What do you do when you lose 4 members of your family in a space of less than 2 years? First your aunt, then grandma 1 followed by grandma 2 and now your uncle.

What do you do when you know that your dad is hurting so much over the death of his brother and the only thing you can tell him is ‘has the burial date been fixed?’ When you want to hug him so tight but you can’t ‘cos you’re thousands of miles away?


2 crazy friends posing as VOLDEMORT and L. MALFOY in a HP’S themed dinner

What do you do when you realize that despite your mum’s brave front, she’s so devastated by the turn of events? So much so that she has asked her prayer group to pray over her and cast away the spirit of death.

What do you do when your sister is so upset because she thinks that some family members are partly responsible for her uncle’s death? Because as she has judged, they failed to take adequate care of him while he was sick.

What do you do when the answer to ‘has the date been fixed’ is ‘no o. We’re waiting for money’? And you know that it’s just a polite way of saying ‘my dear, we’re still recovering from the burial of your grandma last October’.

What do you do when you want to cry out ‘enough? Why do we have to do expensive burials, depleting savings and even up to the point of borrowing? Why can’t we do simple but dignified burials?’ why do we have to give a banquet, to throw a party when we know that we can’t?’

What do you do when these thoughts accompany you throughout your day but you hold your peace because you can only think ‘will my people understand?’


Grief – struck!

Victoria Lindbergh Rizzi | Awestruck Catholic Social Network: My God, why! That’s what I want to scream. I want to break OUT, running and crying, letting the tears loose. But I am speechless. Petrified. My lips tremble with the sobs that won’t come out. Why? Why do I have to know someone and then he goes. He dies. Cut off in the noon of his life. His name is Mauricio, the brother of a very dear friend. He was an architect. Was. I recoil as I write it. Was! Everything ended. He was going to get married. He came visiting last summer with his fiancée. He was making progress in leaps and bounds in his career. He was a healthy young man, lively, jovial. I was looking forward to the wedding; then to the announcements of each of their children as they arrive. Mamma mia!

The flurry has left my fingers. The words trickle now, one at a time. But the dumbness has also left my soul. I am not running. I stare at my screen, calm! I am trying to understand it knowing that I will never understand. But I have my Christian faith to hold on to. It consoles me to remember that Mauricio is a Christian. He lived his short time on earth very happy to make God happy. I have prayed a responsorial for his soul. I’m praying for his family and friends who have to deal with the shock and the loss and the gap, the big big gap. I’ll continue praying for Mauricio; in this wonderful communion of saints which we live in the Catholic Church, we are never alone, living or dead.  And I know that he’s happy, he’s in heaven. Because happiness after death is for those who know, who knew, how to be truly happy on earth.

I have to go. My friend needs me at her side more than never before.

Little things

When you suffer …

Living as I do in the mire of a crossroad of many cultures, my plan was to blog about ‘true polyglots’. That will come later.

‘I just read’ a man’s heart-pouring account of his wife’s death by euthanasia.

I started this post some weeks ago but couldn’t continue. I felt so heart – broken for his loss, for his bitterness and even more for their outlook on life. I’m back at it again.


When we suffer, we can either wallow in the valley of the shadow of intense, indescribable pain; or we can take one little step out to the light and appreciate the flowers and fruits of our suffering. I’m back to finish this post because I read Jonie Smith‘s story where she describes in broad strokes how she takes this great little step every day. It’s  not an easy step for being tiny and here the Christian faith helps as it is helping Joni.

Through these challenges, God gave me an awareness of what so called ‘mercy killings {Euthanasia} were stealing away from the sick and elderly. The ‘culture of death’ mentality was trying to steal us away from an intimate walk with Jesus Christ. His loving sacrifice that he had waiting for those who suffer. This world wants to steal our peace, our joy and our uniting our sufferings with His. This world wants to steal our chance to love like Jesus. Jesus taught me what it was to ‘offer it up’. All we need to do is to ask Him to pour out His grace on our brothers and sisters and to offer up our pain and illnesses, our disappointments as well as our joys for the sake of others. God loves us so much that He wants us to share in His loving sacrifice of His Cross. The instrument of His Love and grace, His peace and life in us. The mystery of his Most Sacred Heart.

