Hello there, dear readers, and God bless you!
I meant to post something about our St. Patty's Day party two weeks ago, and also about the recent tragic loss of a young man who may not be as famous as Ireland's patron, but who was a brave victim soul in his short life and is probably up there shooting the breeze with St. Patrick himself as I write this...but such is the state of my blog these days. Well, better late than never, I guess.
Ever since we moved down to VA back in 2017, we have had a yearly St. Patrick's Day party at our house, on or close to March 17, for the sons and their families who live near us here. (For the first four years that we were Virginians, that was 4 out of 5 sons; these days, we still have 3 out of 5 living close by, and with 14 kids between them that still makes for a rockin' celebration of Ireland's patron saint.) There was just one year, 2020, when we cancelled our St. Patty's shindig, regretfully...because of all the dire warnings in the news about a novel, deadly virus spreading around the world. The night of the scheduled party was going to fall within that timeframe they called the "two weeks to flatten the curve," when supposedly having 10 or more healthy people gathered in a house together could be a life-threatening situation for all. GRRRRR.
Anyway, enough of dredging up those bad memories!
We almost canceled our party this year, too, because on March 12, the beloved 19-year-old nephew of our daughter-in-law Ginger (who is married to son #2) lost his heroic 19-month battle with brain cancer. (More about this extraordinary young man in a bit.) With her family in mourning, I wasn't sure it was appropriate to have a Pearl family party just days later on March 15. But when we asked son #2 if we should cancel, he wanted us to go ahead with it, saying that his five sons could use a diversion and his wife could use a few hours to herself to deal with things. The funeral had been scheduled for March 19, the feast of St. Joseph, and there was a lot to do to get ready for that. So he and his boys came, along with sons #3 and #4 and their gangs. And a great time was had by all, as always.
Our boys have lots of Irish blood in them. Their dad's side is almost 100% Irish. We've got a bit o' Celtic blood in us on my side, too; however, we're more of a mix--more British than Irish, with a few other European nationalities thrown in there for good measure. But the whole extended Pearl clan is crazy about all things Irish--including, of course, Notre Dame's football team--and we love to celebrate with the wearing o' the green and all that good stuff.
I made corned beef and cabbage for our party, but we had chicken nuggets and French fries on hand, too, for the young'uns who aren't into that sort of fare. The bar was serving Irish mules for the adults (ginger beer and lime juice, with Jameson's Irish whiskey in place of the usual vodka or bourbon). For dessert, there were plenty of options: iced shortbread cookies shaped like shamrocks, mini cupcakes, and a brownie trifle that had cream layers laced with a splash of Bailey's (an experiment that met with mixed reviews). And of course, we had lots of tacky St. Patty's party favors for all the wee lads and lasses.
It's always so much fun (crazy, but fun!) to get the grandchildren together. Not to mention our boys and their wives. I can honestly say that my own people are my favorite party guests. They're just such a joy to be around. They're the sweetest people I know, the smartest, the funniest--and I not only love them to the moon and back, I LIKE them. A lot!
So on that beautiful Sunday afternoon we enjoyed a family party for one of my favorite canonized saints (and I have more pictures to share, which I'll save for a future post). Good times, good times. But life is indeed a series of peaks and valleys, of great joys and unbearable sadnesses. Such is the human condition, as painful as that is to accept sometimes. For within four days of this happy celebration, we were attending the funeral Mass of our daughter-in-law's saintly nephew, a young man of inspiring faith who had suffered with incredible grace and courage, so terribly and for such a long time, and whose short but extraordinary life has undoubtedly brought many souls closer to God. Now I have a new favorite saint--not a canonized one (not yet, anyway), but a person whom I can't imagine being anywhere else now but in Heaven with Our Lord, to whom he'd wholeheartedly dedicated his life.
His name was Christian, and I can't think of a more fitting name for this beautiful soul. Christian Spicer. He was the oldest son of our daughter-in-law's oldest brother. He has two younger brothers.
