This coming weekend we will celebrate our younger grandson’s confirmation. (Actually, by the time this post publishes on Monday, we will have just returned from our celebration.) Confirmation is a milestone for young people in the Catholic Church and some Protestant churches. I still remember my confirmation in the Presbyterian church when I was 12 or 13. I struggled through memorizing the responses to the questions in the Catechism. Our church was very small and there were only five of us in our confirmation class. I was so nervous standing in front of the entire congregation answering questions and professing my faith, even though there were fewer than 50 congregants and I had known all of them since birth.
Time goes by so fast. It seems like just last year we were celebrating this young man’s first communion, but that was six years ago. These milestones and celebrations not only mark how much the four grandchildren are maturing physically, emotionally, mentally, and spiritually they also remind me how much Rachel has missed in the almost nine years since she went to Heaven.
I know in my head and my soul that she hasn’t missed anything. Her “time” has become eternal and the idea of aging parents and maturing nieces and nephews has no meaning where she is. It’s only for us who are still here waiting that birthdays and rites of passage punctuate the passage of time. Still, I can’t help thinking how proud she would be of them. How she doted on each of them when they were little and how involved she would have been in their growing up. She viewed her role of aunt as being equal parts indulging and educating. There should always be a little spark of mischief mixed in the gravity of the lesson.
I try not to burden every celebration and important landmark in our family life with comments or speculation of what Rachel would think about it. This important event should necessarily focus on John and the other confirmands, not on who is missing (Rachel and others). But my heart needs confirmation that she was real. She was here. She is remembered.
And that she left her mark.
Laura
P.S. The top picture is not me.
A Light for My Path 
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