A day of tears,

I should be very happy today, i have a wonderful son who has an excellent opportunity. I should be able to say to myself, he will be okay, you have done your job well as a Mom, there is nothing left of your to do. But i don't feel done with that job.

I grew up a cradle catholic, what that means, is i was baptized as an infant.I was welcomed into the family of the Christ. The matriarch of our family was my Grandma Agnes, aka the first female pope Agnes.My great memory of her is she could really cook, and my mom was scared to death of disappointing her. So every Sunday we were put in our Sunday best clothes and we would go to mass. Even though i went to a Catholic school, i really didn't know what was going on, why it was important nor could i make a connection. In the world of mothers at home, my mom worked tuesday through saturday. So Sunday was the day we could get groceries, make a meal and relax. Now if you remember the Bible, Sunday is a day of rest. So she was already disappointing my Grandmother. Now my grandfather was so excited to be a grandfather, he loved me, had time for me, and thought everything i did was enchanting. He was an usher at the church. I actually remember  mass in latin, then everything got turned around, and in english.

In the tradition of the day we wore pristine white dresses with veils to receive our first communion.I really don't remember being education or supported or really even being aware enough to consent and understand that catholic tradition of the Blessed Sacrament.

The sacrament of confirmation , you received it in the 8th grade, i do recall being educated about it in a certain sense, you had to choose a favorite saint  as your confirmation name. Btw, my confirmation name is  Helen.As soon as i learned to drive, i learned to lie to my mom, i would take my brother and run him in to get the bulletin and we would drag main street for an hour. During high school, Mom forced us to attend a teenage meeting which for some reason, they had the meeting in my  8th grade history room. Not really my thing, if you get my drift.

During my high school, i had to drive my grandma to the local nursing home to check on my grandfather, he had a stroke, my grandmother who raised her family during the depression, now had to sell her house, well she sold it to her son, and live only on social security. And then he died. A hard thing to  accept, the only person that was in my corner,  and then he was gone. And because of the times of the day, or maybe my cultural heritage , there was no discussion of the pain, suffering, and only vague discussion of heaven and the afterlife.

So to recap, i didn't know much about my faith, i was told constantly i was a disappointment  and that i was going to hell if i didn't change my way, its no wonder i walked away from my faith.