The Healing Journey

December 12, 2024

— Paul Simon

They were known as “the three amigos.” Every Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday, they came to morning Mass together and sat in the first pew. They all were in their 90s and struggled to stand, sit and kneel but did the best they could, considering the circumstances.

The youngest fellow, a mere 90, picked up the other two and drove them. After Mass, they went to the Dunkin’ Donuts in town, where they sat together with their coffee and muffins, egg sandwiches and chocolate cake donuts and held court on the desperate situation of the world. They also consoled one another in their grief, because once you reach your 90s, loss and grieving become a frequent ritual in life.

Then, one of the amigos died, after he underwent surgery. The profound sadness the other two felt was obvious to the rest of the parish. At Jack’s funeral Mass, his friends sat a few pews back in deference to the family. Everyone would have thought they were just two old guys paying their respects until a family member got up after the Mass and talked about his father and the life he had come to love in his 90s with his two friends.

As he ended his tribute, he turned toward the two amigos and said, “I can’t say how much you meant to my father, especially after my mother died. You were always there for him, you drove him when he needed a ride, you gave him encouragement when the grief seemed overpowering, and you brought him to daily Mass, which he always looked forward to.”

Friendships like that don’t end at death. They’re eternal.

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