Family Fundamentals: Making Room to Be Human

Following a vigil and funeral for her mother, Heidi Hess Saxton ponders truths about togetherness, relationship, and forgiveness.

It had taken a full decade to get here, sitting under the canopy with my husband and son in front of my mother’s casket. From the moment I got the phone call, there had been a non-stop rush of activity: driving cross-country, sitting vigil, administering meds, dealing with hospice, giving family updates, finding a priest to give last rites, finalizing arrangements … then collapsing, sick and in shock, the moment she passed. 

It had taken a full decade to get here. And yet when the moment came, at dusk on the vigil of Mercy Sunday, it was all so … surreal. I tried to do everything “by the book,” to make her proud. I wouldn’t let a deadline slip. I will write every single thank you note. I will play the funeral, and host the funeral supper, and do all the things.  

Listening to the “busy trap” litany, my body scoffed, then revolted. My temperature flared. The coughing fits started in earnest. And then … a flu bug, for good measure. A former colleague heard about mom and texted me, to see if she could bring lunch. That wonton soup was liquid gold.  

My mother’s caregivers — who had tended to her bodily needs for nearly five years — could not do enough for me during Mom’s last days, bringing me fuzzy pajamas and cozy wraps as I caught cat naps on the couch.  

Looking back, I see the greatest gift I received that week was right after Mom passed:  My niece, who had arrived two days earlier, wiped her eyes and patted my back. “I’m going to give you a few minutes with her, Aunt Heidi.” And she left the room. 

Woodenly I turned on YouTube to the Divine Mercy Chaplet and took Mom’s hand. First humming, then letting it all rush out in a torrent, I sang Mom home. 

For the sake of his sorrowful passion,
Have mercy on us and on the whole world … 

Out in the hallway, I heard the echo of voices of my mother’s caregivers. Not a single one of them was Catholic. But when they heard me sing the Divine Mercy Chaplet, they joined in as best they could.  

Inside the room, it was just the two of us. It would never be just the two of us again. And yet … I was certain that this sacred moment was being witnessed by unseen yet loving eyes who were interceding for us both with words ineffable that flew straight to the heart of God.  

Sacred Silence 

I thought about that moment again, sitting in front of the casket. The service was delayed; apparently one of the funeral chapel reps forgot the check to pay the minister. The silence grew heavy, so I lifted my voice again, grateful for the immediate harmonizing of my sisters behind me. 

So I’ll cherish the old rugged cross
Till my trophies at last I lay down.
I will cling to the old rugged cross,
And exchange them one day for a crown. (hymn lyrics in the public domain)

In the pause that followed, a gentle breeze filtered through the tent, comforting us. It had been a week of endless rushing, planning, and weeping. But in that moment, we were struck with gratitude for all she had been, and all she was experiencing now that she was free of the painful confines of her body. She was freer than she had ever been. And we would see her soon. 

In the weeks that followed, I have learned that grief is sneaky and exhausting. It fogs the brain and shortens the temper. It upsets the tummy and makes it hard to hear. It steals every available brain cell and turns them into mush.  

And yet … grief also lends a new perspective. Signs and memories sharpen. People and relationships matter more. I’m keenly aware that my time, too, is coming. Each moment counts. How will I spend it?  

A Season for Everything 

In the book of Ecclesiastes, we are reminded: 

There is an appointed time for everything,
A time for every affair under the heavens.
A time to give birth, and a time to die;
A time to plant, and a time to uproot the plant.
A time to kill, and a time to heal;
A time to tear down, and a time to build. (Ecclesiastes 3:1-3) 

After the funeral we gathered at the home of my nephew’s fiancé, who chose that moment to tell us that their wedding would be very small and could not include the groom’s extended family because her own family was so big. Not trusting myself to remain silent, I excused myself and took a brisk (for me) walk outside. For the first block, I pity-partied. The second block, realization hit: Had I done anything to build a relationship with either of them, that would make my absence felt? I had to admit, I had not been great at remembering birthdays, or even sending texts — unlike my Aunt Suzy, who still remembers my birthday every year. I resolved to make some changes.  

I don’t want the next time I see my sister’s family to be at another funeral. I am going to fix this. 

Each of us makes choices every day about which relationships to nurture, and how. So often, estrangements happen — some sudden and painful, others gradual and hardly noticed. Generations get caught up in their own lives and forget to cultivate connections that keep families strong.  

And then, suddenly, there are more funerals than baby showers.  

What can you do today to make sure that doesn’t happen?  

Truth in Family Life 

One of the devil’s most powerful weapons in dividing families is grudge-holding. Little annoyances and petty alliances can grow into full-blown feuds and painful isolation. Long-forgotten arguments and peevish complaints rob us of the joy of togetherness. And yet, we are reminded, when Christ is the center of any family, we can find peace in knowing that we can never forgive more than we have been forgiven.  

Put on then, as God’s chosen ones, holy and beloved, heartfelt compassion, kindness, humility, gentleness, and patience, bearing with one another and forgiving one another, if one has a grievance against another; as the Lord has forgiven you, so must you also do (Colossians 3:12-13)

My Prayer 

Thank you, Lord, for the gift of family.
Seen and unseen. Known and unknown.
Gather us all into your Sacred Heart
Where no one is ever truly alone.
Thank you, Lord, for the gift of family. Amen. 

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Copyright 2025 Heidi Hess Saxton
Images: copyright 2025 Heidi Hess Saxton, all rights reserved; (bottom) Canva.