The Angelic Occurrence

by Henry K. Ripplinger

  “…You’re losing it James, having a coffee with the gardener…”

  “J.J., have you ever talked to Thomas? It’s the most relaxing conversation I have ever had in all my life. There’s an easiness about the man that is hard to explain. He almost lulls me to sleep…

  “Anyway, how is Marjorie doing?”

  “I don’t know. I haven’t called since we came back from Regina. She wasn’t doing so well when we were there.”

  “Look, J.J., call her tonight. See how she is doing…she is your mother.”

  “You call her. I don’t want to get in between you and her. You have always discouraging me from spending too much time with her and now…you call her.”

  “J.J., I was wrong—it might be a good idea to take some time off and go back and see her again.”

  “Look, James, I have to go. I have too much to do at the office…”

  “Come into the den for a minute, J.J.”

  J.J. followed his father into the den and closed the door. Matti and Thomas overheard the two men have a heated exchange and then J.J. opened the door and stormed out slamming the front door behind him.

  Thomas was just getting up, ready to go as well, when James returned to the kitchen.

  “Thank you for the coffee, Mr. Hamilton. I best be finishing the walk.”

  “Have another coffee, Thomas, there is something I want to ask you.”

  Thomas sat down slowly and kept his gaze on James, a puzzled look growing on his face. Matti brought the pot of coffee over but Thomas covered the cup with his hand and shook his head.

  “I hope that cryonics works according to plan, Thomas. It costs a lot of money to do something like that. It’s amazing what one can do with money…”

  “Yes, I am sure it carries power, Mr. Hamilton.” Thomas couldn’t believe he had just said that; this was such an unusual discussion but then it got more to his liking.

  “Tell me, Thomas, the angel statue that you and Ramon crated and shipped off Marjorie…”

  “Yes…”

  “You say the sculptor had it shipped to the cemetery. Would you be able to find out the artists name and how to get a hold of him.”

  “I could call Frank and see if he can find out that information. He works for the Memorial Gardens Cemetery.”

  “I was thinking last fall as I sat in the Gazebo that it just doesn’t look the same without the statue. I only saw it a couple of times but I have to say it made an impression on me. It added a kind of life to the garden.”

  “Oh, how Miss Jenny loved that garden and angel, Mr. Hamilton…oh, I be sorry for interrupting…” Matti turned back to the counter and continued peeling the potatoes.

  “No, that’s okay, Matilda.” Turning back to Thomas he continued, “Look into it for me, Thomas and let’s see if we can restore the garden the way Marjorie had it…”

  Thomas looked long and hard at his employer and he worked hard to suppress a growing lump in his throat. “Yes, I will check into it first thing in the morning. Having an angel back in the garden would make Miss Jenn…, I mean Mrs. Hamilton very happy. I’m sorry, Mr. Hamilton I meant no disrespect…Mrs. Hamilton preferred to be addressed as Miss Jenny.”

  I understand Thomas, on several occasions over the years I heard you address Mrs. Hamilton that way. It was never to my liking but I chose to ignore it. However, I must say that these past few months my thinking on a lot of things has changed. In fact Thomas, I would prefer if you addressed me as James from now on…”

  A glass bowl full of peeled potatoes fell to the tiled floor shattering into a thousand pieces.

  Thomas and James were startled and turned to Matilda. She held both hands to her wide open mouth…

  “Oh, I be so sorry!”

  James raised his right hand and waved it off as if it was nothing.

  He and Thomas bent down and began picking up the pieces of broken glass.

  Matti stared in disbelief, unable to move…

  Could this be the same Mr. Hamilton I knows?

  Chapter Sixty

  Every time Father Engelmann visited hospitals and care homes, the loneliness of the people ate at his heart. Their eyes were empty, vacant, totally consumed by nothing, and revealing a physical body devoid of a meaningful existence. When he walked into their room, their eyes lit up and the boredom on their faces fell away, erased by a sincere appreciative smile like a starving person being offered a morsel of food. But, in this case, the food these people needed and wanted was love.

  His only answer to it all was to try to come more often and visit as many residents/patients as he possibly could. Father dedicated at least three days of every week to hospitals and care homes. But despite his efforts, it always bothered him that he couldn’t see more people. The needs were so great and many. He loved bringing cheer into the life of an aging person, showing them that someone cared, that Jesus loved them, that they were precious children of God and not some castaway because they were no longer useful to society.

  For too many, life had become a hollow existence, just another stepping stone towards the end of their time on earth. Many had no one. Day in and day out, they sat waiting for death to claim them.

  For many days, Father had had trouble sleeping, burdened with the desire to bring joy to those people, but knowing that he couldn’t do it alone. He needed help. There were never enough volunteers…the needs were great and the shepherds were few. Whenever Father happened to meet relatives or children, he confirmed how wonderful it was that they had come and how much their parents or uncle or aunt appreciated it. He affirmed that they would be so blessed in heaven for coming, and encouraged them to come again and to tell others to come.

