Coffee & Writing

by Miriam Kavanagh

A broken heart wanders in my apartment over Pope Francis’ exit from this world. Do not misunderstand me, I am grateful he is no longer in pain, I am over the moon that he has finally gone Home to see family, friends, brother priests, Our Lord, Our Father, the Holy Spirit, and Our Blessed Mother, whom he cherished so very much.

My best friend said she would support me in my mourning but could not understand why I was so sad. My eyes nearly popped out of my head.  I thought, “You mean, you’re not?” How could someone not be devastated over the loss of not just a great pope but a wonderful human being? It didn’t click with me. I respected her in her reaction but could not understand it, just as she could not understand my reaction.

I will not wear sackcloth and ashes like they did during Biblical times. I will go about the day, feeding the cat with the continual thought about cleaning out her litter box, not doing the dishes but with every intent to do so, not making the bed, watching “Doctor Who,” dying with curiosity to know my final grade in philosophy, preparing for a mental health support group I lead, and all the other stuff I normally do.

But what do I do with all of this sadness? My best friend had me wondering if it was even okay to be this sad, so I asked a dear friend who is a priest. He wrote, “In sadness there is gratitude also. ‘Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted.’” I suddenly felt better about my sadness.

I’m not worried about Pope Francis dying, it could be any pope. I am always nervous when a pope dies and the Chair of St. Peter is left empty. It makes me think with God’s representative on Earth gone it gives the devil more room to play.

Pope Francis praying in front of a relic of the Chair of St. Peter, supposedly the chair of the first pope, St. Peter the Apostle. It represents all popes. Now the Chair is empty.

When Pope John Paul II died in 2005, this disturbed me so much that my mental illness shot through my body like lightning. It was a terrible time. My epilepsy even got worse. I was unable to work.

When the leader of a religion of 1.4 billion people dies, it’s scary, it’s like your security blanket is gone.

The best I can do is rely on what Pope Francis believed was most important love and mercy. Two things you cannot go wrong with.