If this sounds like Greek to you, I’m available to explain further. Just let me know, ok! Meanwhile enjoy this from  ‘The Father’s tale’.

It struck me recently that God wrote a large story in the lives of the people we read about in Scriptures, and it was usually for reasons beyond their understanding. He did so for several purposes, but one of them was to teach and illumine others who would not be born until thousands of years after the events. Is it possible that He is ‘writing’ our lives as well, for purposes we cannot begin to understand, and perhaps may never understand in our lifetimes? Our inexplicable sufferings, especially the blows of injustice, may be far more valuable to other souls than we can now guess. Thus the necessity of thanking Him for all our trials, adversity, unjust sufferings, because the fruit of these may be of incalculable worth, though hidden from our eyes.

Fiction, Uncategorized

Don Giulio


Don Giulio’s favourite


Tell my son’ said the body lying on the bed. The words spilled out with all the force she could muster ‘tell my son if you can, that I have cancer. That I will like to know how he is before I die’

Don Giulio stepped out of the clinic gate, a new responsibility on his shoulders. He was the chaplain of a prison in the south of Italy; a prison that housed many members of the Italian mafia. Including a boy, a young man of twenty – three. Of him, Don Giulio knew only two facts. That he was like the other mafias whose goal was power and only power; And, that he had a mother who was on her deathbed in Rome.

‘Things will sort themselves out’ he mused to himself, his over-rational self as he liked to call it. How best to communicate the message to the boy was his worry. ‘Tell my son…’ the dying woman had said. ‘Dear Holy Spirit of God’ Don Giulio prayed ‘may this son listen!’


The boy was weeping inside his whitewashed cell. ‘I have no mother’ he had screamed, banging the door in Don Giulio’s face. Yet, he was weeping. Don Giulio remained standing outside, listening to it. It was saying for the umpteenth time that the thread that connects man to the Good has not and will never be lost, whatever happens.

Footsteps. Sounds not of weeping. A prison warden with his keys dangling from his hips. Don Giulio beckoned to him and pointed to the door screen.

Now Don Giulio could see him. The boy without a mother was still crying.

‘You do have a mother’ Don Giulio maintained ‘How fortunate you are! Without her, you will not be a man’.

‘Yes, a man’ he said, as the young man’s bowed head jerked up and back down again. ‘You won’t be a man and much less, a mafia’.

And he stepped out of this other door, one less responsibility off his broad shoulders.

‘Now let the young man cry’ it said to him. There will be time for conversation later.

Little things, Musings

No strings attached

I didn’t think I will be posting anything this soon.

But K.L.Register liked my last post and I checked out her blog.

I found …..home, a place just like my parents’ house. things are connected together and yet apart. Six children are tearing the house apart with their games, screaming, laughing, fighting, crying and laughing. And this jumble of emotions is the source of peace for my parents. Because now when all but one have left home, my Ma is forever worrying. ‘What is going on with this one? Why hasn’t the other one called home for two weeks? How is this one’s husband doing’etc

And your question ‘ why do you write? has strengthened my days’ old resolution to write with no strings attached, not to care if I’m read or not; to read others’ when I can and not cos I hope they will read mine in return; to click ‘Like’ because I truly do and ‘follow’ because I believe… Of course it’s still a resolution and I am trying – I do hope to – put it into practice.

And what of the stories of Loss from Ideadibia and Mitch

Chuma, I didn’t think I could write a joke without speaking big grammar

Mitch, at first I thought hoped you were Mitch Albom. Imagine him liking my post … ha ha, I thought I said I was going to start writing with no strings attached. So much for resolutions. No sweat. I begin again and

I am trying – I do hope to – write and read others with no strings attached

One last line – so sorry for your loss Mitch and Chuma and everyone out there who has lost a dear one – that makes everyone in the world, I suppose. Well, everything happens for a reason though we may not see it.