I’ve spent a lot of time in prayer this past week. And I don’t just mean the nightly prayers Little Man and I say at bedtime. I have found myself finding a lot of time here and there to have a chat with the man upstairs. I really noticed it tonight during prayer time, when I asked Little Man if he had any special prayers, and he started talking to God like I do. Part of me thought of the line in the song “I’ve Been Watching You,” “He closed his little eyes, folded his little hands. Talked to God like he was talking to a friend.” And I realized that at 3 years old, Little Man was doing something it took me more than 3 decades to do.

As I’ve gotten older, I’ve fallen more into my religion. Last Lent, I made it a priority to say my Rosary daily (I’ve been an epic fail on it these past few months, not gonna lie). Once I had Little Man, I started saying our nightly prayers as part of his bedtime routine. And, as time has gone on, sometimes I find myself having a little conversation with the man upstairs. Some nights, I will find that Little Man has fallen asleep before I finish prayers, because I’ve just been carrying on a conversation for half an hour or more (I’ve found that I have actually fallen asleep at times, too! Oopsies!). But you know what, it has given me such a sense of relief, and a feeling that my problems are out of my hands, and with a higher power.

Now, I do take ownership of our troubles and mistakes, but invoking St. Joseph and St. Jude while we are looking for a home, asking Gramma up there to give me strength and guide me, Mary and Marie Martin to help me be a better wife and mother, just to name a few, it feels like I have a team on my side, as I navigate this crazy thing called life. And, through this conversing, I have become even more acutely aware of my own mortality, and I wonder what my children and grandchildren will pray to me for. The best part about this? You can have that conversation with your favourite relative who passed years ago, and walk away feeling closure, that they have given you the big hug or pat on the back, or whatever it is that you were looking for.

This weekend, we got together for a surprise 60th birthday party, and I was so insanely aware that the people we were with are in desperate need of a chat with the man upstairs. Seeing a family member who is struggling with his impending death, and the way the rest of the family acted, it was so sad and disappointing. Now, the last thing someone who is dying (no matter what their prognosis is for time left on this planet), the last thing that person needs is to hear loud whispers “Be sure to get pictures of X,” “Go over there so I can get some more pictures of the two of you together,” or the muffled (and not so muffled) crying of family members because they “can’t bear to see X this way.” I have seen this in the past, and as I see it now, I realize it is because so many people out there have lost their way from religion of any kind.

When you have an understanding of religion, you realize that death is not the end of the game, it is the start of a new chapter in life. Yes, you mourn the dead at a funeral/memorial/wake/Viking Burial at Sea (you get the point). But you also CELEBRATE LIFE! As a Catholic, I mourn and celebrate Jesus’ death every Sunday at mass. I mourn the loss of our saviour, but I also celebrate his death and his future coming. When a family member passes, yes, tears are shed. My family could be hired out as professional mourners for funerals, we cry at all the appropriate moments, and we laugh (a lot), as well. This is because we know that it is our final goodbye to a loved one, we also are preparing to meet that individual again, once we die.

So, when I watched these interactions, I could only shake my head and head over for a chat about the Deadpool shirt this family member was wearing. Yes, there were a few tears shed (and some popped into my eyes) when I passed on the gas gift card to help out with all of the treatment sessions coming up these next few weeks, but there was laughter over Deadpool, and how Little Man was ALMOST named Wade Wilson (I had him the day before Deadpool 2 came out, and Squatch and I LOVE the Deadpool films). We kept it light, and we didn’t draw overt attention to his illness and how his body was starting to fail. I saw light in his eyes for a few minutes as Squatch and I chatted with him. I saw that light later on when he was outside with his son, teaching him how to safely hold a sparkler and lighting it for him.

Where I saw light from him, I saw darkness and despair in others. It took everything in me not to go up to everyone and shake them, saying “He is still alive. He is still here with us. Get your shit together and stop mourning him already. Celebrate the fact that he was able to walk into the house. Celebrate him still being able to speak. Celebrate him helping his son with a sparkler for the first time.” You see, when you talk to the man upstairs, you focus on the celebration. You celebrate all of the little things, like how that 4 year old’s face lit up when his daddy lit the sparkler and it started going off, how proud he was to be with his daddy in that moment. You don’t focus on the bad, and the fact that cancer is eating away at his brain, and his speech sometimes slurs, and it gets harder and harder to walk. You note the negatives, and see what you can do to help out and be a strength in those moments of weakness. You carry on and bring the smiles and laughter.

And then, when you are home, or in the car, or just get a minute to yourself in the bathroom, you have that conversation with God. You talk. You yell. You scream. You cry. You curse that man upstairs for doing this to someone with so much life left. You beg and plead that his suffering be passed on to you. You let it all out in any way you want to. And you know what? You are still loved. You are not judged for the way you spoke to Him (Lord, I had some choice words when my Uncle who was a priest passed, and the were even worse when Gramma left us).

And you feel relief.

You feel his presence.

You feel his love.

You know that there is not a thing you could have done to prevent this, and there is nothing you can do now to make it any different.

You are shown the path to take; the things you can do to help. And you celebrate the fact that YOU are still here on this Earth, and that YOU can do something after the loved one is gone, and that YOU can make sure YOU are living your best life. And you remember this for the next time you are feeling helpless, and hopeless, and just plain beat down, and you don’t have anything left. And you one again turn your face to the man upstairs and have another talk.

And you realize, you don’t have to NEED something to talk to God, you don’t have to be helpless or hopeless.

You see that he is ALWAYS there. He is always listening. He is always watching. He is waiting to talk to you every moment of every day.