Today is the 2nd anniversary of my husband Anthony's death. It hasn't gotten much easier. Oh, the mind-numbing grief has waned, but I haven't gotten used to him being gone. No way. Does that ever happen I wonder? Just last week while in New Jersey presenting at a women's conference, I had the overwhelming urge to call him and share with him about the events of the day. ZING!
Anthony was a rock for me. He gave me support, a sense of security and stability, masculine protection. His strong arms and loving heart were safe shelters for me no matter what. And I sought them many times in our life together, thousands really.
I never worried about things when Anthony was alive. He inspired confidence. Everything could be falling apart in our lives but, if he was with me, I knew all would be well. It never occurred to me that it wouldn't.
He was a great provider, father, husband. Not that he was always easy to live with -- he wasn't. But then, neither was I. God worked through all of that, however. When we recommitted ourselves to Him, He used our natural tendencies toward external combustion to be the fire that tempered each other. We were, in a sense, each other's crucible. And I think our marriage took on the luster of fire-tried gold.
With Anthony's death, I lost half of my memory. He was the one who could recall names, dates, and events quickly and with amazing accuracy. He had near perfect recall. While I would stumble with descriptives ("Oh Anthony, you know who I mean. His grandmother was Mrs. Popovich and he had the sister with the curly hair who drove that old GTO. His dad worked at ET and his mother always baked cakes for the church bazaar -- the ones with that yummy chocoloate icing. He married the oldest Kuzma girl and they had that little boy who became the paper boy over on Milligan. You know who I mean, right?" ), he did no such thing. He always remembered. "George Tomka, Johnnette. George Tomka."
That was Anthony and his recall. Amazing. He would dazzle crowds at business seminars and conventions when he would go around an entire room of people and tick off the names of every person there -- whether he had met them before the evening began or not. Generally, he could name their spouses, children, and dogs, too! He had a memory like a steel trap.
Long before Anthony was diagnosed with terminal brain cancer, he used to say to me, "When I die, Johnnette, you'll see what it takes to run a house." And, he was right! YIKES! This has been an amazing discovery. Though Anthony always involved me in the finances, the bill paying, and the general maintenance of the house, my efforts were ancillary to his. I have discovered how much time it takes to manage a home and all that goes into the proper running and functioning of a household. In moments of near exasperation, I picture Anthony chuckling behind his hand as he watches me from heavenly bliss. I think he's loving it and getting quite a kick out of it! He certainly has gotten the last laugh on that one.
Anthony had a holy death. We held vigil for three days. He was never alone. We prayed with him. Sang to him. Held him. Loved him. And, when he took that last breath, I breathed it with him. He blessed me and I pray I blessed him, too. He rests now beside our sweet son, Simon, who died three years before his dad. Even though I know it is only their bodies lying there, I draw comfort from the fact that they are together. I pray they are together in eternity as well.
Some things don't die, however. Love is the primary example of that. Because God is love, love is eternal, without end, infinite. In God, our dearly departed loved ones are with us. And we are with them. I think of this reality at the Consecration. I wrote a poem to my son 21 months after his death. In it I spoke about this eternal moment that takes place at every Mass:
We are part of the Mystical Body
the One that transcends time and place,
seasons and space.
We are part of the Mystical Body
that unites
and heals,
makes new
and reveals
the Love that always was, and is, and always will be
the One who gave all for you and me.
In those moments, so many moments, when Host
is elevated,
And Spirit drawn down,
When I gaze upon
Jesus, made present in time,
then I see you,
my son,
hidden in Him,
a sign of what is to be.
You are not dead, my son, not really.
You live in Him
through the fruit of the Cross
that Tree of Redemption that calls us forth
from our conception
to be One with Him,
and with each other – sister, brother,
mother, son.
Until each of our salvations is won.
I love you, my son, and love is forever.
In Christ we are always together.
No separation.
United, you see, in Him, now and for eternity.
Truly, in Christ we are united with our deceased family members. This is the communion of saints.
My dear Anthony, I love you. Pray for me.
Eternal rest grant unto him, O Lord, and may the perpetual light shine upon him. May his soul and the souls of all the faithful departed rest in peace. Amen.
For an inspiring video interview that Johnnette conducted with her husband, Anthony, on her EWTN television program THE ABUNDANT LIFE, go to www.anthonybenkovic.com. There is also a great radio program about Anthony's reversion to the faith available on the website as well.
