Coming home from buying vegetables this morning, I noticed there was a message on my phone. I did not recognize the number. The voicemail was mumbled, someone saying, “Hey, I need you. Give me a call. It’s important.” The voice sounded like Mike Zarebicki. I called the number and asked for Michael. The person said, “Who?” I said, “Michael Zarebicki.” The person said, “There’s no one here by that name.” I apologized and hung up.

Still concerned, I looked up Michael’s number and called. The person answering did not sound like Michael. I said, “Is Michael there?” The person responded, “Who is this?” I hesitated, then said, “It’s Father Greg.” The person started crying… “Oh my God, Father Greg… It’s Chris!” (Michael’s son).

He continued, “My father died this morning. How did you know to call?” I said, “Oh my God… Chris! I’m so sorry.” I then asked, “Did you call me this morning?” He said, “No.” I responded, “Chris I don’t know why, but something urged me to call.”

I then asked how his father died. Michael was diagnosed with spine cancer in March. We talked for a long time. It’s been a very difficult few months for Michael and the family.

Backstory: I’ve known Jan and his family since high school. His parents, Aleksander and Barbara and his brother Michael were like family to me. They lived at 306 Porter Street, two blocks from Saint Hedwig’s Church. In my teens, I was always with them. They shared their stories with me. I learned to speak Polish.

Aleksander was a great soldier in the Polish Calvary during WWII. Barbara was 16 when Germany invaded Poland. Barbara wound up in a German concentration where she suffered terribly. And yet, she was the most happy, life-affirming person I’ve ever known.

Barbara called me a few months before she died, asking me to visit. She said there were things she wanted to tell me.

That Saturday morning, I put on my “Men In Black” costume, went to an Italian bakery to pick up a raspberry cream cake, then to a floral shop where I bought roses. Then, I went to see Barbara. (In my youth, Barbara taught me that a gentleman never visits a lady without at least bringing flowers).

We ate cake and drank homemade plum wine as Barbara shared her story. In a way, it was like a “last confession.” I don’t mean that in a sacramental, “bless me Father for I have sinned,” kind of way. Rather, it was her swan song, a soliloquy of love given by an elegant 90 year old woman as she recalled the grand tour of her life.

What she shared was both inspiring and heartbreaking. I felt unworthy to be chosen as the sole guest at such an intimate occasion.

The audacity of time had imposed upon her the countenance of an old woman. Yet, the sparkle in her eyes revealed the child who dwells, forever, within.

That day, I was present to a young Polish woman. She was simply beautiful. I heard tales of a popular girl who laughed easily and worked hard; a wife and mother who encouraged her family to look for the goodness and blessings which surround us every day.

She spoke quietly of the hard times. But clearly, no adversity could bind her. She was totally free because truth brings healing, and integrity is power.

On July 24, 2013, Barbara Zarebicki died. It was my great honor to preside at her funeral.

I baptized Jan’s son, Olek, who was born prematurely. He came into the world with numerous afflictions. No one expected him to survive. Today, he lives with a family in a country home. They say he is “uncommunicative,” but his innocent smile speaks volumes.

Michael and his wife Rose raised their sons (Paul and Chris) in a lovely home near Conrad High School. Michael was a big brother, not only to Jan, but also to me. He would regularly come to morning mass at the parishes to I was assigned. At those masses, I would find an opportunity to say something in Polish. Those precious moments were my way of acknowledging the family who loved me like one of their own.

Paul and Chris both went through St. Matthew’s elementary school and Saint Mark’s High School at the same time Andrea and Brianna went to those schools. Chris was always Brianna’s classmate.

At one point in talking with him, Chris said, “I heard Brianna died. I’m so sorry Father Greg. She was so beautiful. Everybody loved her. I loved her. She was the nicest person in the world. I am so sorry.” I thanked him, telling him it’s been a really difficult time and that Brianna’s mother will be grateful to know that he cares.

Then I told him something that has helped me carry on since Brianna’s death. “Chris, you must look for the light…. Look for beauty… Be kind! Love is the only way through great tragedy. In the days ahead, you’ll be given signs… don’t ignore them. They are signs letting you know that your father is… Your father has died. But he will live forever.” He responded, “I love you Father Greg.” “Chris, I love you.”

We both cried.

Tomorrow, Chris and Paul and their Mom and will meet with Mealey’s Funeral Home to make arrangements for Michael.

When Chris and his wife Julie got married, it was my pleasure to witness their nuptial vows. A few years later, I received a call from Chris saying their first child had been born. But there were serious medical concerns. He asked, “Can you come to the hospital?

I went Christiana hospital and baptized their daughter. They named her Lily. Beautiful Lily, the flower that symbolizes purity and resurrection. Lily lived for 2 days. She died on April 13, 2010 (April 13 is my grandmother’s birthday as well as the date on which Monica Corrozi died). Lily’s funeral was one of the last times I saw Jan. At the funeral, Chris and Julie read a prayer thanking God for the gift of Lily. “Although she was only with us a short time, we are so grateful that we got to hold her. She will always be our little girl.” In her honor, the family planted an Eastern Redbud Tree in front of Corpus Christi church. Since then, Chris and Julie have had two other daughters.

Sadly, Chris also told me that he and Julie are divorcing.

We both cried.