23 years gone anniversary coming up

23 years gone anniversary coming up

my mother died unexpectedly 23 years ago this weekend, 6weeks after her grandson was born,

 he is now training to be a doctor

then 8 weeks later my father nearly died in the same marriage bed

one of my brothers saved him with cpr

then he was in hospital for 3 months

then he went to the old people's home

he lived 5.5 more years

its all here in Padre Pio and Me.

which I wrote maybe 15 years ago

 Padre Pio and Me ©                    

  By

  Michael Casey

It’s a contradiction in terms immediately, how can I copyright  a Saint. A brand new saint at that. I first heard of him through some Religious reading I did. I feel embarrassed to admit it, but I am a practising Catholic, its not fashionable to have any Faith but its mine so I admit it. Immediately the prejudice begins, but if I WERE A Jew or a Muslim, it would be the same. I do feel that my catholic tastes have given me a broader outlook on life, as has my  eclectic tastes and rubbing shoulders with a wide variety of people. But I want to talk about Padre Pio. I had a crisis and was reading about him at the time, so I said my prayers to him and the way forward was revealed. Though Padre Pio always says go Higher, he is just a stepping stone on the way to a better place.

What is so hard to understand about Padre Pio  is how he suffered. He had the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune. Condemned by his own superiors, made to be quiet for a decade and so forth. Science Fiction teaches or rather amuses us about Time Travel, but with Padre Pio it really happened, he wanted to share in Christ’s agony so he thought, what if he too could have and suffer the wounds on that day of Crucifiction. So it came to pass that he suffered for 50years. He had the indignity of medical examinations and of being thought just to be a mental patient, but his work and life proved his holiness. So it’s nearly 1990 and I hear about him and read a few books, its hard to understand the value of suffering in this age of quick fix pain killers and the lets have a fix, whatever the fix might be, sex, drugs and rock and roll or whatever. Its like suddenly studying again after years of lying fallow, the learning curve is enormous. So too is it with Padre Pio, the idea behind his life is enormous, but so too is the capacity for love and help.

My favourite story is how Padre Pio explains that The Wedding Feast at Cena happened because Jesus could not refuse his mother. Very Italian, or Irish or Spanish and so on, but could any of us refuse our mothers? So I thought more about what Padre Pio said, and his motto of Pray Hope Don’t Worry became my own. Carpe Diem is another good motto but perhaps this can be used by any Hedonist, or other kind of selfish person.Padre Pio reminds us to pray and that pray is not wasted, its perfume that is never wasted is a phrase I like. My mother always used to say that if you couldn’t sleep you should say the Rosary, and she was right. Though in today's world an hour on the Internet or with MTV might do the trick. So why the devotion to Padre Pio, I’ll cut to the chase. My mother died suddenly but peacefully in her sleep, my brother tried CPR, but she was gone. Imagine the angusih amongst her 6 children and her husband of nearly 50 years.

All except me, my mother had said no tears when she go,so I never cried, I was the odd one out.I know how prayerful she was, so I had no need of tears. Eight bare weeks later my brother, the same brother heard our dad fall out of bed, so he ran to his bedroom. My brother was facing the exact same situation, he tried CPR, the ambulance was called, an injection was given straight to the heart. On weekends there is a doctor in the ambulance, so Luck, if that’s the word was with us. The next day 4 of my brothers and sisters came around to tell me the news.

When my sister had come around 8 weeks previously I knew somebody was dead but I assumed it was my dad, he’s die first we all thought. So now 8 weeks later it was his turn to die. At the hospital dad was given 1 week to live, I cried like a baby, worse than a baby, but I loved him, so I told he he should go to our mother and not hang on if he didn’t want to. The next day I was in my sister’s house crying, we picked hymns for his funeral.Yet my father survived, 19 patients on a heart ward, 18 died my dad survived. Padre Pio was beseiged by my prayers, I put Padre Pio’s photo under his pillow. Dad lost his mind, he was in Dudley Rd for 3months, 12 weeks, more than half of them all tubed up. His life hanging in the balance. At the same time somewhere in Florida another man was at deaths door, he was a totally stranger to me, I didn’t even know his name, I’d never met him, he was give 24hours to live, a Chinese man from Shanghai was at deaths door. The Chinaman survived.

