Jesus, she fell asleep in hope as did Nature before the cold winter.
Jesus, rouse her when the thorns of the earth are clothed in the light of eternity.
Those lines are from the Eastern Orthodox Christian "Akathist to Jesus Christ for a Loved One who has Fallen Asleep." They are just a couple of many beautiful phrases and divine petitions contained within this ancient form of poetic prayer, one I have repeated daily for the past 40 days since my mother passed away.
And as a believer, those words are true as both art and statement of faith; so, to me, are the others spread throughout the Akathist's 2,400 words and 13 Kontakions (a thematic hymn form dating back to Byzantium and the 6th Century). Believe it or not, at "only" 13, it is on the short side among the many akathists preserved by the Ancient Church.
This was my second cycle of this Akathist this year. My father, Robert Sr., died at 96 years old; we buried him in late March. My mother, Katherine, 91, died in late June, a little more than three months after Dad passed, holding hands with her as they both slept at the Cheney Care Center, outside Spokane, Washington.
Their passings, however anticipated, have been bittersweet for me. Stroke-induced dementia in my Dad's case, and the final stages of Alzheimer's disease, in my Mom's situation, combined with the physical frailties of extreme old age to rob them of not just memory and then awareness, but left them in pain that only increasingly strong medications could ease.
I mourn them, and I celebrate their release -- and the emptiness within my heart wrestles daily with the relief I feel for the end to their sufferings, and the hope we shared as a family in Christ.
Now, having completed the Akathist for my Mom last night, it is the emptiness that has once more opened like a raw, bleeding wound. It's difficult to explain, unless you have prayed for your dead, but during those 40 days of reaching beyond this material world into the next, there was a . . . connection.
Call it a confirmation of another line from the Akathist: Jesus, union of love placed between those who have fallen asleep and those among the living.
For the past nearly seven weeks, I've had that connection. It has been both a time of souls embracing across the abyss, and a prolonged, inexplicably sweet goodbye.
Now, memories will have to do. For Mom, they will be bolstered in the telling, shared with family and friends on August 22, when her remains join those of my father, buried at Fairmont Memorial Park outside Spokane. Then we will hug each other, linger, and leave, our lives continuing . . . for a while.
Until, Mom and Dad, we meet again.
Lovely, Dad.
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