This sad story, written by a woman who was dying, who had fallen away from the Church, was published in the Liguorian Pamphlet, by E. F. Miller. Imprimatured by Joseph E. Ritter, Archbishop of St. Louis, 1957. It is a very sad but true story, and it shows that those who fall away from the Church, divorce and remarry into an adulterous union, have little hopes of being saved, if they don’t correct the situation they have gotten themselves into.
These lines were discovered in the far corner of the dresser drawer of a certain woman (we prefer not to mention her name), who died recently, which would have been in the 1950’s, in one of our large cities. It was apparent they had been written hurriedly. There were no corrections, no crossed out words, no amended sentences. Nor were there any signs of a studied effort for literary effect. A pencil had been used, and some of the phrases were almost illegible. Evidently it was not intended that anyone should ever read the tragic story so poignantly related. Only by accident was the letter found after the funeral, or was it providential? Only by accident did it fall into our hands. We allow it to speak for itself.
The pain is very great tonight, so great that I cannot sleep. I know what it means. It means that the doctor was right when he said that I only had a couple months to live. Cancer. How I loathe the word. What I would not give to be rif of it forever. It may be less than a couple of months if the pain continues as it is gripping me tonight. No matter how long or short the time, I must busy myself; I must keep active, I must not allow myself to rest even for a moment. I shall go insane if I do not succeed in distracting myself every minute of the day and night.
I am writing these pages at my dresser table in the bedroom of our beautiful home. Our home is the most beautiful home – it cost a fortune to build and furnish – in the whole city. It seems completely ugly and even ominous to me now. I am writing by the light of a dim lamp placed right next to my paper so as not to awaken my husband. He is no more to me before God than any man who may be walking the streets tonight. Yes, for twenty years I have been living with him, sleeping with him, acting as a wife to him, bearing his children. And I am not his wife at all. And now I am dying. The clock on my dresser table says ten minutes after one.
Why cannot my conscience die too and let me alone as it has died in so many other people I know who are living the same kind of life that I am? What must I do to stop the torture that it inflicts on me, which is so much worse than any pain caused by my disease?
I am, or rather I should say, I was a Catholic. (One priest said that when a fallen away Catholic dies, they will be judged as a Catholic, not a protestant. Because they were taught the truth, and rejected it). When I was a girl, I was a good Catholic. Am I a Catholic now? I do not know. I would like to be. There is nothing, absolutely nothing in the world that I want more. To be able to go to confession and come out feeling clean again, and washed and made all over again. To go to Communion and let God come right down into my heart. But I cannot be a Catholic. I will not be a Catholic. I gave that up long years ago. I cannot reclaim it. Something more powerful than myself is preventing me from reclaiming it.
Comment: She has lost hope, and cannot reclaim it. Why is it that so many Catholics never return to the Church, even though they know in their heart it is the true Church established by Jesus Christ. One reason is pride. They would have to admit they were wrong. Why is it so hard for them to admit they are wrong? Everyone makes mistakes. Many people who had left the Church, did come back.
To return to her story. My real husband is still living. I was married to him in church before a priest and witnesses, and with the Mass. There is no doubt it was a valid marriage. But I was young when I got married. I hardly knew what it was all about. (Who does)? I was filled with a desire for romance and glamor – the glamor of pictures in the paper, an elaborate wedding ceremony, and a home of my own. It was not long before I discovered that my husband was a drunkard and a philanderer, that he had no love for me. I divorced him.
And then I met the man who at this moment is sleeping near me. I fell in love with him. He was kind and generous and considerate. He was the very opposite of my real husband. He swept me off my feet. When he asked me to marry him, I consented. We went before a justice of the peace. No priest would listen to my request for a marriage in the Church. (Now, they just give them an annulment under the Canon – Lack of discretion). That was 20 years ago.
In all those 20 years I have not succeeded in killing my conscience. There were times when I was not bothered. In the first years when almost all the time was taken up with social engagements, parties and the companionship of friends. There were periods of quiet then. I was surrounded by wealth and all that wealth could buy – beautiful clothes, automobiles, travel throughout the world. And I had two children.
But it was no use. No matter what I did, the fear would always be lurking in the background. It would always come back with the excitement of a new dress, or a new adventure had run its course. The fear is with me now. It is so terrifying that I dare not go to sleep. Yet, I cannot escape from that which causes my fear. I am entangled in a web from which there is no escape. (Note: Oftentimes when people choose a life of sin, of infidelity like this woman did, the devils do not trouble them too much, because they have drawn them into sin. But at death, the devils will show up, sometimes visibly, and accuse them of their sins to drive them to despair. You see this in the writings of spiritual writers such as Fr. Michael Mueller in his sobering book, THE SINNER’S RETURN TO GOD).
There is no escape because I do not want to escape. I cannot explain it on this paper. I want to escape with every ounce of strength I have. And at the same time I do not want to escape. I want to continue my life with this man who has given me so much, and I do not want to continue it because he has given me so little. Is such a state of mind possible? There is only one thing that I have to do to effect severance.
A priest called on me once. He told me what that one thig was. He told me that in the eyes of God I was still married to my original husband, that I was not married to this man at all. He was brutal. He advised me to leave this man, and do it right away. He said that such was the direct command of God, that there was no other way out. “What God hath joined together, let no man put asunder.” The judge in a court could not break my marriage, or any other marriage. Neither could a priest, a president, nor a pope. Marriage lasted until death.
He spoke kindly, this priest, with deep understanding of the agony that such a separation would cost me. But he allowed for no compromise. He gave no promises. He warned me that very few people involved in bad marriages ever came back to the faith if they waited too long. (How can one who dies in adultery in a false church be saved)? They died as they lived. “As the tree leans, so does it fall,” says Holy Scripture, Ecclesiastes 11:3, drbo.org. Such was the experience of every priest concerned with souls. I can see him now in the shadows that are cast by the lamp on my dresser table. There was an urgency about him, a sense of premonition, an attitude of strong conviction in his every word. He was a tall, thin man with sunken cheeks and stooped shoulders. (Thin man with sunken cheeks. Probably a man who fasted often).His voice was soft and low and tired. He spoke as one who was speaking for the last time, as though he was giving me a final chance to choose my side. I can see him now. That’s how sharp the impression was he made on me.
I listened to him. I thanked him. But I did not give him my word. I said I would have plenty of time to take care of the matter later on if I decided that it was the proper course to follow. I would think it over. Oh, I should have followed his advice. If only I had followed his advice. But there were so many things to be considered.
The love of a man was a possession my heart craved more than anything else in the world. It appalled me to think of living the rest of my life alone, as I would have to do if I refused this second chance of happiness. I was still young, with passion strong and energy, and health abundant. I wanted affection. I wanted someone to hold me in his arms and caress me, and shield me from loneliness and fear. I wanted someone to love me with a fierce and burning love. I found such a one in the man who asked me to be his wife. The only price I would have to pay for his love would be the price of my religion. The price of my soul. At first it did not seem like so great a price at all… to be continued.