Monday, April 30, 2007

Holy Ground

My Aunt Doris died two weeks ago, and I went home to south Louisiana for almost a week. When Mama called me with the news, it was snowing here. We had had a little intro to spring but the ground was white that morning. I stared at the steady snowfall for a long time after I got off the phone.

When I got off the plane in New Orleans, the warm air wrapped around me to welcome me home. The air smells the way air ought to smell. It feels like it should feel on my skin. The sounds of peoples' voices sound right. The food tastes right. The names of streets and towns are right. I love my life, but when I go home I realize all over again how hard it is to live so far away.

As I drove through my old neighborhood, it was destruction everywhere. And, in places, construction as well. But I don't want to dwell on the Katrina destruction now. We drove through Mama's old neighborhood as well. The home she and my aunts and uncles lived in on Congress Street is actually looking pretty good. Someone lives there and has it fixed up nice. St. Vincent de Paul Cemetary is not too far away. There, many generations of maternal relatives are buried, so to speak, in an above-ground crypt. (In fact, I was about 25 before I ever went to a regular cemetary with graves in the ground.) I read all the names of those buried in the Charbonnet vault. I pronounced the names... Almicar, Louis, Francois D'Assis, Dewett, Lucille, Eugene.... The remains of all these generations are mingled. It troubles me not all, though it troubled some of my family. It is not Aunt Doris going into a box, into a crypt, because she is gone. Our way of burying our dead in fact for me works as a reminder of the communion of saints. We are powerfully connected to all the faithful departed. The cemetary is holy ground.

I have returned to Trinita. While I was gone, the snow melted and the air warmed up--somewhat. There are buds on branches but still no leaves on trees. We had 50 people here this weekend for a Family Day. It was fun and very hard work and it took my mind off things. This is holy ground, too. I knew it the first time I ever set foot on this place, so long ago. So much life has been lived here, it has seeped into the soil. You can smell it. At least I can.

1 comment:

guitarnun said...

Great blog, Deb. I'm so glad you got to go home to be with your family. Sometimes I think that because we Missionary Servants don't get to go home too often, that when we do, we REALLY appreciate it, and our families do too.