially about prayer. When I get wrapped up in emotion about something, and start to doubt the power of prayer, I have to remind myself of the TRUTH: “our ways are not God’s ways.” “Where were you when I laid the foundation of the earth?” This verse makes me chuckle and brings me back to reality. I think my ways are best, but in reality, I am not God. Most of this life is like a beautiful tapestry. In this life, we only see it from the back . . . it looks like a tangled mess. It doesn’t make any sense until we see the other side in Heaven. Oh, how beautiful it will surely be! But first, I must hold on to my faith and allow God to purify me through the good AND the bad times!
The other thing I’ve come to know is that God DID heal Luke. Our prayers were short sighted. He healed him better than we could have ever imagined! God does hear and answer every one of our prayers, just not always in the timing and way we want. Sometimes, this is hard to accept. I've found, when it comes to prayer, the most perfect prayer to pray is “Lord, give me grace to accept Your will, no matter what it may be.”
At the end of the day, it comes down to this: I believe there is a Heaven and a Hell. I believe Luke is in Heaven with Jesus. I want to see Luke again. Therefore, I try to live my faith to the fullest.. I fail every day and I am very aware of this. The spirit is so willing, but the flesh is very weak. But I keep trying. I keep standing up after each fall, asking for forgiveness and moving on.
Luke, please pray for your Godmother. I miss you terribly and think about the young man you’d be today. 14 - wow! I hope I get to see you again.
