A reminder that life doesn't end

The Boston Herald

I never understood. All the times Maureen told me she couldn't do this and she couldn't do that, I gave her a hard time. "What do you mean you're cooking a meal for your mother's anniversary Mass." Or her brother's. Or some other deceased relative or friend.

I was trying to fix her up with a guy I was sure she'd like. (One guy. And I tried for months). And she'd say, "I really do want to meet him. This isn't an excuse, but tomorrow (or next week or two weeks from now) we're having a Mass for my mother-brother-aunt-friend and afterward, everyone is coming back to my house for lasagna." I argued the obvious. "These people don't care about food anymore, Maureen." But she insisted she had cooking - and cleaning - to do.

I did a lot of head-shaking over this. She and the guy eventually met, but nothing came of it. What has endured from this attempt at matchmaking, however, is that every time I bump into Maureen - at the post office, at Shaw's, at our friend Jill's - I ask if she's having a party for any dead people this weekend. And she laughs and says, "No, not this weekend." Or, "Matter of fact, yes, I am." And we play catch up for a while and then go our separate ways.

It was always just a joke because I truly never understood. Yesterday, I finally did. I got it, the whole party thing - the cooking, the cleaning, the celebrating. Now I know why Maureen stays home some Friday nights setting the table and baking. And why she wants to. And why she wouldn't want to be anywhere else doing anything else.

It's all about remembering. And about making sure that a person you loved is a person you still love - and think of, and talk about. It's about making sure this person continues to be a part of your life. An invitation held this epiphany. "On Sunday, Nov. 2, 2003, the scheduled 10 a.m. Mass at St. Gerard Majella will be celebrated for Fr. Bill Coen. Immediately following the regularly scheduled Mass, a private reception will be held at Nick's Restaurant."

It's a party for a dead person and it's being planned by Eddie Gilmore. He always threw parties for Father Coen. He always made a big deal about his birthday. He's still making a big deal. Father Coen would have been 79 on Nov. 3. His friends would have gathered and joked and told stories and Father Coen would have told his stories and everyone would have walked away at the end of the day smiling and renewed because that's what being with Father Coen did.

Before the party, Father Coen would have reminisced at Mass from the altar. He would have talked about growing up on Green Street in Watertown, the youngest of nine, about going to St. Pat's, about the nuns who taught him and the friends he learned from. About life then and life now and how he found all of it rich and rewarding.

And everyone hearing him would have left church feeling that life was rich and rewarding, too, because Father Coen's joy was that contagious.

"Life doesn't end. It just changes." That's what he said.

So why do the parties stop? Why should the celebrations end? Why not a gathering of family and friends to repeat the words and the stories of the people we love? A party for a dead person? A celebration for someone not here?

Except that this isn't quite true, is it? That's what Maureen has known all along. Some of us just take longer to figure it out.