My favorite part of the Easter Vigil liturgy is the singing of the Litany of the Saints. Sadly, due to the postponement of baptisms and confirmations, this melody was confined to my heart and soul this year. On the upside, adding some "unofficial" saints to the roster was much easier than normal. I have written elsewhere about my friend, Fr. Greg Coiro, and my cousin, Nicole Bidwell. And now, it is my duty and privilege to introduce you to a few other departed companions: Kevin and Donna Huckaby, and Roger Scoggins.
Donna hired me to teach religion at St. Francis High School, and became my mentor and friend. She was the epitome of what Catholic education should stand for: God and grace first, everything else second. Such a vision ruffled certain feathers, but also touched and transformed many lives. Donna loved us, students and staff alike, and strove each day to help us become the people whom God created us to be; most powerfully, by sharing the story of her son, Kevin, on the quarterly senior class retreats, known as Kairos.
Kevin developed a seizure disorder while still a toddler. Doctors predicted a terribly short lifespan, but he bested that by nearly fifty years. Donna would recount harrowing tales of hospital visits and dark nights of the soul, alongside joyful ones about a man whose mind never outgrew the unconditional love of a child. She spoke of the power of friendship and the necessity of forgiveness, especially of oneself; lessons that Kevin taught her over the decades. As an adult, he resided in group homes nearby to where my wife and I live, so we had the good fortune of spending time with him. He loved the Beach Boys, and Mary Poppins, and eating at IHOP. He couldn't talk or walk very well, but he sang gleefully and moved faster than you expected. And when Kevin smiled, you smiled back.
Eventually, however, illness and seizures got the upper hand, and death came for Kevin in October of 2018. Donna had already been struggling with dementia, but went downhill quickly after this and died last year, just after Christmas. I suppose her soul couldn't bear the separation. Several years ago, I took a photo of the two of them in the park, walking hand-in-hand. That is how I see them now: mother and son, together, forever.
In the intervening years, I left St. Francis, took time off to write, then found a support staff job at a public middle school, which is where I met my friend Roger.
Roger was the school's head custodian. The world might sniff at that job title, but no one who ever knew him would. He was the hardest worker on campus, bar none. That alone would merit respect, but he gave a lot more of himself than just time and energy. Like all such people, his generosity was often taken advantage of; but he refused to allow that to make him less kind or joyful. He shared his friendship abundantly and broadly, but had a special fondness for the "special needs" students, who returned his affection with gusto. Roger was a true gentle-man, strong and tough, yet unashamed of saying "I love you" to his friends; and unquestionably, one of the finest men I have had the honor to know. He died just a few weeks ago, appropriately enough, on Valentine's Day.
Now, don't get me wrong, these were not perfect people. Kevin could be moody, even to the point of violence in his later years. (Some of his caregivers said, jokingly or not, that he had finally entered adolescence!) And Donna was so focused on him that, by her own admission, she neglected her other children at various times. Which brings us to Roger, whose stubbornness kept him from addressing his health issues until it was too late. No, these were not perfect people. But they were good people, who loved their brothers and sisters, and did their very best to serve the One who is parent of us all.
And here's the best news: they are not alone. The key theme of Kairos was, "If you want to find God, don't look up, look around." An assertion that the Divine Presence lies within each one of us, ready to be shared with the world like living sacraments. Not all of us, of course, are willing to tap into such grace. There are some, however, who are unafraid to walk in friendship with Love and Love's Author. They rarely make the news. Nor are they mourned by millions. But they are the salt and sparkle of our world. And I give thanks for all of them, especially the ones whom I have been blessed to know.
My sisters and brothers, Nicole, Greg, Kevin, Donna, Roger, and all the ordinary saints who toil in anonymity for the sake of faith, hope, and love, pray for us!