It was surreal. There I was last Sunday morning, sitting in the sun at a small table on a glorious Spring day with a familiar stranger, who has moved in and out of my life since we were boys. It was my brother Tom. Sitting in a park, overlooking the Connecticut River where the Holyoke Dam roars with magnificent power, we enjoyed a picnic lunch on the edge of the neighborhood where we grew up together. On such a fine day, you would never guess we were sitting near "The Flats", a drug-infested ghetto in our home town with one of the highest crime rates in the Commonwealth of Massachusetts. Our connection as brothers ended prematurely almost 5 decades ago, when I ran away from home at age 13. It was a desperate act at a desperate time in my life. I never thought I would ever see this place again, especially with this brother of mine, taken from my life when he was 10. We never lived together again and had little or no contact for many years.
Tom is a lifelong alcoholic and addict, and has been homeless for most of his life. He has been in and out of prisons, county jails, and hospitals all his life. Once in a while, Tom found someone he could live with, obtain a job, and almost have a normal life, but it never lasted. He had two children with different women. He has been at death's door many times, and I never expected to see him alive at the ripe age of 57. Since being hit by a car last October, the Mass Health Care system has spent over $500,000 to patch him up, rebuild his pelvis, restore 30 broken bones, and even provide beautiful new dentures. My brother appeared incredibly well and in his right mind as we sat in the sunshine. I found the entire scene completely unbelievable. I kept asking myself : "Is this really happening?"
For many decades, I have pursued Tommy, trying to support and encourage him, praying for his recovery, and looking for him when he went missing. I have given him up for dead so many times, I can't keep track of the count. So there we were, enjoying pasta salad and fruit together in the warm sun, joking and laughing like normal brothers do, and I just could not get my mind around the fact that this was real. Gary & Tom were sitting together, very near where our family disintegrated, and we were happy, even giddy to be together - an incredible time for both of us. As we smiled and talked about our dangerous exploits as two unsupervised boys, playing in the dangerous river and canals of Holyoke in the 1960s, I recalled that last Sunday was "Divine Mercy Sunday". It was a divine mercy for Tommy and I to share these moments together, something beyond either his expectations or mine. My brother honored me for pursuing him all these years. "You never gave up on me" he said. "That's not true", I thought. I fell into despair over him a dozen times. Somehow, hope returns unnoticed.
Whatever may happen, whatever the future may bring to our relationship, we had that time together, a connection we had missed for so long and I am grateful, profoundly grateful. If you had told me this was going to happen, I wouldn't have believed it. But God wanted both of us to be encouraged and not give into despair. Today's gospel records Peter's miraculous catch of fish when the apostles were beginning to doubt the mission Jesus had given them. John was the first to suspect that Jesus was at work with his outburst : "It is the Lord!" Then Jesus fed his disciples breakfast, just as he was feeding Tom & I at this picnic near the water last week. When time gives way to eternity, my family will be reconciled, restored, and forgiven. Prayers are never wasted. Mercy triumphs in the end. Gary
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