Just A Thought of Vaiva

Jim,

I saw this quote and thought of Vaiva......

Don't cry when the sun is gone, because the tears won't let you see the stars.

~Violeta Parra

Still following the blog.........and hoping you are doing well.

Patti

(Patricia Illingworth)

Neringa

Sirvydas and Lokys have left to work for Camp Neringa in Brattleboro, Vermont for the rest of the summer. So it's just me and two dogs and two cats here in Durham.

In this 2002 photo at Neringa, the boys are campers, not counselors. Vaiva and I drove up to the camp, most likely for "parents' weekend."

Confession

After she returned from Lithuania in August 2007 with the recurrence of her breast cancer, Vaiva surprised me by asking me to take her to St. Colman's Catholic Church in Middlefield to go to confession. We had been alternating between that church and Notre Dame in Durham. The semi-Lithuanian Catholic parish in Hartford was too long a trek, and Vaiva didn't really want to be making public appearances during her hoped-for recovery.

As between St. Colman's and Notre Dame, we preferred St. Colman's by a good margin. The congregations are comparable, but the Notre Dame church is so tiny that it often feels crowded. The music tends toward the traditional at St. Colman's, which I favor. But the deciding factor was excellent homilies by Fr. Gregory Mullaney. He was the temporary administrator of the parish, while they waited to have a pastor assigned to them. He struck the right balance between tradition and modernity, humor and seriousness, learned discourse and everyday common sense. He is smart. Vaiva and I would discuss or debate his homilies on the trip home.

Still, I was surprised that she wanted to go to confession, as we never had done so at St. Casimir's in New Haven. In fact, this 2007 occasion is the only time I'm aware of Vaiva going to confession, though she told me that she went in Lithuania as well. It seems rather ironic, as I've never known anyone as utterly free from sin as Vaiva was.

But that's not the real point of the sacrament of penance anyway, is it.

I waited for her in the church, I did not go in make a confession of my own. Thirty years since my last confession, I wasn't ready to try it again. Vaiva reported that Fr. Greg said that we needed to join a parish, we should decide on St. Colman's or Notre Dame and make a commitment. I responded that if St. Colman's can tolerate a temporary adminstrator, they can handle two temporary parishioners. After our experience of having St. Casimir's in New Haven shuttered, with essentially no consideration or consultation with its Lithuanian parishioners, there is next to no chance that I will ever declare an allegiance to a parish again.

Although she didn't give me more details, Vaiva seemed generally happy with the experience, though she did not ask to return.

I might also mention that the architecture of the confessional has changed, The priest still sits in his tiny box, and the door on the left leads to the traditional tiny dark room with a kneeler, separated from the priest by a curtained window. But the door on the right, the door everyone uses now, leads to a chair, and a face-to-face ordinary meeting with the priest. Vaiva liked that also.

I have continued to attend St. Colman's since returning from burying Vaiva in Vilnius. They have a reproduction of Divine Mercy (Wikipedia entry here) which Vaiva and I saw the original of in Vilnius. I go because we went to St. Colman's together. Occasionally there is a moment of interest, approaching inspiration. But it would be an exaggeration to say that I've derived much comfort from my Sunday morning visits.

Then, at the beginning of June, Fr. Greg announced that he had be reassigned, to Storrs, and that St. Colman's would at last get a permanent pastor (after a two-year wait).

I sent Fr. Greg a letter before the June picnic, and I've plagiarized from that letter shamelessly in this blog post. I wrote to him about how much Vaiva and I enjoyed his sermons, explained that she died last December, mentioned that I am heading toward a crisis of faith over her death, regretted his new assignment, and wished him great success in it.

As his last day is June 30, yesterday I screwed my courage to the sticking-place. I decided to go make my own confession. "Oh my God, I am heartily sorry, for having offended thee . . ." Thank goodness for the internet, I was able to look up that prayer and re-memorize it, so as to avoid embarrassing myself.

It was an unconventional confession. Fr. Greg immediately realized that I had sent him the letter, so I didn't need to give him the background. My sin is that I feel God has abandoned me. Fr. Greg was surprisingly sympathetic, pointing out that Jesus felt exactly the same, crying out on the cross. He did a very good job in a short time providing religious counsel. He didn't lecture or offer platitudes. He was as good as I'd hoped.

Not that it's a magic bullet. I'm still estranged. When I went to Mass today, I still prayed for an early death, as I have since January.

But I'm glad I went, even so. I've been crying a lot more today, louder and more sustained. Maybe it's related to the confession, maybe it's just because the boys are away in Vermont and I don't need to have a brave face.

When I was a teenager, I was troubled by the question, "Why do you believe in God?" I could not find anyone who could give me a satisfactory answer. I took a special public summer school program for "talented" students called "Man the Hero, Man and his Gods," hoping for illumination. I didn't find it, though I did find other smart teenagers who were searching just as I was.

Many, many years later, I did find the answer to that question. It was in a film called Awakenings that Vaiva and I went to, with Robin Williams playing a fictionalized Dr. Oliver Sacks (it's based on a true story). We both recognized the answer. Several dozen patients are in a catatonic state, they can't move or speak (though they are awake), the result of an encephalitis epidemic years before. Another doctor explains to Dr. Sacks that the patients are unaware of their surroundings, that they are for practical purposes unconscious. "But, since they can't speak to us, how do we know that?" asks Dr. Sacks.

