Grandma Cries at Church...and I Know Why

Growing up, my cousins and I would all attend church with our grandparents.  We were your typical kids at Mass.  We'd poke, whisper, and squeeze each others hands so hard until it hurt during the Our Father.  Our parents would give us "the look", our grandfather would tap us on our heads and shake his head.  Grandma?  She cried.  Like clockwork.  We'd stand up, hold hands, start praying and there she went.

We're a family of criers.  I should mention that first.  We blame this on grandma, and our grandfather jokes that he is going to pay us to mourn at his funeral.  We cry at good-byes, hellos, good news, weddings, and funerals.  It's pretty much a domino effect.  When my cousins and I get together, and we knew something was going to be emotional, we'd avoid each other's eyes.  We now know enough that if one goes, we all go.  We're a family of criers.....except at Church. 

Even though it was like clockwork and the most predicted crying of our family, at Church was the only crying that belonged to grandma.  We had some guesses and she always told us she cried because she was happy, but still.  Grandma crying at Church belonged to her, and was a mystery to the rest of us.

I have always liked going to Church.  A cradle Catholic, I went through a stage questioning why I wanted to go to Church and decided for myself that I would be Catholic.  After that, I went religiously (pun intended) and celebrated every Mass.  I sang in choir, taught teens, volunteered.  Church was great.  I never cried at Church.  Who would do that?

When I became a parent, Church changed again for me.  It became important for us to attend every week because of the calm it brought.  Family life becomes stressful, and I found that the one hour I got to spend with Jesus was centering and calming.  I was able to bring my daughter to Church and share my faith with her.  We sing together. Church was still joyful, and I still didn't understand the crying thing.

The first miscarriage didn't change that.  After all, 1 in 4 women miscarry, and we conceived right away after.  I still went to Church every Sunday, praising God and thanking Him for the blessing of being pregnant.  I was grateful to be blessed with the second pregnancy and couldn't wait for the day to welcome baby into our lives.

Losing a baby in the second trimester hurts.  Especially when you cradle a very, very tiny human being and cry over the fact they were taken too soon.  Going to Church hurt at first.  Not because of some big revelation.  I cried because Church is where families go.  Lots of families.  Look around.  Church is a miscarriage nightmare.  Big families, babies, pregnant ladies.  I would cry through whole Masses.  I had no idea why grandma cried at Church.  She always said they were happy tears.  I was a mess.

Eventually, the hurt subsided.  I went to Mass every week, and it got a little easier not to cry through the whole thing.  Towards the end of my leave from work, I took my daughter to a daily Mass.  We were almost there when her little voice came from the back seat.

"Mama, you're going to cry at Church today and a lady is going to hug you.  It's going to be ok."  I responded with the typical off-hand "ok" mothers give their children when things randomly come out of their mouths.  We went to Mass, and I did cry.  And then, something did happen.  At the end of Mass, from the pew behind us, a very small women came up to me.  She stopped me and said, "Something is really hurting you and you really need a hug.  Everything will be ok."

Well, then came the tears.  I quickly explained why I was crying and was given another hug.  I looked down at my daughter who didn't seem the least bit surprised that a women we didn't know was hugging her mother.  She had known before Mass.  I don't know how, nor did I question her.  However, after that day, my crying at Mass quickly changed.

The following week I went to Mass and I felt more at peace.  Somehow, God was working in my life, even though I didn't know.  He had used my daughter in a way to meet me halfway.  When I looked around at Church, the babies and the children and the pregnant mothers stung, but didn't hurt.  I was able to sit through Mass and listen to the prayers, and the homily.  I prayed and sent up my gifts during consecration.  I stood to pray the Our Father.

And then it happened.

The tears came.  Not sad, hurting tears.  Not tears of resentment or pain.  I couldn't stop them and I had no control over them.  They weren't big weepy tears or sobbing tears.  My eyes leaked, literally, down my face.  And I was happy.  Truly happy.  Somehow, I had connected that the pain I had been experiencing was truly bigger than me.  That, at Mass, as I prayed, was the closest I could ever be to my children in heaven.  I don't even know if I could put it properly into words, but everything just goes away.  For a few fleeting minutes, on Earth, amongst the worst pain of losing a baby, surrounded by babies, I was, and still am, the happiest I can ever be.

So. So. Weird.

It passed (and still passes) quickly.  I found that I cry after communion now too, asking God to lead me on the path that will get me to Heaven to see my children again.  I fail....a  lot, and miserably at times too.  But every week I go back.  Every miscarriage it gets harder.  The pain becomes more real.  The tears come faster and I feel more and more connected to a world I cannot see, for a few moments, at every Mass.  I've become angry, and have had moments where stepping foot inside the Church is the last thing I want to do because I truly do not want to face God after the pain I've been in.

And I go back, every week.  And I cry, every week.  And I cry because I'm happy despite the pain.  Grandma learned long before me that she was connected to God during the Mass.  We all know parts of her life story, and we know what she has shared.  Do we know truly what she sees and how she feels the moment she starts crying?  Probably not.

But I know why Grandma cries at Church.  And one day, maybe my grandkids will watch me too and wonder why I cry.  And I'll tell them the same thing she told us.

Because I'm happy.