Witness

On Monday evening I attended a funeral mass at the Basilica of St. Mary in Wilmington. The mass was held for Alexandra Angelis Brigantti Abraham, the granddaughter of our neighbors, Carmen and Victor. Her birthday is September 9th. She would have been twenty-six years old on the day the mass was offered.

I never met Alex nor did I know her parents. Carmen and Victor are not close friends. Still, when Carmen told us about the mass, there was no hesitation…we would definitely attend. The mass was to be offered in Spanish.  I would be familiar with the rituals, being raised Catholic, but I wouldn’t understand a word that was said.

Sitting there, I understood the importance of being a witness. Not just showing up, but bringing my consciousness to the moment. I felt the importance of bringing my presence and full attention to the life being honored, the words being spoken and the rituals being performed.

To witness the passing of a life is to acknowledge that particular life mattered. However short, that life, her life, Alex’s life mattered. Her life is worthy of my presence and my attention, even if I didn’t understand a word that was sung or said.

It mattered to Carmen and Victor that we shared in their pain and sorrow.

And it mattered beyond that. Somehow, being there, carried a greater significance. I was a small but essential pulse joining others in honoring the sacred nature of Life Itself.

Humble yet again,
Paula