65. Crazy Love (1)

One of the last things I did before entering religious life was to call Mary Immaculata O’Toole, the girl I dated in high school and occasionally in college.  Immy was my only serious love. As I look back, I’m sure I was never more than a date to her, but she wasn’t just a date to me. At one time I thought we’d spend our lives together. But in the summer after high school just before I left for college, Immy told me we were through. The news wasn’t a surprise, but it hurt. Later, when we were both home from college in the summer we occasionally went out together, but with the understanding we were only friends. At least, that was Immy’s understanding.

It was my college spiritual director who suggested I have one more meeting with Immy before I pursued the life of a Brother.

“What the hell for?” I blurted out.

Bert looked at me as if I were dense, surprised at my reaction. “Call it closure,” he said. “After all, the young woman obviously meant a lot to you.”

“That’s the past,” I said, “when I was a kid.”

Bert peered over his glasses at me and then shifted around in his chair and looked out the window,  across the college’s quadrangle of lawn and sidewalks. He was a large man, a Lutheran minister and a former Army Chaplain who didn’t suffer fools easily. He was not of a pastoral bent, but was rather more directive. The afternoon sun was streaming in through the glass on a late winter afternoon. He probably wanted to get outside and frankly I was finished with this conversation.

“Do you realize,” he said after a moment, “how many young men of antiquity found the love of their life and fathered the girl’s children before age 18?”

“I didn’t do anything to father any children,” I said, sort of smugly.

Still …” he said. “Let’s be realistic. Do you think a 16 year old can’t have an important love? Even a life-changing love?”

“I don’t know,” I replied.

“Go see her,” Bert said. “Don’t tell yourself you don’t love her, not until you see how your emotions react when you’re with her for an hour. And then if you’re still not sure, well … just be sure you can live without her. For five years, anyway.”

When I went home at Christmas, I made the call. It was a tough task. I didn’t want to start that memory in my heart beating all over again. And also, I didn’t look forward to telling Immy I was going to be a Brother. I had revealed my plan to a few casual young woman acquaintances in the 6 months prior and received strange reactions, not the encouragement I would have expected. If Immy looked at me like I was less than a man, I’d feel terrible. Truthfully,  I often felt like a very strong man when I thought of the dedication this life would require.

I dialed Immy’s number and her mother answered. The lady who had been so nice to me in high school didn’t bother to act like she remembered me, but I’m sure she did.

“She’s here. Wait a minute, please,” said the housewife who had just plummeted to the bottom of my favorite older woman list.

I visualized Immy and her mother sitting across the kitchen table from each other and that was confirmed by Immy coming on the phone almost immediately, except for a slight delay while I imagined Mom holding the phone away from her ear and rolling her eyes in disdain.

“Hello?” said Immy. “Oh, Hi! Where are you? Here in town, really? Uh huh. Uh huh. Oh. Well … I’m not home for very long, so I’m really busy most nights … every night, come to think of it. Ha ha!”

“How about Saturday morning?” I said.

“Well … OK,” she said. “I guess. Where? I’m on a diet.” That meant she didn’t want to get stuck with me through too long of a lunch.

“How about St. John’s Church?” I said. I was reacting sarcastically to her avoiding lunch with me, but decided as I spoke that St. John’s was probably appropriate. I’d been to so many funerals there.

“Are you serious?” she said.

“Sure,” I replied. “I’m not in town for very long either. It’s my family church and I’ve been wanting to visit.”

“Wow,” she laughed, a real laugh. “What a date!”

“Ten o’clock OK?” I said.

“Two hours to pray before lunch?” she said. “Is there so much to pray about?”

“OK, then between 10:30 and 11:00,” I said. “I may get there a little early.”

“You probably need the prayer more than me!” she said, brightly

“I’m sure that’s true,” I said.

She hung up.