Though we grieve our brother and sisters, we know something of their struggles and pain, which are now ended, and we know that they are with God and thus filled with the endless joy of what ear has not heard, nor eye seen, nor has it entered into the heart of man to imagine (1 Cor 2:9).

The way we "do" our funerals incarnates this belief. These funerals bring deep graces even to our guests who usually do not know the person who died. Some tell us that the funeral they experienced here brought healing of their past experiences of death. Some tell us they will never see death the same way again. Some even say they ended up feeling as if they had known the person.

We ourselves, who did know the person in varying degrees, almost always see that person more clearly. For the veil of ordinariness and familiarity that most of the time hid the heart, that hid the beauty of that person’s unique way of living the Gospel, their unique being, is at the time of their death, mysteriously lifted—at least a corner of it. Truly our funerals are blessed times.

This recent period of time, this time of dying and death, really started in early December. Fr. Sharkey, whose Alzheimer’s had been steadily increasing, was diagnosed with tongue cancer that had already spread to his lymph nodes. There was little that could be done for him, and he was suffering increasing pain and debilitation.

Then in January, Elsie Whitty, who had had dementia for several years, suffered a relatively mild stroke, which was the turning point for her. After that, she suffered a few crises and continued to decline.

Meanwhile, Donna Surprenant, who had been diagnosed in March 2008 with bowel cancer with liver metastasis, was also rapidly declining.

All three were, in fact, dying, and they were never far from our consciousness, our love, and our prayers.

Donna was the first to die—on February 6th—Donna, an extraordinarily gifted artist, who at age 55, had only recently reached a new level of technique and depth in her paintings, and who was beginning to receive public recognition. Many of us asked God: why Donna? Why now?

Each of our funerals is unique reflecting as it does the uniqueness of the person, and Donna’s was focused less on her than on her vocation as an artist, her search for God in beauty, and her efforts to express that beauty.

The first floor of St. Mary’s was transformed into an art gallery, as Donna’s paintings—her still lifes, her landscapes, and her portraits—were hung everywhere. What beauty she had created!

And even while we were surrounded and filled with that beauty and grieving for Donna, Elsie and Fr. Sharkey were moving rapidly on their path to eternal life with God.

As February progressed, both had recurring crises, both were in much physical pain, and either could have died at any time. Fr. Sharkey was in the hospital and Elsie was home. Neither could be left alone, and we took turns staying with them.

One day, it was "certain" that Elsie would die that day, but she did not. Then a few days later, on February 20, it was "certain" again. Again she did not.

The next morning, at about 9:45, just as some of us were finishing dishes, the main house bell suddenly began tolling. "Elsie," we thought. But no, it was Fr. Sharkey.

We had a meeting to plan his funeral. Would we be having one funeral or two? We planned for either case. That evening at about 8 p.m., Elsie died.

So this week, we had two funerals. On Monday, February 23, we waked Elsie, and on Tuesday, we had her funeral. On Tuesday evening, we had "memories night," when we shared stories about her.

Wednesday, which was Ash Wednesday, we waked Fr. Sharkey, and Thursday we had his funeral. His memories night was the following Sunday.

For each in turn, too, the veil was lifted, and we glimpsed in a deeper way the inner beauty of the person.

Elsie, who died at age 88, had lived a long, full life as a nurse and midwife. At her wake service, Fr. Wild, her spiritual director, spoke and lifted a corner of the veil. God’s light shone on Elsie’s extraordinary love and care for the sick—mostly the sick poor—in the West Indies, in rural Ontario, and in Israel. We ourselves had experienced that as well. When you were nursed by Elsie, you felt like a queen.

And Fr. David May, in his homily at her funeral Mass, spoke of her childlike path to God and of her gifts of joy and gratitude. "You can only be that way," he reminded us, "when you know you have a loving Father."

Fr. Sharkey was 80 years old. His wakes and funeral and displays had an austerity about them, an austerity that reflected Fr. Sharkey himself. Fr. Sharkey, a poustinik, (a person living a specific kind of life of prayer and solitude) had spent his life going like an arrow to God. His life of contemplation flowed into spiritual direction and preaching, and his many directees both in MH and outside it filled the chapel.

He was a Dominican as well as a Madonna House priest. His Dominican provincial said the funeral Mass, and the funeral customs of that community were incorporated into it. After the Mass, Fr. Sharkey’s body was taken away to be buried with his Dominican community as he had requested.

Was anything else happening this past month? Well, of course. We cancelled and cut back where we could. Our Pre-Lent Event, an evening of fun and laughter, was cancelled. A play that several people had practiced was postponed twice, and as of this writing, we still haven’t seen it.

But, factually, there wasn’t much we could cut out or postpone. For the most part, we lived the duty of the moment as always.

Of all that non-funeral news that occurred this past month, I will just tell you two things—both, in fact, not unrelated to our major events.

On February 4th, two days before Donna died, Susanne Stubbs, director general of women, fell and severely fractured her hip. She had to wait three days before having surgery for a hip replacement—the day after Donna’s death.

Joe Walker, one of the residents of Our Lady of the Visitation, the part of MH where our elderly members who need care live, was "transferred" to the nursing home in a nearby town. Actually, he chose to make this move so that he can share the life of the people there, loving, serving, and praying for them.

Blessed, blessed Easter to each of you.