For Bill…

Any little bit of joy or happiness that we have here is but a taste of the eternal happiness we’re going to have in heaven. But in order to achieve that eternal life in heaven, we must go through the process that we have come to call death. God has given us life that we should live it fully, live it completely, live it happily. God chooses the minute for each death and uses various circumstances to achieve that,

Father Vincent R. Capodanno, LT, USNR

Awarded the Medal of Honor, Posthumously

The book of a well-known psychiatrist I once read starts by stating that one of the greatest universal truths is that life is difficult. And that in overcoming the difficult, we live more fully…

That thought lingered in my mind as I left the small city of Binghamton behind on an early morning, crossing over the Chenango River on Route 17, and then slowly climbing the foothills that serve as the western entrance to that old and wise mountain range known as the Catskills.

Driving eastward in my truck, I crossed the upper Susquehanna, a river I’ve cherished on early summer mornings, fly casting across its riffles and plumbing it’s deep pools for smallmouth bass. Climbing further, I forged on into the promised land, soon crossing the West Branch of the Delaware in Deposit – a cold-water gem of a river for trout fishermen.

On I went, deep in thought, soaking up the trouty goodness all around my route, reminiscing about past places such as Hale Eddy, Ball Eddy, Fish’s Eddy, where I’ve loved fishing the quiet morning hours for wild brown and rainbow trout. But this day I passed all of them by, paying tribute to my best friend Bill and the loss of his dear wife, Pamela.

Bill lost Pamela to lung cancer and in life’s sometimes cruel twist of irony, Pamela never smoked a day in her life. After two years waging war against this shit-awful disease, she finally succumbed, leaving my friend with questions I could sense he thought but never asked; first and foremost, why a good God would allow the love of his life to be taken at the age of 61.

It had been a busy work week for me – flying out to Asheville NC to visit a supplier for 3 days, arriving home late Wednesday, going to work Thursday to catch up, and then making the trip east to Plaineville, CT, to attend funeral services for Bill’s wife.

While away on that business trip. I read a book about Father Vincent Capodanno, a Catholic priest who had gone on to become a Navy Chaplain, serving in Viet Nam in 1966 with the Marines. Oddly enough, Father Capodanno went to high school with my parents and so there was a bit more than a usual connection here, especially given my mother’s deep Catholic faith. My parents knew him; “Oh, Vinnie?” my Dad said when I brought him up in conversation. “We worked after school together – always trying to talk me into going to church…”

Father Vincent Capodanno started his priesthood as a Maryknoll Missionary. After seminary, he served as a priest in a number of missions in Southeast Asia. He served to his best ability as a missionary, trying to convert locals to the calling of the Catholic Church and teaching English in local schools. But eventually, as the Viet Nam War heated up, Father Capodanno sensed a calling to serve God more completely and directly. As the United States increased its involvement and commitment, the need for chaplains for all service branches increased as well.

“Stay quiet marine. You will be ok. God is with us all this day.” — Father Vincent Capodanno’s last words, speaking to a wounded marine on a battlefield in Vietnam in 1967.

Everyone has their own views on life and death and whether a creator somehow orchestrates our tiny lives, doling out the good and bad times at His discretion. And it is our human weakness, in my opinion, that causes us to doubt that there might be a higher story, a higher purpose, and a higher plan, to our short lives on this good earth.

I still wonder at my advancing age – perhaps will always wonder – where our lives end up, why they are as they are, why some so loved, so precious, like Pamela, can be flicked off like a light switch, leaving their loved ones open-mouthed, teary-eyed, breathless, sick with loss. There is no explanation in human terms, but I think Father Capodanno was deeply in touch with that higher being some of us come to doubt, especially on such occasions when someone so loved is taken, as Pamela was taken from Bill, and so many others – her family, friends, even those she brushed against passing through this life, like myself. I met her only once, at Bill’s father’s own funeral, another good soul taken from us too soon.

Father Capodanno saw more than his fair share of death while serving the 5th Battalion 3rd Marines in Viet Nam. He always went with his Marines into missions where intelligence predicted the highest risk of enemy contact so he could tend to the wounded and give last rites to the dying. He handed out cigarettes, candy, asked for stateside supplies of all sorts of items that might make his marines just a little more comfortable as they faced the peril hidden in the jungles, on the red-dusty plains, and the high hills of VietNam. On his last day of life, he tended to the mortally wounded, said last rites, and shielded the wounded though he was not armed. Enemy strength that day was reported to be at least 5 to 1. And Father was one of 127 of the 500 in combat that paid the ultimate sacrifice.

.And so Bill, this is how I know God is somewhere out there, and how He reaches us in strange ways, ways we can’t fathom to understand while on this earth. Indistinct and different points of life circle about us in our lives and then come together at times with gut-wrenching impact and sorrow, leaving us with a bit more wonderment, and if we listen carefully, with a bit more wisdom. It does not make it any less difficult, but that’s how I reconcile your loss of Pamela who deserved a longer life, a good retirement, and lasting love with you.

For my mother never directly mentioned Father Vincent Capodanno to me, never said she knew him, went to school with him, but I discovered him after remembering her comments one day about a Marine from Staten Island who died in Viet Nam and I found him just after Pamela passed, in a random book I took on a business trip. And in my own searching and wondering what might be passing through your mind, heart and soul, I found some calm in all of this, some presence in his words. Father Capodanno knew my parents, gave last rites to many Marines on their last day on earth, including one who died – a medal of honor winner from just down the road from where I currently live – and died way too early like your beloved Pamela, and it all came to me on a plane flying just a bit closer to him, high up in heaven, on a business trip…

Remember, in the worst of times, like the days you spent with Pamela fighting for her life, that God is with us always, and that you will be OK. And believe in the words of Father Capodanno, that God is with us this day.