Abstract:
Violet and [Iris Carey] were lost in the sound sleep of their sweet
dreams - tucked in, safe and sound, beside their parents' bed. Fate,
disguised as a probable gas leak, quite literally stole them out of [Heath
Carey] and Tara's embrace, ripping one family apart.
Speaking as if in the privacy of a confessional, the priest looked deep into
the devastation carved on the faces of Violet and Iris' parents, then
lovingly whispered: "You've done such a good job. You have sacrificed
so much for these beautiful children. Violet and Iris . . . these two works
of art . . . these treasures, they have come from your love."
PAINFUL GOODBYE: [Tara Carey] and Heath Carey, parents of 4- year-old Iris
and 5-year-old Violet, hold pink balloons just before letting them go near
the shared casket at Vernon Grove Cemetery in Milford yesterday. STAFF PHOTO
BY MATT STONE
| Full Text: |
| Copyright Boston Herald Library Jul
30, 2002 |
MILFORD -- After the last prayers were spoken, the young
husband and wife stepped away from the open grave . . . away from the tears
of family and friends . . . away from the white casket in which their two
little girls slept side by side.
Heath and Tara Carey stepped away, their hands clutching
entwined strings that kept two pink balloons hovering just over their heads.
On a steamy July morning, what better place to look for
the exuberant spirits of 5-year-old Violet Carey and her 4-year-old sister,
Iris, than in the gentle wonder of two pink balloons?
Heath Carey caressed his wife's hands in those precious
moments before they both let go of the strings, setting the two pink
balloons free to soar toward the summer sun.
When reason and logic fail, there is only faith.
Yesterday, even faith was hard-pressed to find the right words. It was here
at St. Mary's of the Assumption that the Rev. Michael Foley baptized Violet
and Iris Carey.
Yesterday, Father Foley slowly led the tiny sisters back
to the altar where they were christened, so that a shroud of resurrection
could be draped over their coffin. Such a moment defies all explanation.
This priest, in his grace and wisdom, never attempted to give one.
What he gave instead was the gift of his humility. At the
outset of the Mass, Father Foley looked at Heath and Tara Carey and simply
told them he could not begin to imagine what they were enduring, or how any
words of consolation could ever suffice.
Violet and Iris Carey were lost in the sound sleep of
their sweet dreams - tucked in, safe and sound, beside their parents' bed.
Fate, disguised as a probable gas leak, quite literally stole them out of
Heath and Tara's embrace, ripping one family apart.
"Even in those moments, just before the homily, I
didn't quite know what I would say," Father Foley explained later.
"Then, I came to the realization that whatever I could say best, I
could say to them . . . to these two loving parents. And if anyone (else
gathered in the church) wanted to listen . . . well, that would be
fine."
In choosing to come down off the altar and direct his
homily at two wounded people, Father Foley managed to lift an entire
congregation, lost in grief, closer to something approaching transcendence.
He reminded the Careys that in their loss, the rest of us
also mourned for the "fragileness of all our lives." What parent
did not awake to those awful pictures of a house in pieces and shudder to
think: There but for the grace of God?
Speaking as if in the privacy of a confessional, the
priest looked deep into the devastation carved on the faces of Violet and
Iris' parents, then lovingly whispered: "You've done such a good job.
You have sacrificed so much for these beautiful children. Violet and Iris .
. . these two works of art . . . these treasures, they have come from your
love."
Over the past few days, as Father Foley stationed himself
close to the Careys, he came to know the story of one family's life and love
in the hundreds of pictures salvaged from a disaster.
"I saw pictures filled with so much life and love
and vibrancy," Father Foley said yesterday, upon returning from the
cemetery. "Hundreds and hundreds of pictures . . . and in just about
all of them those two beautiful little girls had their arms entwined around
one another. You could really FEELthe love in all those pictures."
From the smiles and the joy radiating from the faces of
two sisters, closer to twins, the priest told the church that these children
had crammed more living into the brief span of their lives here, than many
of us who are lucky enough to live 10 times as long.
It was a theme echoed by Tiffany Germain, the girls'
young aunt and godmother. "Violet and Iris taught each one of us
something about ourselves, and how to live our lives," Tiffany said in
her eulogy. "Violet and Iris, it was an honor to be your auntie and
your godmother."
Though Father Foley told a couple, far too young to
shoulder such sorrow, that he had no answer for their suffering. "I do
know that this God of love is very close to you right now. Believe me, what
is changed is not gone. Violet and Iris are there with you, in the quiet of
your hearts. They will always be there. As harsh and cruel and overwhelming
as this has all been, it is not the end. It is not the end."
Then, holding the example of one young family's love
before a church filled with broken hearts, the priest said: "Do not
wait until tomorrow. Love NOW. Care NOWFor now is all we really have."
Caption: PAINFUL GOODBYE: Tara and Heath Carey, parents
of 4- year-old Iris and 5-year-old Violet, hold pink balloons just before
letting them go near the shared casket at Vernon Grove Cemetery in Milford
yesterday. STAFF PHOTO BY MATT STONE
