November 15th Essay: Do Not Cling to Me
November tips us into the shadow side of the year as daylight grows shorter and darkness spreads its canopy. The rhythm of the liturgical calendar synchronizes with this change by calling us into a sacred period of communion with the dead—the month of All Souls. This year the season will be especially poignant for me: my beloved father, Andrew W. Pinter, III, died on October 28, aged 83 years, nine months, and 28 days. I miss him already.
My father’s was a “good death.” He died surrounded by family, having received the sacraments, with heartfelt words of love and gratitude having been expressed. And he died with faith and hope intact, affirming in one of our final conversations, “This is all a part of life; we’ll be together again someday.” A part of what made this a peaceful and holy passing was the recalling of deep, long-dormant memories; the retelling of stories that we had not visited in years. It was a kind of “harvesting” of a life well-lived, a life of love, laughter, family and friendship. We reminisced about the time we met Mickey Mantle at the Allentown State Fair; when we watched St. Joe’s beat Villanova at the Palestra; the family vacations to Ocean City, New Jersey, which he so relished. Throughout these rememberings, my siblings and I expressed our deep gratitude to him for all the pivotal moments he was there for us.
Still, I catch myself wishing I could go back in time for just 5 minutes, to sit there with him and retell the stories; or be a 10 year old child again, helping my dad with a task as simple as mowing the lawn. I think this longing is perfectly natural, and suggests that I am in the “bargaining” stage of the grieving process. Yet I have also been moved to pray with Jesus’ words to Mary Magdalene when she encountered him at the garden tomb: “Do not cling to me.” Jesus tells Mary that he is ascending, and then the Spirit will come. This will be the new way he relates to those who love him.
I am coming to accept that the old way I knew and related to my father is gone, while a new kind of connection to him is being birthed. I am receiving a gentle invitation to not cling to what was, and to move into a new stage of our relationship. My father’s spirit will live within me when I intentionally bring the best of his qualities to my life, when I live what he role-modeled for me. So when I make every effort to stay connected with my friends, or treat strangers with kindness and hospitality; when I serve as a steady, consistent presence for my family; when I stand by people through hard times; when I say, “I love you;” and when I’m not afraid to cry, I will know my dad is there with me.
The death of my father has been the most painful experience I’ve ever endured. I didn’t realize how deeply I loved him. The pain and sadness are lined with hope and anticipation, however. I do believe what St. Paul taught in his letter to the Romans—that death cannot separate us from love. In time, at a pace set by the heart, my relationship with my dad will enter a new season as he prays for me from his place within the Communion of Saints, and I pray to him for his wisdom, guidance, and blessing. In the meantime, in this month of All Souls, I wait, simply sitting in my grief as I slowly let go of what was, praying that I may receive the transforming, renewing Spirit.
— Brian Pinter, Pastoral Associate