The Rose

I prayed the rosary all the way home tonight. There is a wonderful storm going on outside; it is one of the worst storms I have encountered since moving to Texas.  In fact, it's worst than all but two other storms I've encountered, and one of them was Hurricane Katrina in 2005.  Under normal circumstances I would've been terrified, but then again, this has been hardly a normal two weeks.  

In my youth I was instructed to never pray the rosary while driving as such things have brought upon many an accident in female predecessors in my family.  If my people had been the first to discover America, I'm fairly certain they would have been so focused on their beads that they well might have missed the continent until they ran aground.  Until now, I have heeded this warning carefully, but I was afraid.  

I was afraid that if I didn't say my rosary in the car that I would forget and if I forgot I would miss the last day of my novena, and I really didn't want to miss the last day.  Nine days and half an hour ago (it's just after midnight), our side lost a beautiful soul to Paradise.  Her name was Rosie.  

It's not the first time I've lost someone who I think died too young, but I have come to know that this is something that never gets easier.  Since I know that I cannot travel to her funeral I resolved to pray for her for nine days, as a Mexican tradition I found in a book, in order to guide her soul through purgatory.  Yesterday was my last day and although I miss her I am at peace.

I suppose it is unfair to say that I was not at peace before either.  After all, I have known for almost two months that she was very ill and not long for this world.  They doctor's gave her two weeks in early August and I found out through facebook.  I met Rosie in our early teens; she changed my life.  I haven't seen her since those summers together but she has never been forgotten by me. 

When I found out she was ill I became very angry: angry with God, angry that someone so young- someone so good- should die.  I tried to make it to Mass so that I could gain understanding through God's presence, but I kept on pulling away from Him at the last moment.  One day I even made it to Church and left before Mass began.  

Five days after I found out I finally managed to attend daily Mass.  I was surprised to find out that it was the Feast of St. Rose of Lima.  St. Rose was a lay woman- known for her great Faith and her great beauty- an every day Saint.  I remember my Rosie loving this Saint, among many others and this hurt me more.  It was while I was sitting there, waiting for the sermon to end so that I could cry, that I heard the words I have frequently repeated.  

"Rosie will be okay- she may not live, but she will be okay.  There are worse things than death, such as not being close to Me."  It was then that I remembered that being drawn close to God was not a sadness at all- it was an endearment.  I cannot prove that I heard God speak but I will say that it brought me peace.  

Rosie was given two weeks to live.  She kept fighting for five weeks and when she died I was overwhelmed.  I felt like I was letting God down because I was sad.  I had been praying for a sign from God, to remind me that He was here and that He still cared.  That's when the thunder storms came to Texas, and they haven't really stopped.  A friend told me that God doesn't want us to blindly forget those that we loved when they die.  Another friend told me that now Rosie is at peace and with God and she is no longer suffering.  I was reminded that we do not cry for the dead; we cry for those left behind.

On my way home tonight, while praying my poor, beat up old rosary, I wondered why God took someone so good, who was saving souls, my own included?  Why not take a poor sinner like me?  And then I heard His voice again and I trembled.  He reminded me that we all have our purpose here and when our mission is complete we move on to rejoin Him in His kingdom forever.  Rosie's mission is done but mine is only beginning.