My dad’s memory was totally wiped, he did not know who I was, I’m your son was greeted with, am I married. I was the favourite son, he did not even know me. But still we prayed, it’s a feeling in your guts, just like when you are nearly killed as you cross the road, its in your guts and in your heart, Jesus save my dad, Jesus save my dad, Padre Pio help !!! This goes around your head like a merry go around or a kaleidascope. Finally dad awoke.

He said that he can remember hearing the doctor say to wheel him down to the end of the ward, because he’d be dead soon. At that moment my dad awoke, and the doctor dropped  his cup of tea in shock. No not an instanteous miracle, but as Dr Singh had said if he were 30years younger he’d have a heart transplant because dad’s heart was rubbish. Now, when I told my brother that dad was reading a newspaper he was shocked. His memory had come back. He knew who we all were.Every day for three months I walked the corridor at Dudley Rd, the longest hospital corridor in Europe, 1 kilometre long.

Finally he left the hospital, my sister had found a good home for him to live in, he was far too weak to live in the family house. For 3 years dad survived, like a Godfather with all his children making constant visits. Finally I met my future wife. It was her uncle who had miraclously survived at the same time as my father. It was her uncle who encouraged us in our love. From Shanghai to Birmingham.These great men, her uncle and my father never met, but I know Padre Pio must have  helped both of them. Further prayer was needed to bring me and my wife permanenetly together. A Chinese miracle happened.

 Now we are wed, we have a 2year old and please God a healthy second baby in the Autumn. The improbability of our meeting, plus the fact that both men HAD to live for us to be married and have a family, this may be a coincidence to some but I know a miracle when I see one. A miracle is something that makes you feel humble, it makes you know that God has whispered your name. When I look at my wife, I feel humble. Seeing our daughter laugh and play also makes me humble as will our new baby. Then you can look back and know that prayer is like perfume that can never be wasted, your life has led you to where you are now, yes at times sad and terrible, but be humble in the sight of God means something, not just for me, but for all Believers.

I once stood by the fridge and said to Padre Pio, I give up, you take over, all I want is to be married, and perhaps have a family, and do something useful with my life. That was just before my eyes were opened to my wife. I used to say that I got 2 out of my 3 wishes. Perhaps my current occupation is my 3rd wish, or a more outstanding miracle is waiting in the wings, but as Padre Pio  said,always ask for the big Grace.Perhaps we have to be humble enough to deserve it, because I believe it to be a fact that, truly great people are humble because they know just how little they really know

The Old Lady and the Horse

The Old Lady and the Horse ©

By

Michael Casey

Well I changed my chair today, so I’m sat more upright, and the footprint takes up less room in the study/front room. When you ride a horse they tell you to sit up straight and bounce along with the horse. Not that I know much about horses, though my dad was a Blacksmith and used to shoe them back in Kerry in the 1930s before he came to England and spent his life in a steel works. Me I’m a Wordsmith, but dad’s grandson is training in Sheffield to be a Doctor, quiet a leap in 2 generations.

But today I want to tell you about the old lady and the horse. Shall  we say the old lady lived in Sheffield amongst the hills, and steel of course. Now Mrs Ore was very old, she’d seen a lot and lost her husband in an industrial accident in a steel works long ago. She had a tiny pension and all her children and grandchildren no longer lived in Sheffield, they had moved to Birmingham, why she never knew, she loved Sheffield. She also loved the field just down the road where the horses were, she spent hours talking to the horses.

