Banshees and the Easter Bunny make for an interesting Easter

My father died during Easter week 41 years ago. It sounds so harsh in those terms, but the reality was full of light and hope.

And it included a banshee.

In Irish folklore, the banshee howls outside your window to warn of impending death. Her screeching foreshadows the wailing of grief that is soon to come.

My father’s banshee wasn’t quite like that.

Dad had developed throat and mouth cancer after a lifetime of smoking and drinking. I was living in Michigan at the time, so I was spared the tougher aspects of his illness.

The week before Easter, I received the call.

“Come home now,” my sister Ann said.

Dad was dying, and it was just a matter of days. My sisters and I visited the hospital often, talking to him and trying not to be too emotional. Emotional was not his thing. He was truly a man of few words and even fewer PDAs.

On Holy Thursday, my sisters went to the hospital. I was being selfish, and I didn’t want to see him so vulnerable and weak, so I offered to stay home to watch their kids.

My sisters came back from the hospital with a story to tell.

Dad was complaining about pain, which was very unusual. Mary Kay and Ann went out into the hall to flag down a nurse. Lo and behold, the nurse they found was Irish with a thick brogue and a perky attitude.

“Oh, now, you say Mr. Dempsey is in pain?” the nurse said. “We can’t have that. Don’t you worry, I’ll take care of it. He won’t be in pain for long.”

Dad was very proud of his Irish heritage, and it seemed appropriate that he was being attended to by someone from the Auld Sod. They left feeling that he was in good hands.

No sooner had they finished telling me the story than the phone rang.

“Come back now,” the hospital said.

I again babysat the children while they rushed to the hospital. Unfortunately, they were too late. He was already gone by the time they arrived. It bothered them that he may have died in pain, so they asked at the desk to speak with the nurse with the brogue.

The staff members looked at each other in some confusion. “We don’t have a nurse who’s Irish or one that speaks with a brogue,” one said.

His chart did not indicate any pain meds were given.

We like to think that his last moments were spent in the presence of a delightful Irish spirit who led him to the Promised Land with a lilt and a jig, a banshee of joy not sorrow. (It’s either that, or some crazy lady was wandering around Ingalls Hospital euthanizing cancer patients.)

We spent Holy Saturday and Easter Sunday at the funeral home. It sounds sad and depressing but it was surprisingly soothing for me. My faith is not as solid as many of my friends and relatives (I have doubts and questions), but the Easter story of resurrection and forgiveness was a balm on my tired spirit as we prayed the funeral Mass. I knew deep in my heart that Dad was happier. He had never been totally alive once Ma had died, and his faith was strong, if not vocal.

The celebration of Easter is muted now that the children are grown. No eggs to dye and hide, no trips to JC Penney to buy Easter clothes, no stopping at Fannie Mae to buy chocolate bunnies. The grandchildren will get some presents, but they are not yet allowed to have candy so the basket will feature toys and books.

I will spend Good Friday listening to the music of Jesus Christ Superstar. That’s not everyone’s cup of religious tea, but the music reaches me in a way that droning through the Stations of the Cross as a child never did.

On Easter Sunday I will play Handel’s Messiah as I make breakfast and get ready for church. Jeff and I are “Cheasters” which means we only go to church on Christmas and Easter. Then we will have dinner with Sean, Cassie and her family.

Through it all I will celebrate the memory of my lost relatives as I enjoy the company of those I still have. I will attempt to experience the peace and serenity I felt that Easter as we were mourning our human father and celebrating the power of our heavenly Father.

Losing a loved one at Easter proved to be an affirmation that the resurrection of Christ takes the sting out of death. My father’s banshee was not a wild, keening crone but a sweet light looking to stop the pain of this life and pull a soul towards the glory on the other side.

Happy Easter!