Days of the Dead (Day 2): All Saints Day

Elizabeth Aviva Fiada was born into this life on the first day of spring, 2017. She was beautifully and fittingly given the middle name Aviva, or springtime, in Hebrew. Later on that spring, on the 22nd of April, she was born into the divine life of grace at her baptism. In the springtime of 2019 she was born into eternal life: into the loving arms of our Risen Lord, who’s Resurrection we celebrate every spring. There are a number of Saint Elizabeth’s already; in my mind there’s only one ‘Saint Elizabeth of Springtime.’

– excerpted from Father Wells’ homily at Lizzy’s funeral

Okay, so I know that yesterday I said that I don’t feel as though the veil between the worlds of the living and the dead was any thinner on All Hallows Eve, but I have to admit that last night, I felt Lizzy’s presence very strongly. This was not in a haunting, ghostly, or in any way, morbid, presence. Rather, there was a rainstorm, and with the sound of the rain against my skylight, the strangely warm winds that accompanied it, and the bundle of Cecilia nestled and nursing beside me, there was a beauty and peace to that storm that felt so very . . . Lizzy to me.

I don’t know that this was in any way different from the fact that it has always been easy to feel Lizzy in the beauty of the natural world around me. That is to say, I don’t know if it was due to All Hallows’ Eve or simply to a beautiful rainstorm. Because, you see, my precious daughter is present in the beauty of the earth, in all those things created and willed by God because they are beautiful and good. Lizzy is present in these things because she, too, is beautiful and good, created and willed by God.

Without a doubt, I woke up feeling and thinking about Lizzy today, as I knew I would. It is, after all, a day that celebrates her and all other souls who have made it to heaven. Tomorrow, on All Souls Day, Lizzy will be remembered at a mass at the church where we held her funeral, like all those who have been buried through our church. But technically, today, and not tomorrow, is Lizzy’s day, for we know that my beautiful little girl is a saint, in heaven with Our Lady and the Trinity.

Cecilia and I went to mass today, more so to celebrate and think of Lizzy than because it is a holy day of obligation. The morning mass happened to be the school mass for our parish church and so, at the end of mass, the students who had dressed up as saints stood and processed out of the church. It made me smile not just to think of Cecilia one day dressing up as a saint, but to think that my firstborn, my beloved daughter, belongs to that same company of saints that these little ones are remembering and honoring today.

There is a sweetness to today. Although the chill of November has firmly arrived, the sun is shining on my face as I write this. Cecilia lies in her stroller, peacefully asleep, perhaps dreaming dreams of her angel sister. And although there is still pain when I see two little girls at mass of a similar age gap as that between Lizzy and Cecilia, I feel a sort of peace and gratitude that Lizzy is safe–safer than I could ever make her–and loved–yes, loved even deeper than I can love her. For I cannot love with a divine love.

I can’t help but wonder: what if it’s all true? What if Lizzy is there, held, loved, and joyous, radiant in the presence of God, Our Lady, and all the saints? What if, at the end of all things, it’s just like C.S. Lewis describes in The Last Battle, and we can all run like we’re flying, “further up and further in,” until we reach “the true Narnia,” that holds all those who have died, and where the joy when we reunite with them will literally never end? We are bound by time and space and therefore we can only imagine a joy that will never end; we have never experienced it. But what if it’s true? What if there’s a joy deeper than joy, a forever longer than forever, a home with more belonging than any home we’ve ever known?

There is a Christian pop song called “I Can Only Imagine,” and I sang it to Lizzy to lull her to sleep, just like I now sing it to Cece when she’s fussing. The title “I Can Only Imagine” is the perfect phrase for what I’m attempting to describe. What if heaven is all that is promised and more? What if the thing that I’m working towards every day is a concrete, real, and tangible forever with Lizzy (and hopefully Cece one day)?

The truth is that had Lizzy lived, one day, my death or her death would have parted us. But my faith teaches that there is a place and a time where it is possible that nothing–not even death–can part me from my daughter. And I think it is the joy and hope of this teaching that colors my day with light today. I already walk through my days knowing that each step I take is a step towards Lizzy. What if I can keep the hope of this promise close to my heart–so close that it remains even in the agonizing moments when I can’t bear her absence–and allow it to grow there until it becomes so strong that not even the most terrible doubts can uproot it? What if there is a real-life chance that everything that we’re experiencing here is really just the shadow-world that we’re told it is, and that, when we die, we can learn to truly see?

I will never stop feeling the awe and wonder of knowing that Lizzy’s life and death are profound witnesses to the purpose of human existence itself. With her life, Lizzy showed me how to live. And with her death, she is still showing me how to live. And so, today, on the day that celebrates those who have lived their temporary lives so successfully that they can now live their eternal lives in perfect joy, I look to my daughter, my firstborn, to teach me how to live and how to die. Lizzy is both my mystery and my answer, and I look to her to find my way home.

Happy All Saint’s Day, my beloved Lizzy Lou.