5 Years

When someone is officially recognized as a saint by the Church, their feast day, or day that they are remembered on the Church calendar, is almost always the day of their death: the day when their earthly deeds came to an end and they were eternally reunited with the Creator. Today is the feast day of my friend Laura. Today, June 29 is five years since the day I looked her in the eyes until her gaze slowly rolled away. The day I whispered assurance and encouragement in her ear as her mother, brother, husband, friends and other family members said good bye to her. It was a day of immense sadness. The kind of sadness that leaves you gasping for air and wondering how the world could ever again look normal. And yet, it was a day I was honored to be a part of and will never forget for the rest of my days. Her feast day.

Official sainthood requires more than a declaration in a blog by a friend and admirer, but she is a saint in my memory, my life and the lives of those who knew her … official or not. And so this day is a special day, a day of remembering, giving thanks, grieving and feasting. That would be important to Laura, especially if she knew I've lost weight. She would want me to feast, probably on something like potato chips and ice cream.

The term “saint” carries a lot of weight with it. As if it is a declaration of perfection, absolute godliness and constant serenity. Since the start of the pandemic, my husband and I have been leading a virtual Morning Prayer service on Facebook and when it is a saint day we read about the life of the saint. In the past three months or so we have encountered quite a few of them and I can tell you they are all very human. They made mistakes, some said weird things and many struggled. The reason why most of them stood out and are remembered is because of the impact they had on the lives of others. That is what keeps their name mentioned for generations into the future.

Laura made mistakes. She never pretended she didn't. She talked about them, wrote about them, laughed about them and apologized for them. She was not perfect. In fact, it was her willingness to be open about her flaws that drew people to her. She was willing to deal with her imperfections (physically, emotionally, spiritually) and she was willing to accept the imperfections of others (physically, emotionally, spiritually). If someone was struggling with a medical condition, she was the first to reach out, share from her heart and find a way to demonstrate her care. She was the one people went to with their problems. And in church groups or spiritual settings she was the first to break the ice with the questions and doubts on everyone's minds.

I am realizing that I have spent a lot of my life trying to figure out what is wrong with me. Of course, that means I am working off the assumption that there is something wrong with me, and if I can nail it down, I can fix it. Along with that comes the fear of disappointing others when they realize that despite my best efforts … I am not perfect. Laura believed in me. She supported me and loved me. I really, really, really did not want to disappoint her and the trust she placed in me to guide her through her final days, lead her funeral and continue to be a resource of support for her family. Sometimes when I worry too much, doubt myself too much or fail to live up to the potential others see in me, I wonder if it would be disappointing to her. But then I remember: that is so not what she was about. She was about love, honesty, vulnerability, laughing at yourself, connecting and enjoying the everyday treasures like time with friends and snuggles with kids. For her, imperfections were a way of connecting, not a way of disappointing.

She has been gone for as long as I knew her. That is a strange realization. It makes me both hesitant to make any kind of statements about who she was because of course there are so many who knew her longer, but also so very grateful to have loved and been loved by her. I am grateful to get to remember her. Grateful for what I learned from her. Grateful for the impact she had on my life. And that's why this is and always will be her feast day because she is a saint in my life.

On a saint's feast day we read a collect or prayer that carefully and beautifully weaves together something from the saint's legacy and the desires and yearnings of our hearts. Here is my imperfect offering as a collect for Laura's feast day:

Loving and tender God, who gave to your servant Laura boldness to speak truth even when it was uncomfortable and courage to love even when she was hurting: Give us that same courage to love others and love ourselves with open and wounded hearts. Let us find in our flaws points of connection with those whom you place in front of us. Let us appreciate the gifts of each ordinary day and persevere when life becomes difficult. Grant us eternal hope in your infinite wisdom and abiding presence. Through Jesus Christ our Lord, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, for ever and ever. Amen.