The most wondrous thing just happened!

The day before my father’s death, I spent some time alone with him, talking to him and saying prayers.  I said a Rosary and a Divine Mercy chaplet.  Before I began, I took my second rosary, a little knotted-cord one, and I placed it beneath Dad’s hand.  I decided to leave it there, in case it might offer him some solace.

Later, my mom noticed it.  She asked if I wanted Dad to be buried with it.  I hadn’t really thought about it, but I decided I would like that.  Somehow, it comforted me to think that he would have something that belonged to me, and that I could send something of mine with him.

The next morning, however, after Dad had passed away and the hospice nurses had seen to his body, the rosary was nowhere to be found.  I searched for it everywhere, thinking it had gotten laid aside somewhere in the room by the nurses.  I really wanted it to stay with Dad.  Plus, I didn’t want any harm to come to it, since it was a blessed sacramental.  But I searched to no avail.  And of course, I had much more important and weighty things on my mind, entering into this strange and sorrowful new world without Dad.

It’s been almost a year now since that cold, grey morning–astonishing to think!  I can tell that the second year is going to be much more difficult and more painful.  My loss has begun to sink into me more deeply.  My dad has been even more on my mind than before.  And my tears are running more easily and profusely.  Sometimes unexpectedly.

Well, this evening, I was looking for something.  Something completely common and unimportant.  I picked up my duffel bag that I carry around all the time.  I opened the side zipper.  I found what I was looking for.

I also found something I wasn’t looking for, and indeed something I thought I would never see again–my knotted-cord rosary!

I couldn’t believe my eyes.  But there it was, just sitting there.  I picked it up and held it, and the biggest wave of pure joy swept over me!  I held it tight in my hand–the same rosary that had rested in my dad’s hand.  It was almost as good as holding Dad’s hand myself.  And I just thanked God for giving that back to me–not only the rosary itself, but that sense of closeness with my dad that I’ve been missing so much!

After I got over my bewilderment, I brought the rosary back to my chair and prayed with it.  And now it’s back safe and sound where it always used to be, on top of my bookcase, together with my other rosary and prayer books, my bible and missal, and my framed photo of Dad.

Such a small thing… but my life and my living space seem a little bit more the way they ought to be.