Homebound and Homeward Bound: The Heart of a Eucharistic Minister Living With Terminal Cancer
As we shuffle into Mass and pick out the closest pew to the front, my dad is always quick to remind us that we need to follow him out after Communion. After processing down with Annabelle’s arms folded across her chest “like a butterfly,” as I always say, we wait for fellow Catholics to go up and receive the Host, kneeling and praying, but always expectedly waiting for my dad’s cue.
After securing his pyx with the Body, Blood, Soul, and Divinity of our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ, we trail behind him back to the car to swiftly deliver Eucharistic nourishment to a man who has been homebound for at least a year, if not longer.
“Would you like to come in?” his family asks. My daughter and I meet his loving family. Having a toddler affords such wonderful opportunities for moments like these. A smile brightens the man’s face as my daughter bounds in, looking at the Bonnet Shores in the distance and running her hand across pillows decorated with cat images. We greet Don, holding his hand for just a second longer as it becomes plaintively clear in these moments how isolating the world can become to those unable to leave their residence.
We bow our heads and pray as my dad leads, as Don prepares himself to receive Communion — as he watches my daughter playing with the magnetic tiles the family put out for her; her vibrant joy uplifts all in the room.
We spent Father’s Day with Don and his family — that’s how close you become to souls when you are an Extraordinary Minister of Holy Communion— another truly beautiful aspect of the Catholic Church; these friendships are formed on faithful foundations and meet the dire needs of those who believe, like Don, the patriarch, so happy to be in the home he shared with his wife and children.
The last day I saw Don, he mentioned to my dad that he was eager to ask his dearly departed wife one day why she left him so soon, a question, of course, only God knows the answer to. And I know it’s a thought my dad often has, since losing my mother six years ago this September.
But that Sunday just a few weeks ago was different; my dad was too busy thinking about driving to Boston the next day for another cancer treatment to consider the gravity of Don’s sentiment. I wanted to jump in and ask all the questions surfacing in my mind about his wife and their marriage — about their children and their life in Rhode Island — but I didn’t. I wanted to say something on behalf of my dad, who has terminal cancer and will eventually be homebound himself.
