A WOMAN NAMED JUNE
A Woman Named June
June introduced herself to me today. She is 83, a southerner, #7 from a mother of 15 = 10 girls and 5 boys - same father. I was sitting in the rider’s seat of my friend's sports car waiting for him while he spoke with June’s son. June saw me and although unacquainted with my friend or me, she unexpectedly came and sat in his car alongside me, in the driver’s seat. Frankly her boldness was a pleasant surprise so I offered a welcome. Without delay she opened another door, a door into her private life, a life wretchedly fired in the kiln of a severely abusive father. She began her story.
Once June had come of age, she courageously confronted her abusive father. She directly threatened him saying: ‘You are my father and supposed to be my mother’s husband!’ Calmly but seriously June continued. ‘If you ever whip my mother again (he regularly used a razor strap on his wife and children) I will cut your ______ arm off.’ June probably suffers from dementia but evidently a memory of this sort is so potent and deeply embedded that probably no mental malady can erase it.
Prefacing what she was about to say next with a brief account about her son, she suddenly rotated in her seat to her left. With her back to me, she laid back resting her head on my folded arms (crossed in front of me). Facing upward, she looked deeply into my eyes. Looking down I saw a much wrinkled, entirely toothless countenance, framed by pure white hair and an agony-gnarled expression - a visage that spoke, without words, her past life. Her eyes however displayed no such history as if purposely freed, at least to some degree, of the abuse she suffered. Toward the end of her story, she suddenly sat up, turned toward me and called me to attention by bringing her eyes very close to mine . . . within a few inches. But, unexpectedly, she was distracted by my cassock, as though she had only just then noticed it and piercingly said: ‘Just what are you anyhow?’ ‘I am a priest’ I responded. ‘Well you don’t act like one’, she fired!’ I suspected she was looking for a collar, her mother having been Roman Catholic. She continued but in an abusive kind of sarcasm and mockery, not directed at me, but that was repeated in a very exaggerated way - the sign of the cross. Rapidly and coarsely, with a loud voice, she said ‘Hail Mary full of grace...and all that ____(expletive)’.
Domestic abuse and the foul language that it confers on people in that kind of environment, I am quite familiar with from dealing with transients, alcoholics and others. Her mockery of the Virgin Mary her profane gesture making the sign of the Cross yet handing in the air, June blurted harshly: ‘You don’t like me!’ In truth I replied: ‘On the contrary June, I am very much taken with you’
As though amazingly suddenly consoled, June, still in the driver's seat, calmly and slowly leaned back (still in the driver’s seat), with fingers and hands in tight embrace, she closed her eyes, turned her face to the ceiling of the car and gently pleaded touchingly from the heart (which is where I felt it) and said: ‘Father in heaven, forgive me’.
She got out of the car and when she turned around I quickly (but with permission, though she gave it reluctantly) took her picture with my phone.
June continued - 12/23/2019:
My friend, who with his admiral companion Abbie, a Labrador Retriever, visits the ill and aged regularly, informed me that June has been in a nursing home for some time. Attempts at a joint visit with Abbie and her master failed so I found myself visiting June this morning alone. She was quite amiable and sweet which I must say has been characteristic of everyone I've encountered today, the characteristic response of an Iowan's joy over a warm day in December.
June occasionally spoke of God but we spent more time watching "In the Heat of the Night" TV series with Carroll O'Connor. June allowed me to anoint her with Blest Oil from St. John of Shanghai and San Francisco. An undeniable privilege for me whenever permitted. It is healing for the soul (and body if according to God's Will).
May our Savior comfort June and grant her many visitors.
June continued -
As I was visiting with June today (June 6) her nurse stopped in and asked me if she was being nice. Somewhat puzzled I replied: Yes, why?
"Another priest was here and she slapped his face."
June's prayer when we first met, 'Father, forgive me', resounded in my mind. Regardless of our sin and disobedience, Christ, in His incalculable love, is always beside us.
Once June had come of age, she courageously confronted her abusive father. She directly threatened him saying: ‘You are my father and supposed to be my mother’s husband!’ Calmly but seriously June continued. ‘If you ever whip my mother again (he regularly used a razor strap on his wife and children) I will cut your ______ arm off.’ June probably suffers from dementia but evidently a memory of this sort is so potent and deeply embedded that probably no mental malady can erase it.
Prefacing what she was about to say next with a brief account about her son, she suddenly rotated in her seat to her left. With her back to me, she laid back resting her head on my folded arms (crossed in front of me). Facing upward, she looked deeply into my eyes. Looking down I saw a much wrinkled, entirely toothless countenance, framed by pure white hair and an agony-gnarled expression - a visage that spoke, without words, her past life. Her eyes however displayed no such history as if purposely freed, at least to some degree, of the abuse she suffered. Toward the end of her story, she suddenly sat up, turned toward me and called me to attention by bringing her eyes very close to mine . . . within a few inches. But, unexpectedly, she was distracted by my cassock, as though she had only just then noticed it and piercingly said: ‘Just what are you anyhow?’ ‘I am a priest’ I responded. ‘Well you don’t act like one’, she fired!’ I suspected she was looking for a collar, her mother having been Roman Catholic. She continued but in an abusive kind of sarcasm and mockery, not directed at me, but that was repeated in a very exaggerated way - the sign of the cross. Rapidly and coarsely, with a loud voice, she said ‘Hail Mary full of grace...and all that ____(expletive)’.
Domestic abuse and the foul language that it confers on people in that kind of environment, I am quite familiar with from dealing with transients, alcoholics and others. Her mockery of the Virgin Mary her profane gesture making the sign of the Cross yet handing in the air, June blurted harshly: ‘You don’t like me!’ In truth I replied: ‘On the contrary June, I am very much taken with you’
As though amazingly suddenly consoled, June, still in the driver's seat, calmly and slowly leaned back (still in the driver’s seat), with fingers and hands in tight embrace, she closed her eyes, turned her face to the ceiling of the car and gently pleaded touchingly from the heart (which is where I felt it) and said: ‘Father in heaven, forgive me’.
She got out of the car and when she turned around I quickly (but with permission, though she gave it reluctantly) took her picture with my phone.
June continued - 12/23/2019:
My friend, who with his admiral companion Abbie, a Labrador Retriever, visits the ill and aged regularly, informed me that June has been in a nursing home for some time. Attempts at a joint visit with Abbie and her master failed so I found myself visiting June this morning alone. She was quite amiable and sweet which I must say has been characteristic of everyone I've encountered today, the characteristic response of an Iowan's joy over a warm day in December.
June occasionally spoke of God but we spent more time watching "In the Heat of the Night" TV series with Carroll O'Connor. June allowed me to anoint her with Blest Oil from St. John of Shanghai and San Francisco. An undeniable privilege for me whenever permitted. It is healing for the soul (and body if according to God's Will).
May our Savior comfort June and grant her many visitors.
June continued -
As I was visiting with June today (June 6) her nurse stopped in and asked me if she was being nice. Somewhat puzzled I replied: Yes, why?
"Another priest was here and she slapped his face."
June's prayer when we first met, 'Father, forgive me', resounded in my mind. Regardless of our sin and disobedience, Christ, in His incalculable love, is always beside us.
June Walton. I remember her, too. Age and illness took hold of her last years and she has now passed away. I asked her once how she was doing and she looked at me and said "move along crackerjack". I still laugh at that to this day. The Lord's mercy on her forever.
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