Cormac, deep in Alzheimer’s, I had never laid eyes on him up to that point, my prime privilege to be his companion for one whole day. We sat in Church, gazing lovingly on Jesus in the Holy Tabernacle as Jesus lovingly gazed on us. We watched television - well, the television was switched on as it seemed to gift Cormc some relaxation but mostly he slept soundly propped up by cozy pillows. I prayed from my well worn prayer book while Cormac slept.
Many times during our day together I would look into his eyes and say: ‘You would make my day if you would give me even the tiniest smile’. Always, he would stare back at me, emotionless, Cormac’s smile long gone, dwelling alone in a far off obscure mysterious universe, marooned on his own island, or so it seemed.
However, I definitely had the profound sense that Cormac was more aware on some level than folk realised or gave him credit for.
Late in the evening, as I walked to the sink with my cup, Cormac walking slowly towards me, handed me a newspaper. He stood for a moment and then without warning, he smiled 😊, fleeting smile, but glorious smile nevertheless.
Flabbergasted, over the moon, I danced on the spot for pure joy: ‘Thank you, thank you Cormac’, I told him. ‘I knew you would smile for me, I knew it’. Not one scintilla of a doubt! Cormac understood. The heart has an inner ear: H-‘EAR’-T.
Cardinal Robert Sarah wrote in his insightful book ‘The Power of Silence’: ‘Words spoil anything that surpasses them’ and this is certainly true of the momentous moment I speak of.
I must write it though, an event so beautiful and moving must be remembered.
‘I have written very poor compared to the reality. I cannot put it in words’. (St. Faustina)
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