The horses loved her too, and she was allowed to stroke them and feed them an apple or two. Her husband had planted an apple tree in the garden when they were first wed, so their marriage consisted of lots of apple pie. And while the pie was in the oven they used to go to bed and let it rise, and so they had 8 children. 4 of each. So beware of planting an apple tree in your garden. However they all sent her money from Birmingham, so though her pension was tiny she never worried about money.

The horses came running from the far side of the field when they saw her coming, there was love between them. Though were there is love, there is always the opposite. One day Mrs Ore was attacked by a man high on skunk. She would have died in fact, all the man got was her bus pass and a bag of apples, he threw here bus pass away but kept the apples. Then still stinking of skunk cannabis he shuffled away. The horses gathered around, then one spoke. We have to save her, but we cannot break our cover. Lift her up on my back I’ll take her to their hospital, if I follow the Sheffield Pathway then I’ll soon be there.

So a horse appeared outside a Sheffield hospital with a bloodied Mrs Ore on its back. The porters came running and the doctors too. Mrs Ore was carried inside. The horse went around the back to where the dustbins were, when a porter came to see where the horse had gone all that he found was a lump of manure. But this manure smelt of roses, normally you put your horse manure on flowers to help them grow, then you have the sweet smell of roses. But this horse manure actually smelt of roses. The porter returned to the casualty department.

The horse had disappeared into thin air he reported, as for Mrs Ore she smelt of roses too, like the most expensive of perfumes. The doctors were mystified, but they patched her up and kept her in for a week. All her family came from Birmingham, each one saying she should move to Birmingham and be safe. Mrs Ore insisted Sheffield was her home, so she accepted 8 panic alarms from her children. Does your mother wear expensive perfume asked the doctors, even after a week in hospital she smelt of roses. She only smells of apples explained all her children.

In fact the horses had made her smell like roses, you see the horses were not horses, they were shape shifters from space, aliens in fact. They were on a 5 years mission to boldly go where no shape shifter had gone before. They had met Jim Kirk and made him smell like Brut, that’s how he got all the girls. As they travelled far and wide they had various disguises. They even met Dr Who, and told him/her to Relax, and gave the Doctor a Frankie goes to Hollywood album, don’t be so PC they advised and made him smell of Ck1, it was made for both genders after all. Leaving a nice smell was the aliens trade mark.

Disguised as horses they had been observing Earth, and it was only because of Mrs Ore that it was put on the Hitch Hikers Guide to the Universe best places to stay for aliens. They were writing a travel guide in fact. They loved Mrs Ore so much because of her apples, and they knew a cancer was growing inside her, but she was old, and would not want to be of any trouble to anybody. Even though no Earth doctor could see the cancer even in 5 years time. Aliens have better senses you see.

Mrs Ore dreampt of horses every night, in fact the aliens came and visited her, transforming themselves into porters and then changing back into horses as they gathered around her bed. When the horses spoke to her she was not afraid. She was ready to meet God, so he must have sent them to carry her Home. Mrs Ore do you want to come with us, far away. Further than Birmingham she asked. Much further, to the very stars. I always wanted to travel but with 8 kids I did not, and then when my husband died I was too busy with the kids.

She fell asleep, the horses decided, she’d come with them, her apples were the talk of the Universe. So the 4 horses carried her away in the night. In the morning 4 golden horse shoes were hanging from her bed and bed itself was full of horse manure, but the strange thing was the manure smelt of roses.

  

8th May update

this is the only award I'll ever get, the picture disappeared before so here it is again.

Loads of readers  for the Big Read from the other day

United States
United Kingdom
Germany
Portugal
Brazil
Unknown Region
Belgium
Spain
Russia India so the Words work everywhere even if my cut and paste does not. The Butcher The Baker and The Undertaker site has the most stories so  tell all your friends maybe we can get them on your radio and even PAY me, but I won't hold my breath. I do have an idea for another story, I'll put it down once my body stops creaking, my Tinnitus does not let me sleep till dawn, so my shedule gets pushed back a few hours. At least God is happy as I spend more time talking to him, part of the night. Health is the only Wealth. Or a Very rich Korean girlfriend...