A Break

I heard Mass this morning; to-morrow morning, however, after stopping off to pay my respects at my father's grave (it being the third anniversary of his death - do spare a prayer, gentle reader, for him), I will be driving south to the Tasman Peninsula for a few days' break. The weather forecast is not promising, unfortunately.

Malum Cydonium: In Memoriam

In memory of Dad, I did what I hardly ever do – some gardening.  Having purchased a quince sapling the other day, to-day I planted it: Cydonia oblonga, var. Smyrna.  A quince, of course, is called in Latin "Cydonian apple".  Quinces are a favourite fruit of mine, for their aroma and taste... and Dad did love gardening.

Commendatory Prayer

The 1662 B.C.P. contains this very apt prayer for the dead – or so I read this "commendatory Prayer for a sick person at the point of departure", from the Order for the Visitation of the Sick.  Really, it teaches the doctrine of purgatory admirably: "that whatsoever defilements... being purged and done away", the soul of the departing person "may be presented pure and without spot before" God, Whom we supplicate to "Wash it... in the blood of that immaculate Lamb, that was slain to take away the sins of the world".  (Its last sentence is also a sober instruction for mourners.)  From this prayer I love to quote the words about "this miserable and naughty world": here "naughty" has its original, fuller, stronger sense of "bad and evil".

O ALMIGHTY God, with whom do live the spirits of just men made perfect, after they are delivered from their earthly prisons: We humbly commend the soul of this thy servant, our dear brother, into thy hands, as into the hands of a faithful Creator, and most merciful Saviour; most humbly beseeching thee, that it may be precious in thy sight. Wash it, we pray thee, in the blood of that immaculate Lamb, that was slain to take away the sins of the world; that whatsoever defilements it may have contracted in the midst of this miserable and naughty world, through the lusts of the flesh, or the wiles of Satan, being purged and done away, it may be presented pure and without spot before thee. And teach us who survive, in this and other like daily spectacles of mortality, to see how frail and uncertain our own condition is; and so to number our days, that we may seriously apply our hearts to that holy and heavenly wisdom, whilst we live here, which may in the end bring us to life everlasting, through the merits of Jesus Christ thine only Son our Lord. Amen.

For Dad, his withered body had become indeed an unhappy tumbledown prison; may his soul find mercy, that – laved in Christ's precious Blood, cleansed of all spots incurred through human frailty – he may rest in peace.

(The photograph is the last one I have of him, from his 84th birthday just a week or so ago.)

Dad's Funeral

Please pray with and for me and my family as we attend my father Keith's funeral to-day.

In paradisum deducant te Angeli: in tuo adventu suscipiant te Martyres, et perducant te in civitatem sanctam Jerusalem.  Chorus Angelorum te suscipiat, et cum Lazaro quondam paupere æternam habeas requiem.

May the angels lead thee into paradise: may the martyrs receive thee at thy coming, and lead thee into the holy city of Jerusalem.  May the choir of angels receive thee, and with Lazarus, who once was poor, mayest thou have eternal rest.

Death of My Father

Of your charity, please pray for the repose of the soul of my father, Keith, who died at 11:30 this morning, the 1st of October 2010.  Please remember also my mother and family in your prayers.

Absolve, we beg, Lord, the soul of Thy servant Keith, that being dead to the world he may live to Thee: and the faults which by the frailty of the flesh he hath committed in human life, Thou wipe away of Thy most merciful pity.  Through Christ our Lord.  Amen.

O God, Whose property it is ever to have mercy and to spare, bowing down we graciously pray Thee for the soul of Thy servant Keith, whom to-day Thou hast commanded to pass from this world: that Thou wouldst not hand him over into the hands of the enemy, neither wouldst Thou forget him for ever, but command him to be received by the holy Angels, and led to the homeland of paradise; that, since he hath hoped and believed in Thee, he may not endure the pains of hell, but may possess eternal joys.  Through Christ our Lord.  Amen.

O God, Who hast commanded us to honour our father and mother: in Thy loving kindness have mercy on the soul of my father, and forgive him his sins; and bring me to see him in the joy of eternal glory.  Through Christ our Lord.  Amen.

"The Lord grant unto him to find mercy of the Lord in that day"
— II Tim. i, 18a.

Mucking Out

I now know how Hercules felt about the Augean stables – I had to get up on a teetering ladder, itself atop a balcony about two storeys in the air, in order to clear out the spouting, full of stinky foul leaves and twigs from the adjacent jacaranda tree.  The down pipe itself was blocked up, and so the spouting had a most putrid odour, no doubt produced by a slimy microbial slurry infesting the watery mess.  There were even two full-grown weeds growing hydroponically!

After scooping out three buckets' worth of slops, I managed at last to get a hose up from the garden below, and blast out the remaining direful detritus, unblocking the downpipe.  All that remained to do was to go down to the drain underneath, unblock that too (providing the garden bed with rich fertiliser indeed, not dissimilar from ordure by smell at least), and then have a good shower and scrub, leaving my clothes in the laundry for a thorough washing.  Only after scrubbing my hands with several different solutions did the appalling whiff of horse-dung finally seem to depart.

This was the sort of unlovely job that Dad always did, but he's far too far gone to do anything anymore.

Earlier to-day, the extended family had all gone out to visit my aged father for his 84th birthday at the nursing home.  Poor Dad! he was hardly able to speak, smile, eat, drink, or even just keep awake.  Parkinsons disease is vile.  Please pray for him in his misery.

For tea to-night I consoled myself with a pot of paté spread on bread.  I think I'll now go grab a beer too...

