I was awoken last night by a thunderstorm and, as often happens, once I was wide awake in the dark and quiet of my room, my mind settled on all my old grudges and painful regrets.
Last night’s theme was about my father. He’s wheelchair-bound and, towards the end of the time living with us, needed around-the-clock care. His circumstances and our lack of outside help made the decision to put him in a nursing home a logical one, but emotionally it has taken a toll on me ever since.
Lately, that regret has morphed into a haunting fear that my father will die alone there. Because of coronavirus, we are unable to visit and probably will not be able to for the foreseeable future.
As I lay there thinking about this frightening scenario, my mind settled on all of the things I failed to do for him when I had the chance. I tried my best, but there were so many times where I was impatient, unkind in my words, and lazy in my actions.
I know that “Catholic guilt” gets a bad rap but one of the thoughts that came to mind was how grateful I am to have a way to understand what I was feeling and, more importantly, to have a remedy.
The feelings of guilt and regret have a home in the understanding that I have a duty to God and my fellow man, and in my shortcomings I failed to fulfill them.
Some might dismiss this guilt as flowing from my faith, but it’s quite the opposite–I believe our natural sense of interconnectedness is part of being human and we innately know when we’ve shirked our responsibility.
Even our civil laws have the concept of negligence, which is defined simply as a duty, unfulfilled, which caused harm. I don’t believe our judicial system is in the business of needlessly imposing guilt, so its inclusion in our laws points to a universal truth.
My dad was always clean, fed, and otherwise cared for while he was living with us, but did I spend quality time with him? Did I listen again to his same stories? Was I kind when he confused me with my mother?
The times that I didn’t do those things and more are what haunts me, especially with the thought that I may never get the opportunity to do those things for him ever again.
I’ve expressed to my father these regrets and he has been so charitable as to not acknowledge any of my shortcomings. But I do know I am and will be accountable to God someday for my failings, regardless of whether my father holds a grudge or not.
I know enough not to ask, “Lord, when did we see you hungry and feed you, or thirsty and give you drink?” (Matthew 25:37). I have done those particular things for one of the “least” as Jesus defines it, but I did not always comfort the afflicted, or show charity and kindness.
When this craziness is all over, I will bring to confession all that has kept me awake. In the meantime, I know that what I’m feeling is legitimate, but is not the end of the story.
Even as we attend Mass virtually while still in quarantine, I am able to move forward because of the words of the confiteor prayer. I will ask for the help of the angels and saints, take responsibility for “what I have done, and what I have failed to do.” I will strike my breast and admit that it was through my “most grievous fault.”
In that prayer, in that admission, and in that pleading, I will find the comfort that can only come from the forgiveness of God.
