When I was a freshman in high school, my classmate drowned. He was supposed to be in school, but it was a hot day in May, so he bunked with a friend and went swimming in Georgiaville Pond.
At Confirmation class that week, we were told that we would attend his wake. Like most 15-year-olds, I'd never seen a dead body let alone someone my age.
I knelt at the casket and started to cry. Somehow the priest's words comforted us.
St. Adjutor is the patron saint against drowning and of drowning victims. He was born in Normandy, France and was a knight in the First Crusade. Legend says that he escaped the Muslims by swimming back to France.
St. Adjutor died on April 30, 1131. His feast day is April 30.
The week after my classmate died, I learned my grandfather had terminal cancer and four months to live. He told me he had lived a full life and that my friend's death was much more devastating because he was a young boy.
"I'm 75-years-old," my grandfather said from his favorite chair in the living room. "Now, you'll be ready for when I pass away."
Then he pointed to the flower garden outside the picture window. "And, I'll be lying in a bed of roses."
Despite what my grandfather said, it doesn't matter how old a person is, the people left behind are never fully prepared when death happens.
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