Amazing Grace

My mom absolutely hated the hymn “Amazing Grace”. For whatever reason, she just hated hearing it in church, and especially if more than one verse was sung. She said it was “Protestant” – whatever that meant in her mind. So we used to jokingly threaten we’d have it played at her funeral. She would tell us if we did that, she would come back and haunt us the rest of our lives.

A little background first – my dad comes from a Protestant family. They’re Congregational (you know, the pretty white churches usually on the town greens in most New England towns). When he and my mom got married, he converted for her (to become Catholic). I don’t think that went over well with his family (not that I ever noticed anything, just from my parents saying something when we were older).

And, the few times I’ve been in the Congregational church that most of that side of the family attends, it’s not hugely different than the Catholic mass. Sure, there’s none of the aerobics that goes on at Mass (stand, sit, kneel, stand, kneel, sit…) and they take Communion once a month (versus every Sunday if you’re a Catholic in good standing – unlike myself who is convinced that I will go up in flames since I haven’t been to confession since 1990). So, different, but not much.

When she died three years ago (March 25), my dad had to choose the readings and songs for her funeral mass (because it was so unexpected nothing (and I mean nothing) had been planned. I’m trying to get my dad to start thinking about what he would want, but that’s a whole different post). My mom’s boss had a daughter who was an opera singer and offered to sing at the mass, so the songs that my dad choose were beautiful (I shouldn’t make it sound like he made all the decisions – my brothers and I did get some input).

I lobbied hard for Amazing Grace. Why? Because it was such an emotional time I honestly wanted to see if she’d really carry through on her threat to come back and haunt us. Because to this day I am still having a hard time with how unexpected it was, and how much it hurt. And because part of me wants to have some proof there is a heaven, and God. You would think after 16 years of Catholic school (grammar, high and college) I’d be confident in that there is heaven and God, and everything else in the Baltimore Catechism. I’m not. I wish I could be. I envy my dad – he sincerely believes that my mom is in heaven and he’ll be with her someday.

I ended up getting the Ave Maria instead. At communion, I think. My memories of that whole week are pretty hazy.