Jesus Lost His Head
This is a story with a beginning, a middle, and an end. It is sad and it is funny. It is factual and it may have a small lesson to learn. It is life, and life is a process…
Jesus lost His head. It was about a year ago, as I was losing my head, and it was purely physical — He wasn’t mad at me (disappointed maybe, but nothing to lose His head over). He fell off the shelf, and off it came. I had glued it, but I didn’t have Blessed glue around — one little stumble, and off it came again.
Now, not to get morbid or anything, but this little statue was given to me by Mother Mary Ivo, the beautiful principal of St. Katherine’s in Wayne, who would generously give every student an envelope filled with holy cards and lollipops on their birthdays. On April 22, 1963, she called me to her office OVER THE LOUD SPEAKER (talk about scared to death WHAT had I done?), and showered me with not only holy cards and lollipops — and my 9th birthday wasn’t until October (talk about confused) — but she gave me this Sacred Heart of Jesus, head attached, and a very little blank card with a floral print on the cover.
I went home that day, and wrote all over the inside card a note to my Mommy, “Get better soon and come home soon and get better and come home and I love you and I love my Mommy…” You get the idea.
This was a Monday. On Saturday an ambulance had come to our house on Sinkler Drive, and took Mommy to the hospital. Although she had been sick for over a year, for some reason I ran when my dad told me to give Mommy a kiss. I think I was afraid that she would not come back home if I kissed her. When Dad found me to comfort me, my only concern was that the siren would not be on when the ambulance went away. He said it wouldn’t be. It was.
On Monday, after I had finished writing my note to my Mommy, I handed it and this statue to Dad to take to the hospital for her. The next time I saw my Jesus statue, it was standing next to my Mommy in her casket in Birmingham, where she rests next to brother Bill, today.
I believe what happened on that Monday, April 22nd, was that Mother Mary Ivo had received a call from Dad, to tell her that our Mom (Bill and Kevin were at SKS too) had passed away. When Mother Mary Ivo asked me how my Mom was, I didn’t lie — I said “Oh, she’s fine…FINE, just fine.
The true tragedy is that we, as children, were not included in my Mother’s battle with the cancer that finally consumed her. Oh, fine, great, good, they didn’t know better back then, thought it best to live life normally…NORMALLY?!?…the kids will be fine. Well…we weren’t. But it’s not something I want to place blame on anyone for. God, my Dad was only 34 — he had no idea how to even help himself!
I Have held onto my Jesus statue for 53 years now. When I’ve moved, He has not even been packed — he weathers the journey in my purse, and is pulled out and placed in a special spot, where he watches over me. That is, until now.
Not only had Jesus lost His head, I HAVE LOST HIS HEAD! I think it rolled under a piece of furniture, and I hadn’t taken the time to do a full out search for it, so He now rests in my sock drawer — my junk drawer just didn’t seem appropriate. Meanwhile, there’s a little religious shop around the corner. I’m thinking of taking the body to the shop to line it up with a similar size, making sure it IS Jesus — not some saint or other character. After purchasing, I’m going to — now please don’t think I’m being irreverent — do a guillotene thing, match up new head to body, get some Blessed glue from the rectory, and never ever give Jesus a reason to lose His head again.