Goodbye Father Don

Last night we went to a prayer service (wake) for our friend, Father Don Braukmann.  He was diagnosed with ALS December 2017 and (thankfully) died of a heart attack July 17, 2019. He told us he watched a friend/parishioner die of ALS and prayed that, of all things he would die from, that God would spare him from this disease. Well, he got it. BUT he was spared that last leg of ALS that is the worst; mentally cognizant but physically trapped in your own body. He was in a power wheelchair, able to type on his weekly caring bridge post, in a nursing home due to his level of cares needed. We brought him lilacs (his favorite) and chocolate milkshakes. He blessed Elizabeth’s first communion crucifix. He loved dogs, but was also fond of our chickens. :) Last night singing “I’ll fly away” and closing prayer, we did a group rosary with the knights of Columbus. Felicity finally saw his body in the casket and it hit her hard—this was her friend.  During the rosary I had a vision of Fr Don in heaven, Mary’s hand on his shoulder and Jesus’ scarred hand holding Fr Don’s. Fr Don always had a quick remark for everything and I heard him say, “wow, that sounds great up here,” referring to the acoustics of our rosary heard up in heaven.  Fr Don went to seminary with Bishop Robert Barron. Here’s the bishop’s email I received today: “Friends, today we celebrate the feast of St. Mary Magdalene. Our Gospel says that Mary came to the Lord’s tomb early in the morning on the first day of the week. Let’s place ourselves there: it is still dark—just the way it was at the beginning of time, before God said, "Let there be light." But a light is about to shine, and a new creation is about to appear.  The stone had been rolled away. The stone, blocking entrance to the tomb of Jesus, stands for the finality of death. When someone that we love dies, it is as though a great stone is rolled across them, permanently blocking our access to them. And this is why we weep at death—not just in grief but in a kind of existential frustration. Undoubtedly, Mary Magdalene thought that a grave robber had been at work. The wonderful Johannine irony is that the greatest of grave robbers had indeed been at work. In the book of prophet Ezekiel, we hear this: "I will open your graves and have you rise from them." What was dreamed about, what endured as a hope against hope, has become a reality. God has opened the grave of his Son.”