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When The Parish Falls

By C. J. Patrick

AuthorHouse

Copyright © 2011 C.J. Patrick
All right reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4567-2277-7

Chapter One

As I stepped into my car, I wiped the tears from my face. Suddenly, my cell phone rang. I wasn't quite sure what the call was as I had the phone on vibrate, and I had only recently purchased my first cell phone. I took the phone out of my pocket, trying to figure out how to answer it. It was my friend Rickey, who tried to look for me coming out of my mother's funeral. He was expressing his condolences as he hadn't had a chance to see me at the funeral parlor the night before. He told me he had looked for me all morning. We shook hands and embraced, and I told him I would call him very soon. After all that had happened recently in such a short time, I was kind of numb, but I think I started coming out of it at that moment. It had been such a short time that I had been home; I really hadn't had time to sit back and take it all in.

* * *

Rickey and I had just graduated from law school three months before and had studied for the bar together until my mom got sick. It was the first week of July, and the bar exam wasn't until the last two days of the month. When my mom got sick, I stopped preparing for the exam. That morning, I guess what I was feeling coming out of my mother's funeral and heading to her burial was that my mother was where she would want to be. Heaven—that's what she always told me since I was a kid. Not that she was expecting to go so early in life, but she was a very religious and devout Roman Catholic. I guess I thought that with such a strong faith and love for Christ, she must be very happy now that she lived a Christian life and died in Christ. Her death was very tragic and to me has continued to affect my life even to this day. My mother played a great role in my life from the day I was born. Raising me wasn't the easiest path for anyone. I grew up in a very blue collar family with a mother who was a nurse and a father who was a milkman. We were a family of eight kids from an Irish background, and we were very devout Roman Catholics. When I was young, I had a lot of learning disabilities—but my mom was always there for me. If I could tell you how many special Saturday morning programs she would take me to in order to help me, you'd be amazed. My biggest problem through grade school was dyslexia. It caused me a lot of problems, but my mom was determined to get me over it and take me to every special program she could. The good news is that she did it, and I was able to succeed in life. This is from a woman who I was number seven of eight kids—and counting the two who died as infants, I was nine of ten. But my mom did it, constantly telling me, "That's the Christian way—to help others." She would say, "Donegan, work hard and always keep your prayers, and Jesus will provide."

* * *

That morning, I got in the car, and I was thinking all of this as I drove to the cemetery to bury my mother. In my car were my two sons and my daughter, who was just a little over a year old—that in and of itself was amazing to me. At the time, I was twenty-nine years old, I had just graduated law school, and within the week of my mother's death, I had taken the bar exam. I'll never forget it. My mom had become sick, like I said, two weeks before the test, and I didn't want to take the exam any more than the man in the moon. The test was the last Tuesday and Wednesday of July every year. You would spend that time after graduation up until the time of the test studying day and night. But I had to stop doing that, as I had lost all concentration. My mother had been in the ICU unit at the local hospital for about two weeks prior to the test. That's why I wasn't studying—I was at the hospital twenty-four-seven, wondering how the hell this was happening. She was only sixty-four years old and never had a medical problem in her whole life—or so I thought. But we spent two weeks in the local hospital until finally the doctors were going to transfer her to nearest college hospital. The only problem was that she was not going to be transferred until Tuesday. I had to leave for my test on Monday. I remember thinking that my mother would think taking the test under such circumstances would build character according to Christ. But I went to the hospital Monday morning knowing I did not want to leave her—I wanted to postpone my test until February.

The bar exam could be taken one of two times each year—either in July, when graduating students usually took it, or in February of the following year, if you failed or had to take it then for another reason. I thought as I went in to see her that Monday morning that this was a good time to postpone the test under the circumstances for the "whatever reason." Plus, I hadn't studied for about two weeks and wasn't sure mentally if I could get through the test. However, that morning my mom was in great spirits. She was up, alert, and willing to talk to me. This was the best I had seen her in two weeks. I had hoped she was getting better. This was amazing to me, because my mom had been in and out of coherency over the last two weeks. Seeing her this way made me want to stay with her even more. She knew she was going to the college hospital the next day, and I was thinking about all that had happened the last two weeks with her becoming sick and being put in the hospital. It all happened so fast, and I didn't want to go to the test. I said, "Mom, I can take the test in February. I really don't want to leave you at this time."

Mom said, "Donegan, we're all going to be together on Thanksgiving at the house, I'm going to be fine, and you'll be kicking yourself for not taking that test. It will be hanging over you, and you won't enjoy the holiday."

You see, Irish holidays are something—especially in November and December. You have Thanksgiving, and then you go right into the Christmas season. For us it was a time for togetherness—it had been since I was a kid. We had very devout Christian stuff at the church and a lot of family at my mother and father's homestead. We were lucky as a family at the time; a lot of us were married, but we were all still in the same neighborhood. The holidays meant a lot to us, and being together—boy, that was the best for my parents. We all went out of our way to get together as often as possible. It meant a lot. Being together as Irish Catholics, we had a lot of ribbing each other and a lot of drinking. The drinking had never gone over to well with my mom, but it was part of the holiday season.

* * *

That Monday morning, my mom was insistent that I go and take the bar exam. I started thinking, Yeah, it's only two days, and I knew my stuff. Plus, I thought after looking at her this morning that my mother must be getting better. I had done very well in law school, and my wife and mother had always been there for me, pushing me and making sure I studied hard. I thought to myself, You know what—your mother's probably right, and I went and took the bar exam. I got down to the test on Monday afternoon and looked over some stuff for Tuesday's portion of the test. When I got to the exam facility on Tuesday, I think I took the bar exam in a conference room at a hotel. Guys and girls going into take the bar exam were very desperate. In the bathrooms and in the lobby, people were sick, and some were crying. For some people I knew, I tried to have them put things in perspective,...