The reason for my two-week abrogation of Ink Desk responsibilities is the direct inspiration of this re-inaugural post: the death of my paternal grandmother. In the days leading up to her death—blessed days of farewell—I wondered what sort of moods and thoughts would result from the whole. As always, the reality proved more incredible than I could have imagined.
 
Death came with such beauty, such dignity, such nobility, such love, such joy, and the words of St. Paul suddenly resonated more clearly with me than they ever had before: Death is swallowed up in victory. O death, where is thy victory? O death, where is thy sting?
 
When that dear lady slipped away, cradled in my grandfather’s arms, lifted up by the caressing hands of children and grandchildren, the Triumph of the Cross was relived on a personal scale. It was as if, for a mere moment, we saw the glory present in the midst of the pain, and the joyful embrace of God in that final, happy breath.
 
Grief is a complicated business, full of challenges, but with grace, and particularly with the virtue of hope, the faithful can do more than “cope”. We can be joyful—especially, in our case, with a healthy dose of gallows humor and a seemingly endless supply of beer and wine.

Now a dear great aunt has also returned home to die after a heroic battle with cancer and subsequently with leukemia. What else can I say of these—and so many others who have died with less preparation and less joy, except to repeat the words my grandfather spoke over the body of his beloved wife:
 
Lux aetérna lúceat eis, Dómine, cum sanctis tuis in aetérnum: quia pius es.
 
Réquiem aetérnam dona eis, Dómine: et lux perpétua lúceat eis.