Raised a strong practicing Catholic in a close-knit family, Christian suddenly took his faith to the next level in 2022-2023, when he was about 16-and-a-half. His soul was absolutely set on fire with love for God and a burning desire to learn all he could about the Truth, with a capital T, of the Catholic Faith. He began spending hours in Eucharistic adoration and at daily Mass, started going to Confession very frequently, and encouraged his friends and family to go along with him. He thought he might have a vocation to the priesthood. Either that, or he said that perhaps he would be a "Catholic evangelist." This endearing boy began evangelizing whenever and wherever he could--everywhere, even with the woman who cut his hair. He was a joyful and enthusiastic warrior for Christ. As his family says now, it was as if God was preparing Christian for the epic battle He had in store for him. Because in early 2024, Christian began showing signs of illness. He was unable to eat and lost an alarming amount of weight. His parents kept taking him to doctors, knowing something wasn't right, and eventually, his problem was misdiagnosed as a serious eating disorder (although Christian never thought he had one). He coded at the hospital and was resuscitated and intubated, and from that time on, he was paralyzed--but fully aware of all that was happening. Finally, at the end of the summer, he was properly diagnosed, but the prognosis was grim: he had an aggressive type of cancer on his brain stem. Without surgery, he was told, he would surely die, and the surgery itself might kill him; and if he did survive the procedure, he would probably be left with serious disabilities. Christian was 18, so the decision was his to make. He decided that he wanted to go ahead with the surgery. His grandfather recounted this story at the reception following his funeral Mass and burial on March 19: A priest visited Christian in the hospital before his surgery. This priest was former military, and he told Christian that he was going into a "hot zone" (which in the military means a place where there's going to be enemy fire and imminent danger of death). He gave Christian a Rosary and said, "This will be your weapon." Then he asked Christian if he was willing to offer up all of his sufferings to come, in union with Christ's suffering on the Cross, for souls in need. And he said that he was.
That right there...that pretty much tells you all you need to know about Christian. And it answers the question, "Why him, God?" Why? I think because God knew that he was no ordinary boy; God knew that he was destined for greatness.
After his surgery, Christian would never eat or drink again, except through a feeding tube. A boy who had always been a chatterbox, he would never speak again because of the trach he needed to assist with his breathing. He would never move or walk again. After about two months of treatments in the hospital, he would spend the rest of his life (almost a year-and-a-half) on palliative care at home, in a hospital bed, being lovingly cared for by his utterly amazing parents. His mother became so proficient at tending to all of her beloved son's needs that his dad said she was like a trained ICU nurse. His large group of devoted friends, former classmates at his Catholic high school, visited constantly, throughout his illness and right up until the end. They played music for him, read to him, talked to him, prayed Rosaries at his bedside. Our daughter-in-law, his godmother, brought him Holy Communion almost daily (he could take only tiny particles of the Host), and she sat and talked to him for hours, even when he could no longer communicate with even eye blinks or other minor facial expressions. She asked him once if the Blessed Mother was comforting him in his suffering, and he was able to express that yes, She was. Priests visited and gave him blessings. The bishop visited--more than once! And so touched by this boy was the bishop that when he heard that Christian had passed away, he called Christian's parents and said that he was planning to go to the funeral anyway; would they like him to celebrate the Mass?
The wake the night before was like nothing I've ever seen. So many people came to pay their respects, and to pray beside the body of a young man who was likened to St. Carlo Acutis by a healing priest who'd spent a lot of time with Christian during his months of suffering. Christian's mother even said to a friend at one point that she didn't know half of the people who were there. And the next day was more of the same. The church where the funeral Mass was celebrated seats 1,200, and if it wasn't completely full, it was certainly close to capacity. Obviously, Christian had touched the hearts of so many people! The bishop was the main celebrant, but 11 other priests concelebrated the Mass with him. The bishop gave a glorious tribute to Christian in his homily. Before the service began, our daughter-in-law gave a 10-minute eulogy that was heartbreakingly beautiful. Listening to these testimonies about the deep faith of this young man who died just shy of his 20th birthday (I had heard many of the details already, but learned so much more that day), I have been inspired to grow stronger in my own faith, to spend more time in prayer and adoration, to be as ready to meet my Maker as I feel confident that Christian was.
On his death certificate, Christian's parents had to list an occupation, since he was over 18 years old. They wrote, "Catholic evangelist." Some might think that he died before he was able to play that role to the fullest; I contend that he'd already brought many folks back to the One True Faith or inspired them to grow deeper in their faith, before his death; and I feel confident that after death, he is still evangelizing from where he is now. My husband and I will never quit praying for his devastated parents and other grieving relatives, and we will never quit praying for his soul (in case he is in need of our prayers); but I also intend to pray TO him. He may never be officially canonized; but I believe he is a saint.
I thought I'd share this comforting image of Christian in the arms of Jesus, which one of his aunts had made in order to explain to her young children what had happened to their cousin.
I imagine this is where Christian is now. And he is whole, and healthy, and happy. And chatting away non-stop with Our Lord and Our Lady and all the saints in Heaven. His suffering is over, thanks be to God. It’s the family he left behind here in the Valley of Tears, his parents in particular, who must endure the pain of missing him for the rest of their days. So if you’re reading this, please, please keep them in your prayers.
St. Patrick, pray for us!
St. Christian Spicer, pray for us!