Much earlier, this morning, I had been at Mass at the Church of the Apostles, and then went to Confession afterwards as is my Saturday custom.  It was nice to hear Mass in honour of Our Lady on Saturday; the celebrant was notably pious, and even used the Roman Canon.  I feel so much better for having also been to Mass yester-day (when I brought along my old Missal, and read the prayers of the Mass of the Stigmata of St Francis).  

Receiving Holy Communion daily is an inestimable blessing, even the greatest benefit I reckon.  I recall one convert explaining that he had read in the Acts of the Apostles that the first Christians met daily for "the breaking of bread", and that he therefore sought out whatsoever church still did so – hence his becoming a Catholic.

Just some random thoughts.

10th after Pentecost - Hobart Missa Cantata

This afternoon I'm off to Hobart; and will sing at Mass there to-morrow, for the 10th Sunday after Pentecost, Cum clamarem.

(Some may wonder why I've not been blogging much of late: well, Dad is still in hospital, waiting for a place in a nursing home, and we all visit him most days.  This has been very tiring and upsetting, as he is very weak and often confused.)

Update

My father has been in hospital since Monday; he is lucid now, but frail, bed-bound, and so forth: the medical advice is that he go into a nursing home, since he cannot be looked after by one person at home any longer.  In a strange way, now the difficult decision is taken out of our hands, this comes as a certain relief from worry: he will be cared for and kept safe from harm.

It has been a tiring and trying week.

(Many, many thanks for the kind emails sent me about this family crisis.)

Sufficient for the Day is the Evil Thereof

After consolation, tribulation: I have but returned home, and crisis strikes – my father, who is elderly and suffering from Parkinson's dementia, has had another fall, his fifth, hitting his head again, and being no longer in his right mind, has had to be admitted to hospital.

Our family gathered at his bedside for most of the day; it is likely he will have to go into a nursing home, since it is no longer safe for him to be by himself, nor can we care for him adequately.  Mum was talking of how, when he and she bought the family home and moved in some 39 years ago, they little imagined that this would be their parting, to-day, the 14th of June.

It was awful to see him raving and lost, not knowing where he was and hallucinating, having to be restrained.

Of your charity, please pray for my father, for my family, and for the doctors and nurses treating him – not least for the paramedics, who had to come and take him to hospital at 2am this morning.

Diagnosis

Do not go gentle into that long night:

Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

– Dylan Thomas

Keith, my elderly father (who will soon turn 83), has just been diagnosed with Parkinson's Dementia Complex, which essentially means that his aphasia, forgetfulness and motor skills will continue to decline more and more, until he no longer recognizes even us his family.

Dad has been a kindly bloke and a loving father, but withal one of that generation that never much shared feelings or inner thoughts. Especially as he is not a Catholic nor a church-going man, I would respectfully ask for all to join me in praying for him; for him I have said often the Memorare:

Memorare, O piissima Virgo Maria, non esse auditum a sæculo, quemquam ad tua currentem præsida, tua implorantem auxilia, tua petentem suffragia, esse derelictum. Ego tali animatus confidentia ad te, Virgo virginum, Mater, curro, ad te venio, coram te gemens peccator assisto. Noli, Mater Verbi, verba mea despicere, sed audi propitia et exaudi. Amen.

Remember, O most gracious Virgin Mary, that never was it known that anyone who fled to thy protection, implored thy help, or sought thy intercession, was left unaided. Inspired by this confidence, I fly to thee, O Virgin of virgins, my mother; to thee do I come; before thee I stand, sinful and sorrowful. O Mother of the Word Incarnate, despise not my petitions, but in thy mercy hear and answer me. Amen.

"Albert isn't here any more"

I always remember on St Albert's day an elegaic sermon preached by Fr Hilary, O.P., in which he reflected on the sadness of old age - for, as he told us, St Albert lived a great long life, became the wonder of his age for his prodigious learning in all spheres of knowledge, and yet, at the end, suffered the intellectual decline wrought by extreme old age, to the extent that, when a friar knocked at his cell asking for Master Albert, the saint replied "Albert isn't here any more".

I have been thinking on this because my own father is now in his eighties, having had a number of bouts of cancer, and only to-day Mum texted me that he'd suffered a fall, though praise God he seems alright.  His increasing ill-health and frailty is an important factor in my decision to move back to Tasmania for work; I think, and my sister also agrees, that I need to be closer at hand.

As my namesake Jesus son of Sirach says (Ecclus iii, 14f):

Son, support the old age of thy father, and grieve him not in his life; and if his understanding fail, have patience with him, and despise him not when thou art in thy strength: for the relieving of the father shall not be forgotten.

Dad when younger was always interested in learning, but nowadays he searches for the words he needs and doesn't always find them.  While his general health remains strong, I have a foreboding that all is not right; and my concern for Dad is especially that he's not a churchgoer, and so I worry that he needs to compose and settle his affairs with the Lord before much longer, as must we all.

I think the connexion with the Collect of St Albertus Magnus is clear enough:

Deus, qui beatum Albertum Pontificem tuum atque Doctorem, in humana sapientia divinæ fidei subjicienda magnum effecisti: da nobis, quæsumus, ita eius magisterii inhærere vestigiis, ut luce perfecta fruamur in cælis. Per...

(God, Who didst make blessed Albert Thy Pontiff and Doctor to be great in subjecting human wisdom to divine faith, give unto us, we beseech, so to inhere to the imprints of his magisterium, that we may enjoy perfect light in the heavens.  Through...)