When I first began attending Assumption regularly, I didn't know very many of the parishioners. I had met the priest, and there was a family down our street that attended regularly, but for the most part, in the beginning it was just me and maybe one or both of my littles when I could get them up early on a Sunday.
I am a creature of habit by nature and so immediately, I found a spot where I felt comfortable - about midway back, not too far toward the center of the pew just in case I had to make a hasty exit, and right next to a sweet old man whose name I did not learn for many years. Each week he was there before we arrived and each week, he would greet both me and Frankie with a hug and a kiss as he stepped back to allow us to slide in beside him.
In my church, communion is given toward the end of the service and it is one of my favorite portions of the whole ceremony. Orthodox babies are baptized at three months of age and immediately given communion, and I find such great happiness is watching the young children and the parents with their babies head down the aisle to receive.
After accepting communion from the priest, we are offered a piece or two of the communion bread to take back to our pews as we wait for everyone to be served. For one reason or another, not everyone takes communion. Either they are not a member of the orthodox faith, or they do not feel prepared in one manner or another, but regardless it has become customary for the people who do take communion to bring back a small piece of bread for those who do not. Often times when I attend church alone, I will bring back bread for my littles, my father or someone I feel might want or benefit from a little God love.
I realized quickly that my friend never took communion and so without great ceremony or even much thought actually, I began to bring him a piece of bread each time I went. Year after year, as I slid back into the pew, I would open my cupped hand and give him what I had brought him and each time, he would smile and silently hold my cupped hand in both of his in thanks.
Eventually I learned his name was Don and his wife was in the choir and that they'd been married for almost fifty years. On the weeks I attended when I hadn't for a spell, he would tell me how much he'd missed me. He asked about my littles, he hugged me when he learned I'd divorced. To me, he was as much a part of the tapestry of my church as the candles and icons and the bibles in the pews.
A few years back on a Sunday, after spending the night away, Frankie and I had a little communication mix up and she ended up at church without me. When she arrived home, she told me about the service - where she sat (in our spot with Don), what Father Andrew's sermon was all about, how she felt there without me and finally that she'd remembered to bring back bread for our friend.
In all the years, she never questioned my actions, she must have simply assumed that I had my reasons and that in my absence, it was her responsibility to fill in. There was something so sweet and innocent and loving about her gesture that tears filled my eyes.
The past year or so, our friend developed cancer. His body failing and in pain, his attendance at church became sporadic, and last night, our priest sent us a message that Don's illness had finally taken him and he'd passed away at his home, surrounded by his family and loved ones.
The message from Father said simply, we will miss him more than words can express and today, that is exactly how I feel. Don was my first connection at Assumption, he was the friendly face that welcomed me each week, the gentle hand that guided me to my seat, the quiet peace beside me that always helped me settle into the service no matter how out of tune my heart was that week.
I never told him how important he was to me. I never even thought to tell him, I guess I just believed he would always be there to greet me when I arrived. They say that you should never miss an opportunity to tell someone how much you care about them. In this instance I very much failed in the words department, but as I sit here and remember him and the lesson I am learning from his passing, a big part of me prays that the bread we shared between us each week told a completely different story.
Yes, I am going to miss Don, more than words can express. Rest in peace, sweet man and say hello to my momma for me.
xxo.
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