The first doctor responds, "The alternative would be unthinkable."

That's the current basis of my faith.

i'm back

I found that the picnic was more emotionally wrenching than I expected, and I couldn't write about it. I had to go back to the brave face of the funeral.

Then I had a sales trip to Minneapolis for The Merrill Anderson Company, and I spent several days afterward visiting my family there. I wrote a blog post, but the internet was very wonky and I lost it--even the autosave feature of Blogger failed to catch any of it. (I was trying to use the Minneapolis city-wide WiFi system, which leaves a lot to be desired.)

Now I'm back, and I have some projects on tap, but I hope to resume blogging.

Farrah Fawcett died today, as did Michael Jackson. She was 62, battled cancer for almost 3 years, he was 50. I tivo'd the ABC memorial to Farrah, but won't watch until the weekend, I expect. Reminds me too much of my own tributes.

More picnic photos

Sigita has sent more photos from the picnic.

This was the benediction.

Group shot.

Radasta

Vaiva's roses.

Vaiva's summer flowers

I don't know the names of any of these flowers, including this vine growing up the back porch. It's not a weed, Vaiva would not let me destroy it, but it does need cutting back.

Yesterday

What a weird day I had.

First, I woke up nervous and anxious for an appointment to get an opinion on a new mole... fortunately, all my skin lesions appear harmless, and the physician I had is my new hero.

Next, I started planning a new project for the end of the summer, which will be hard, but I look forward to it.

Then, I drove to the Greenville Saturn dealership in the heat with no AC, and dark clouds came over me... I worried about ensuing thunderstorms and about my broken car and about the cost of taking a rental car for the weekend... I realized that I had forgotten the upcoming picnic, and I cried outside lying on a bench listening to Josh Ritter and looking up at the huge linden tree above me and feeling the warm wind blowing hard. When I stopped and went inside, I found out that I can take a rental car for the weekend and owe only the co-pay... Driving home, I felt calm. I sped past a cop car along with everyone else, but no one was stopped.

Is someone looking out for me?

When I finally got home, I realized that I left my apartment keys on my car key chain in Greenville. I laughed out loud, and called my friend Misha, who was holding on to a spare for me. When I finally got in the apartment, the internet was working pretty well and I had a great video chat with Teddy. Later, my friends came over with white wine and snacks, unaware of the date, "just because it's been a while." It was wonderful.

More picnic photos

Picnic scenes

Picnic today

Rain or shine, we'll have some food and photographs, beginning at 2 pm today. 325 Foothills Road, Durham. Call for directions, 860.347.7095.

Six months

My beloved wife died six months ago today.

I have made no progress whatsoever in constructing my post-Vaiva identity. I remain utterly lost.

Vaiva and my father

On the touring train

My brother, Bob, is in the seat behind Vaiva.

Low man on the totem pole

Our stateroom on the Alaska cruise

Pretty luxurious, no? You'd hardly know we are on a ship.
However, the open laptop does not mean we had in-room WiFi.

This photo gives a better sense of how cramped it actually is. Even so, it is extravagant when compared to transportation Vaiva's parents had, coming to America.

Totem poles

On the Alaska cruise, we had three or four stops, and at each we were able to arrange for a tour. I don't remember the name of the final city, but it included this still-functioning totem pole factory.

Vaiva liked the one with the beaver best.

Another Alaska cruise photo

I mentioned earlier that Vaiva and I took an Alaskan cruise with my parents and siblings in 2005. This photo is from the balcony of our stateroom.

Plagiarism in the news

Maureen Dowd at the NYTimes was caught plagiarizing, copying a paragraph from a blog and putting it in her column. Here is Slate's commentary on her response when she was caught. They give her credit for the prompt correction and that she didn't try to make excuses.

Contrast that to a.p.p.l.e., which still hasn't acknowledged that they plagiarized this blog and published my photos without permission.

Up

Earlier I mentioned that when you are a hammer, everything looks like a nail, in connection with my TV-watching choices. I concluded that I should get out more.

So Sirvydas and I went to see the latest Pixar animation, Up, in 3D. I've enjoyed every Pixar film I've seen. I liked this one too, but . . .

The protagonist, as it happens, is a widower, devastated by the loss of his wife, who decides to go on an adventure that the two of them always talked about but never made a reality.

Nails, everywhere I look I see nails.

Postcard from Vilnius—1973

The final communication to me on this Vilnius trip was this postcard of a Ciurlionis painting. Vaiva's message is scanned below (click it to enlarge).

Mushroom hunting

Vaiva referred to this mushroom hunt in the letter below.

Bridge crossing.

A most unusual mushroom.

The Vilnius mini-camping trip again

On the family camping trip, everyone helped mow and rake the hay.

Here's the lunch, Alfonsas is to Vaiva's left.

I believe that this is Vilija between Vaiva and the car, and the baby is Vilija's daughter, Giedre.