You made me a better Catholic. Every year, Easter has a different meaning to me now because all our Easter and Catholic memories would surface. I was never a great Catholic, but I assume it was truly in His Plan to have arranged for us to meet at a Catholic retreat (my first and only ever). For that, I am forever grateful. Then He takes you away 80 years too soon. For that, I have still not reconciled. You influenced my faith, bringing out a more practiced spiritual devotion, and yet you also caused a conflicting skepticism for whether to trust and believe.
Easter and Spring go hand in hand. The spring flowers and air all around campus made Easter the joyous association that I have with our traditions. We would always host or arrange an Easter brunch, coaxing our friends to waking up “early” ~11am on Easter Sunday in order to join us. We would require that everyone dress up in their Sunday best or otherwise wear flowery dresses — even if it was still cold. I loved the concept of an Easter brunch, even for those who didn’t officially celebrate.
We made cascarones one year and brought them home to your siblings. That was a lot of fun. A combination of a tradition I learned from Spanish class and our artistic abilities. We also ate a lot of egg fried rice that week. The little girls ran around smashing the cascarones in the driveway.
I remember going to Ash Wednesday mass for the first time. You were going, so I figured why not. It was at night in Houston Hall. I was surprised by how many young students there were, and also for attending a mass not in a an actual church. My family never went to Ash Wednesday mass, and the church back home was mostly older folks anyways, so seeing all these young people sharing our religious faith was inspiring.
I remember going to St. Blaise for the blessing of the throats. I’ve never even heard of that one (again, I wasn’t the best Catholic). I just went along because you said your family would go every year. The priest held two candles and crossed them over your throat. It looked rather creepy, but I had a sore throat that day, so was willing to believe I’d get healed faster. You also mentioned there’s a saint/feast for blessing pets too, and that your parents would bring Beau; alas, I never actually got to see that one. I always imagined a bit like Noah’s Ark with people bringing all sorts of pet animals into the church to get blessed…
I remember going to Confession for the first time, during Lent. You wanted to go because it was typical at least to go once a year, and Lent would be it. I was very nervous and carried the little card for the initial prayer, and then I cried a lot because well, there’s 19 years of sins… the poor priest.
Every Sunday, we would wake up early and go to St. AJ together. I honestly really love this habit of ours. It was such an us thing to do and do it so religiously (literally). Rain, snow, cold, Fling; it didn’t matter. I was always the lazy one and would wake up late, whine and drag myself around the dorm getting ready while you stood by the door, fully dressed (very properly and neatly), having been awake the last hour to shower and get ready. It was one of these instances that I taught you “mo sham jurht” in Cantonese because I would grumble that I had nothing decent to wear and then “fai de la” as you impatiently chased me to hurry up. Our short walk to St. AJ was often peacefully quiet because what college student is ever fully awake on a Sunday morning? The campus was always standstill quiet on Sunday mornings.
It was also such an us habit where I’d go in and pick exactly where to sit — halfway front/back and to the right side, middle of the pew — because for some reason you’d always defer and linger by the entryway even if you entered the church first. Then, here’s a secret, I always hoped that we’d be asked to bring up the gifts and when we do get asked, I’m quite pleased. A bit random, but I’ve watched families and others bring up the gifts my whole life, so being “chosen” sometimes felt really nice. And I enjoyed knowing what an image we made coming up the aisle bearing gifts. The tall, red-haired, white girl always with the much shorter, long, dark-haired Asian girl. It was practically our trademark as best friends. The odd, yet distinct duo. We were very recognizable together that way. Friends would sometimes tell us how they saw our backs from across campus and knew immediately it was the two of us. People at church especially, for some strange reason, wouldn’t know us unless we were together. Probably because we were inseparable, only brave enough to go to events when we could both go (pasta nights). If we approached Father George independently, he literally wouldn’t know our names or recognize us as frequenters of the church. However, anytime the two of us greeted him together, he would smile and say hello and chat amiably because we were known as the pair of best friends.
Easter. A celebration of life after death and the sacrifice of His Son. And for those of us still on this earth, yearning to talk to those who’ve been called to the Kingdom of Heaven, what can we do but wait?
