There are instances in life when we can explain things not through worldly logic or understanding, but only with the eyes of the heart, which look beyond this life to the next. In recording and sharing some of those instances, I hope that they will never be lost although they grow dim in my memory. May they forever glow brightly in my heart.
Msgr. Smyer was an aging priest when I first recall meeting him, and he pastored the flock of St. Mary's with a true servant's heart. A man who stood just over five feet tall, Msgr. embodied some of the gentleness, sweetness, and goodness of our heavenly Father. It was impossible to not instantly feel welcomed by him and his gentle demeanor. He had the most charming gap between his two front teeth which became visible when he gave his charming smile to those in conversation with him. He was 86 years old when he passed from this world, but he was a child at heart.
My connection with Msgr. was hard to put into words. He did not baptize or confirm me, and he was semi-retired by the time I was a parishioner at St. Mary's,involved in the high school youth program there. Yes, he celebrated many of the daily Masses I sometimes attended while in college just a few blocks away at Amarillo College.
I'm not sure at what point my mom and I realized that our shared birthday (February 24th) was just two days after his (February 22nd). I'm certainly not one to follow astrology and that whole bit, but I do think there can be a holy connection between people born in the same seasons, and I felt as if Msgr. and I were "kindred spirits" indeed. There was a sense that we had been old friends for a while, but we had no history to support it. I can't really explain why or how, but Msgr. Smyer was one of the most comfortable people I had ever been around, a sensitive soul whom I felt close to.
Msgr. had a wonderful capacity for remembering people, and he seemed to always remember me, frequently shaking my hand and commenting on my "cold hands" but warm heart. One Christmas he jokingly remarked "you need to get some gloves for this girl" to my parents with a twinkle in his eye. He seemed to be the one who needed to stay warm, for he was such a tiny fellow, but one year, someone gifted him with a black leather jacket. He wore it with pride and looked quite spiffy in it. Along with his shades, I believe that was the jacket he dawned when he posed for the comical "Men in Black" fundraising poster the parish printed and sold in order to raise money for the school.
He was a delight, willing to do what needed to be done, always with a sense of humor.
Sadly, in his final years, saying the Mass became a struggle for him as Alzheimer's disease began to take over. He had to have much assistance and would often lose his place or skip over (crucial) parts in the Mass. One of the most devastating results of that disease, I would think, is losing the capacity to offer what had been his life, what had been second nature to him. Eventually, he retired from his pastoral duties, and began living in assisted living.
It is important to note that I saw Msgr. only infrequently when I went back home to visit, and I knew his health was rapidly declining based on my parents' reports. Several months prior to his passing, they had mentioned he wasn't doing well, and so I made a point to offer prayers for him. Yet, as the subconscious mind will often take information we hear or see recently and weave them into a dream, I might admit that he had not been on my mind in the weeks leading up to his passing, neither had my parents made mention of him. That is how I know that what I experienced was not merely a trick of my subconscious.
In the morning of July 14th, 2007, I had a "dream" that Msgr. Smyer was in the chapel, the chapel where he would celebrate Mass, the chapel where the choir often held its rehearsals. I knew it was the chapel because it had the same smell, the same carpet, the same candles. And there he was, gap between the teeth and all. And he reached out to give me one of his hugs, as he told me that he was going away. I didn't understand where or why, I just remember hugging him back. And then he began literally slipping away, almost falling, but he kept reassuring me as he went.
The next day, I received a phone call from my mother who told me that Msgr. Smyer had died the evening before. As I began to tear up and think about not being able to say "goodbye" because I had been in Austin during his final days, I suddenly realized that he had said goodbye.
Coincidence? No. In the Church, we believe that God can allow this sort of thing to happen. The lines between heaven and earth are sometimes blurred, and we believe that if we are truly made up of body and soul, our soul can experience things from "the other side" so to speak. To call my experience a dream seems to negate the spiritual reality of it, I believe I saw Msgr. with my heart's eyes, not my head's mind or eyes.
I have shared this story with people at the risk of them thinking I "see ghosts" or
that I have an inflated view of myself to think that I am worthy of a visit by a soul on its way to its final journey to eternity. Why doesn't every soul get to make a final round visit to loved ones before flying to meet God? I do not know, but I am every thankful I was gifted with his visit when I was unable to visit. I do know that while on earth, in this "vale of tears", we are truly not alone, we are connected to the realm of saints who go before us in a very real way. May we pray for all souls and call upon their prayers so that we may join them one day eternally praising God. Amen.
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