The Mystery of Human Suffering

This past Sunday, after having served at two Masses at my parish, I had the great privilege to be bedside at the death of one of my friends. She had survived cancer, only to be cut down by an infection that ravaged her immune-compromised body.

She was unconscious every time I visited hospital, but I think I was able to bring some small comfort to her husband, who is one of my oldest and dearest friends. I cannot even imagine the toll on him and their family. Being at the bedside when she passed, however, was indeed a privilege, and a grace I will carry with me to the end of my days.

If there is one constant in the human experience, it is death. I do not wish to make light of this in any way; it is as difficult a thing to witness as it is inevitable. And the holes left behind when someone passes from this life cannot – and should not – be easily filled.

The act of dying is at least as intimate an act as that of being born. I was present for the birth of my children, and each of those moments was filled with wonder and grace – not to mention anxiety and, at least in the case of my firstborn, a certain sense of dread that I would prove to be an inadequate father.

As my friend slipped from this world, I prayed for her soul and I provided what comfort I could to her husband. And despite the crushing sorrow, I found a deep sense of grace and just the barest shadow of wonder. 

And afterwards, overcome by physical, emotional, and mental exhaustion, I fell into my couch at home for several hours with a purring, if confused, cat.

In your mercy, please pray for the soul of my friend.

So that was Sunday. Bright and early Monday morning, the layoffs in the tech industry finally caught up with me, and I am now unemployed. The severance package is good, so no complaints there. But of course, in any situation like this there is trepidation, anxiety, perhaps even fear at what the future may hold. I’m no spring chicken, and if my last unemployment bout was any indication, companies are not looking to hire middle-aged employees. I spent much of the day fighting off a tension headache threatening to become a migraine.

There is grace in this moment, even if I have not yet found it. All transitions like this come with the opportunity to reimagine and remake your career.

What I should have done upon receiving the news was immediately head outside for a long walk. But of course, this is exactly what I did not do. Instead, it was back to the couch, this time to nurse a headache, sans cat.

This morning, I am mindful of the admonition of Saint Benedict to dash your anxieties upon the Cross¹, and this I have done. After all these years, I am still amazed at how well that simple thing works for clearing the decks in my mind for action.

And what action? What comes next?

I have absolutely no idea, but I am confident that the Holy Spirit will provide some guidance in due course. I am allowing myself a day to mourn the loss of my job, and a rather longer time to mourn the death of my friend.

And whither then? I cannot say. 

1. The Saint mentions this in his Holy Rule twice: once in the prologue and once in Chapter 4 ¶ 50. I remember reading a commentary on the Rule once that talked about imagining doing this at the Crucifixion, flanked by the Blessed Virgin and Saint John.