Definition

On May 1, 2011, my son made his First Communion.

We've been preparing for this day all year.  In addition to the regular religious education classes he takes, he also had several prep days, and D & I had what seemed like 20 (at least) parent meetings to discuss the various goings-on that would be happening on the big day.  We helped 70 kids make clothespin crucifixes and rainbows (yes, rainbows).  We carefully chose and trimmed a piece of the teddy bear quilt my mother had made, that E had inherited from me and my siblings, so that it could be incorporated into an altar cloth.  D & I semi-patiently sat through two pedantic videos aimed at explaining the Eucharist to 7-year-olds. I hand-hemmed the suit pants that were about 4 inches too long for my tiny boy and packed around a First Communion tie for an entire year (purchased when I was shopping for my niece's First Communion last year).  We sat through a 2-hour long live presentation of the Passover and Last Supper, complete with a pseudo-Seder meal, and braved the tastes of bitter herbs and saltwater.  We watched E pose for pictures in his suit and tie, and rehearsed the actual big day over and over again: "You hold your hands like this, the priest will say this, you will bow like this, you say 'amen'..." I felt impossibly giddy yesterday morning, could barely look at my son without wanting to overflow with joy and pride and love.

This is why we are Catholic.  This is a big deal.  Spelling bees, recitals, championship games, senior proms, none of them are as important as this.  My mother taught me that nothing comes before Mass, and at Mass, the pivotal point is the Eucharist.  And this was the first time my son would be fully involved.  How could that not be incredibly special?

We attend a very large church that had about 75% of the pews reserved for (and filled by) First Communicants' friends & family members on the big day.  Our particular contingent was made up of my parents, D's parents, E's father, stepmother and grandmother.

And my best friend, the Queen Bee. 

Last week, I asked her if she'd like to come, with minimum advance notice, even though my own family had known about this day for months.  Because I was missing my brother and sister, who weren't going to make it, although nothing other than impossible distances would have kept them away.  And she dropped everything and came.  Without hesitation, without question.  Without making excuses.

She hugged me as he walked down the aisle, exclaiming over how impossibly cute he was.  She sang our hymns and read our words.  She held our hands and greeted our neighbors with the sign of peace.  She patted my back as tears rolled down my face when he said "Amen" in front of the priest and accepted the Eucharist in his tiny hands.  She fetched pieces of cake and watched over belongings and was patient with the ridiculous chaos that accompanies any event in which I am involved.

She's not Catholic, what does she care about our rituals and beliefs?  She has her own life and job and had so many other things to do rather than sit in a strange building for an hour and a half for about 2 minutes of show time (when E walked down the aisle and when he actually made his First Communion).  She is not related to me or to my son.

But she came because the day was important to me and because she loves my son. 

And that's what family is.