Well Being: A story and what it meant to a reader

Twenty years ago, I wrote a story for Inquirer Magazine about the last days of my grandfather.

It was a story about a man reckoning with his mortality and reflecting on his life. I was privileged to watch, from an intimate vantage, as this family patriarch of 96 years gracefully surrendered and began anticipating a reunion with his loved ones in the afterlife in which he believed.

Belief was a sub-theme, his faith that God would recognize his efforts to lead a good life versus my skepticism about the very existence of a merciful Supreme Being. A substantial body of evidence shows that those blessed with strong faith live longer, healthier, more fulfilling lives and are better able to withstand life's inevitable shocks and troubles. That was certainly so with my grandfather, who remained cheerful and optimistic to the end, despite outliving all four of his children, including two who killed themselves.

After I attacked God one night for being a dispassionate dilettante, for being mean and malicious and unjust, for countenancing so much suffering and inexplicable strife among the innocent, he replied, with majestic resolve: "Artie, the deeper the mystery, the deeper my faith. My faith is unshakable and sustaining. It is the bedrock of my life. Nothing happens, even the movement of a fly's wing, without God's knowledge."

Every so often, readers will tell me that they saved that story and how much it meant to them. The most recent occasion was a couple weeks ago, in an e-mail from Bob Zigmont of Morton. I'd like to share it with you today, along with my response.

Dear Mr. Carey,

Every Christmas since my children were kids, it has been a tradition that I give them a book and write something meaningful, inspirational, and memorable. It has gotten to be more of a challenge now that they are 35 and 33 years of age.

This year as I pondered what to write, I found your article from 20 years ago in my desk. Thank you! Even now, your grandfather's words of wisdom ring true for me, and I know my daughter and son will find great value in his notes from his prayer book and wallet.

My personal favorite was his observation about the weather, "There's no bad weather, just different kinds of good weather." That was my mantra as I walked my mail route in Prospect Park. Always on foot, on the same route for over 23 years.

During the years from 1995 through 1999, when I was taking care of my parents, many a night I would read your article. There were so many difficulties as their health deteriorated. Surgeries, hospital stays, nursing homes, in and out several times. It was a blessing when my dad passed on March 5, 1999, and my mom on June 30, 1999.

Friends and family remarked that I was handling things well; they had no idea what a relief it was to not see them suffering anymore.

Which brings me to my last point, "faith." At 63 years of age, I've gone through 16 years of Catholic school, multiple years of Bible study groups with men and women of various denominations, and a lot of thought devoted to, what does all this mean? Children being slaughtered all over the world, sometimes in the name of religion. Fundamentalism in this country is just as wrong as anywhere else on this sad planet. How can any human being hurt a child or any human being that has not harmed or posed a threat to you? If there is an all-loving God, it makes no sense. Yeah, tell me about free will. . . .

When I was a letter carrier, I was a member of a community. I shared many a joy and sorrow with my customers. Folks struggling to make ends meet, kids in trouble, people ill. I decided it was up to me to make a difference. A gift card from Wawa or Sunoco, just a little something dropped in their mailbox. Lending an ear to the elderly. Always recalled John Prine's song, "Hello in There," as I went along. I know I made a difference. I cared. I admire those who have faith in God and believe the best is yet to come when we leave this life, but as for me I don't think I ever will. The warmth of the sun on my face, the sweet sound of a bird singing, the love I will always have for my daughter and son. Helping my wife take care of her parents. Holding the hand of my mother-in-law, so confused by the disease that wracks her brain. That is why we are here.

Sincerely,

Bob Zigmont

Dear Bob,

Thank you for this wonderful e-mail note. . . . Like you, I am struggling with "faith," and for many of the same reasons.

But I have always thought that it is what one does rather than what one says, the way one behaves rather that what one believes, that is the true demonstration of goodness.

By that standard, you are, in my book, a genuine Christian, a follower of the example of Jesus. That was certainly the case with my grandfather, who had little patience for the church hierarchy, but was generous to those devoted souls and humble organizations doing God's work by helping feed, clothe and heal the poor and the sick. . . .

You are right about the reasons we are here, and a rich man in realizing such blessings.

With warm regards and best wishes,

Art Carey