  It seemed to help. The family would come the next Sunday and the following month, but after a month or two, the visits stopped, again, until the next major celebration: Christmas, Mother’s Day, Father’s Day, Thanksgiving and birthdays. It almost seemed that children or families needed to be reminded of their loved one in the care home. It wasn’t that they didn’t care necessarily, but that living, making a living, raising their children got in the way and with both parents working, they tended to want their weekends to themselves. If they weren’t too tired to visit, they had other plans which would be more rewarding, bring them more happiness and more entertainment.

  Seeing an elderly person was boring and uninteresting. Within two minutes, one had heard it all: “What did you have for lunch, today? Are they treating you well? How do you spend your days?” The answer was always the same: “Yes, the meals are good. Oh, some meat and potatoes,” or…”I can’t remember. Played cards, did a painting of a house. Oh, I threw it away.” Very quickly the conversation would come to an uncomfortable end and everyone would sit in silence. “Well, I’d better go. I have to pick up the kids,” or “I have an appointment.” Any excuse to justify leaving as quickly or as soon as possible.

  On Sunday, Henry attended Father Engelmann’ Mass at the nursing home. The chapel was packed when he arrived and he was lucky to find a place to stand at the very back. Mrs. Lawson led the congregation in prayer for the needs of the world, for the needy, the sick, the hungry, the aged, all the families and the many challenges they faced. Then they said another decade of the rosary. Various people in the church lead by saying the first half of the prayer and then the congregation together would say the last half.

  The response, involvement and participation of those present was almost deafening. The prayers were said with such fervour and meaning that the fifty or so in the chapel rivaled the 750-person congregation at St. Mary’s.

  Henry couldn’t believe how involved everyone was, not half-heartedly, but with their entire being. Father Engelmann had given them something to live for, he gave them meaning. They were there to pray to their Lord and to pray for the needs of the world. In an incredibly short time, Father had helped them to rediscover the lo
ve in their hearts that had been buried by their mundane existence. In a sense they were reborn, living fully with purpose in the present moment, instead of despairing over the past or looking forward to a future that would only guarantee them death.

  When mass started, jubilation began in earnest. Johnny wheeled his wheelchair over to the piano and banged out a lively tune, and like Jerry Lee Lewis, his fingers danced across the keys. Henry watched in awe as the awkward, out-of-time movements of their stiff, arthritic bodies and shuffling feet, suddenly wanted to dance. Adrenalin, long dormant, chugged through their constricted veins and arteries. It brought tears to Henry’s eyes. A body may get old, but inside everyone wanted to live, and to enjoy and participate in life. To love and be loved. Everything else is really meaningless.

  With everyone gathered, there was only a very narrow passageway for Father to walk from the back and make his way to the altar. They sang Lord of the Dance as he entered and by the time Father got to the front everyone was not only singing to the song but also clapping. It was heart moving to witness so many of the residents clapping and acknowledging their joy and participating in the mass. Unbidden tears surfaced as he gazed upon this incredible sight.

  When the song ended, Father looked out at the sea of happy people and smiled.

  “Good morning, my brothers and sisters in Christ.”

  “Good morning, Father,” the congregation resounded.

  “I see some new faces, here this morning. Welcome to our humble chapel. Thank you for coming. Today is the feast of St. Francis and do I have something to tell you about him, and also something that the Lord hasn’t revealed to me, yet, but he will when it is time to speak…”

  The singing and dancing and homily that followed was so touching and stirring, Henry left wanting to be a saint from that moment on.

  After mass, the people streamed out, joy written all over their faces. They greeted one another and hugged. Some held hands as they walked down the hall, some stayed behind to talk to Father. Many approached Henry to introduce themselves and invite him to come again. It was almost as if they were there to visit with Henry, and to cheer him up, rather than the other way around. They had been provided an opportunity to serve again, and with that opportunity came the desire to live again.

  Finally, Father and Henry were able to speak to one another.

  “How about going to the café for breakfast?”

  “That sounds wonderful, Henry. A bit of fresh air and breakfast in your fine café would be a very special treat.”

  As they passed the open bedroom doors, every resident bellowed a greeting to Father. It was as if the Pope himself were walking down the hallway. What a difference from that first day when he had brought Father to the care home.

  “It didn’t take long for them to fall in love with you, Father.”

  “Yes, and I love them also.”

  The café was busy with after-church customers. Like the chapel, the café was a gathering place for parishioners of the downtown area. They were like family, and as Father and Henry walked in, the customers greeted Henry in a similar fashion as Father’s people in the care home greeted him.

  As they sat down for breakfast, Father shared with Henry his concern about all the care and nursing homes in the city and about how he could possibly reach more of the families and get them to visit the aged in these homes. He shared his idea with Henry about starting a tour for not only the Catholic churches, but the other denominations as well. He wanted to talk to all the churches about the need to visit those in the care homes. He called his talk, “The Forgotten People.”

  “My only fear is that it will be short lived. It might encourage some to come out, but as I have found out, even when I encourage those who visit to come back, they do so for a visit or two and then stop coming again until the next special occasion. In between there is nothing, just empty time. They’re forgotten.”

  “That’s it, Father!” Henry blurted out. “It’s all about marketing!”

