January 21: Grey Morning, End of Life, Grace and Light

 Merton's year starts badly . . . 

The first morning of 1939 was a grey morning.  It was to turn out a grey year—very grey. But now a cold wind was blowing in off the sea, where I walked, among the white empty houses to the naked place where stands the church of St. Ignatius Martyr. The wind did something to help me to wake up, but it did not improve my temper much. The new year was beginning badly. 

I'm not a big believer in bad luck, and neither was Merton.  Just because a year starts out with, say, a violent insurrection in the United States Capitol Building doesn't mean that a nuclear apocalypse is on the horizon.  That's not how the universe works.  Bad luck is a human creation, used to explain a series of unfortunate events, to borrow a phrase from one of my daughter's favorite children's authors.

Yes, there was an insurrection.  But a week later, there were federal arrests and an impeachment.  And yesterday, a new President of the United States was sworn into office, and this one spoke of unity and healing in his inaugural address.  Plus, a young, amazing poet practically hijacked the entire ceremony with her inaugural poem.  

So, you see, even if a year begins with grey mornings, the sun will eventually break through.

Grey morning today.  I got a call about my sister Rose, who's in the hospital right now.  She has Down syndrome and has been suffering a series of grand mal seizures for about a week now.  The neurologist who is treating Rose informed my other sister (who is Rose's durable power of attorney) that seizures are not uncommon in a person with Trisomy 21 and Alzheimer's.  The doctor said something along the lines of seizures and Alzheimer's "starting at end of life."  

Now, I'm not sure what that means.  It could have been the neurologist's way of saying that there's not a whole lot he can do.  He is referring Rose to a pediatric neurologist, because she is tiny.  Certainly, the medications that Rose is taking aren't doing the trick.  Last night, she suffered another grand mal seizure when she was alone in her hospital room.

Rose is sleeping all day.  Not responding to people.  When my sister talks to her, Rose will open her eyes and look at her.  Then she goes right back to sleep.  Tonight, the nurse couldn't get her to take her anti-seizure meds.  Rose wouldn't wake up.

As I said, I don't believe in bad luck.  However, I am a firm believer in miracles.  I've benefitted from miracles in the past.  Right now, my sister Rose needs a miracle.  Her little body and brain have been through a lot.  I'm not sure how much more she can take.  

I don't have much more to add.  Rose is a gentle soul, full of love.  She deserves some grace and light.  

That's Saint Marty's hope tonight.