  Father looked at Henry and recognized the young bright business partner he hired to work in his grocery store. Memories flashed through his mind remembering Henry’s excitement over a new idea to improve the business. The same excitement surged through him now. His eyes widened and brightened in anticipation.

  “What is it, Henry? How do you mean? Surely not market the old folks? We’re not for sale like some commodity.”

  “No, no, that’s not what I mean, Father. What I am getting at is essentially the same as what you are proposing. You want to tour the churches and promote visitation amongst the people and how important it is not to forget them.”

  “Yes, yes,” Father said, sitting on the edge of his chair.

  Henry took a mouthful of scrambled eggs delaying his answer. He loved to see Father get excited.

  “Go on, Henry. I’m an old man and I don’t have time to waste. Tell me, what is in that clever business mind of yours?”

  Henry smiled, “Well, Father, you said that people come to visit when you talk to them and encourage them to do so, right?”

  “Yes, yes.”

  “And, you said it picks up again when the care home sends out an invitation to come for a free meal and celebrate Thanksgiving or whatever.”

  “Yes, yes.”

  “Well, Father, the answer is simple.”

  “Henry, please get it out.”

  Henry held back a chuckle. He so much enjoyed playing with Father and seeing the look in his twinkling, inquisitive eyes. Henry easily visualized how Father must have looked as an excited child waiting to hear a surprise.

  “What we need to do is to send out a monthly newsletter, a constant reminder of the people in the care home. We need to get volunteers to write it, conduct interviews with the people there and get ideas from the people in the care homes as to what they would like to say. We need jokes and funny stories from the heart about the successes of the people. Have special sections in there in which residents remind their children of things they need, or their birthday, or their children’s birthday. It would be exciting for the elderly to see their name in print.

  “Folks need to hear about your chapel. We need to go to businesses who cater to seniors’ needs to place ads in the newsletter to help pay for the cost of printing. This way, both the seniors and the young people know the needs of the aged, what gifts to buy on birthdays. We need to offer advice to young people on what to say when they visit, how to make a two-minute visit last for a meaningful half hour, we nee…”

  “Hold on, Henry. Wait a minute. You are so blessed with ideas. This is wonderful. I am so excited to start, I can’t sit on my chair, anymore. How do we begin all this, Henry?”

  Father searched Henry’s eyes for a clue.

  “Well, Father, first we need to get volunteers and form a committee to do some leg work. We need an editor, printer, writers, journalists, researchers, interviewers and interviewees. It will take time, but it can be done. Perhaps when you start your tours, you could mention this idea and ask for volunteers. Someone in the congregation may have a printing business, and other business people may want to place ads in there relating to special beds and chairs, vitamins, new medications for different ailments, café certificates—”

  “Yes, yes, that’s it, exactly,” Father blurted. “Now we’re on track.” Father beamed at Henry, “This is like the good ol’ days. I just know my Anna is so happy to see this, too.”

  Father looked deeply into Henry’s eyes, “I said it to you back then on at least two occasions, you are a good man with a good heart. The Lord has so richly blessed you and you haven’t let Him down. You have been faithful and used all the talents he has given you and not squandered a one.” Father reached across the table and patted Henry’s hand.

  “Thank you, Father.”

  After breakfast Henry dropped Father back at the Nunnery Care Home. They both were silent for the
longest time, each absorbed in their thoughts. Henry assumed that Father was mulling over what they had talked about in the café.

  “So, tell me, Henry. Were you able to track down where Jenny lives?”

  Henry was taken aback by his question and interest. He had meant to tell Father what he found out from Mr. Sarsky’s secretary, but had forgotten. He hadn’t shown Father Jenny’s letter that he had discovered in his mother’s treasure chest either.

  “Well, it’s funny you should ask, I was going to tell you about it over breakfast this morning, but then we began talking about your concern over care homes. It slipped my mind.

  “I did get a hold of Mr. Sarsky’s secretary. She did not know where Jenny lived now, but did inform me that she had married and at that time had one child, a son.”

  Henry waited for Father’s reaction even though he knew what would be in his mind. When Father didn’t respond Henry continued, “As soon as I heard that she was married, I immediately knew it was over and dropped the whole matter right then and there.”

  Before Henry could say any more, Father turned and patted him on the shoulder. “Yes, Henry, that is the best thing to do. It was so long ago, so many things change in our lives. It may not be the same anymore, at all. She may have even forgotten all about you.”

  “Well, what encouraged me to try was the letter I found in mom’s treasure chest that I told you about. It was filled with love and revived so many memories. At least I found out that at the time, anyway, she still cared for me and hadn’t abandoned me as I had thought.”

  Henry pulled out the letter from his jacket pocket. “I still carry it around with me. Read it and you will see. She still loves me.”

  Father reluctantly took the letter. “But, Henry, that was so long ago. People change.”

  “Maybe so, Father, but just read it.”

  Father unfolded the letter and read it. Henry remained silent, but glanced at Father trying to read his expression. At least twice, other drivers honked at Henry as he drifted into their lane just as he tried to drift into Father’s thoughts.