When the Parish Falls

By C. J. Patrick

What if something that you have always taken for granted turned out to be something so wrong that it shook you to your very foundation. Something your parents would never allow you to question while you grew up. That is the case in which attorney Donegan Coffey found himself after being raised in a devout Irish catholic family. Coffeys mother died three days after he finished the bar exam. His mothers death put him in a tail spin for about eleven years. Coffey self medicated on alcohol while building his legal practice until he finally started coming out of it after moving out of the neighborhood parish in which he was raised. His father remained in the family homestead and got older and required the assistance of Coffey and his seven brothers and sisters. They all banded together to care for their father as the neighborhood around him changed. All tried to keep him safe until one night the parish priest was found murdered in the alley outside of the rectory. As this only happened three blocks from his fathers house, Coffey felt compelled to look into the circumstances of Father Mikes murder who had been a close family friend for some thirty years. As Coffey investigates the murder, he uncovers a past that calls into question all the religious beliefs that his parents had drilled into his head while growing up. The final outcome makes Coffey question everything about his mothers beliefs, the church and the parish in which he was raised.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Jan 7, 2011
• ISBN: 9781456722791

C. J. Patrick

C.J. Patrick grew up in the Northeast in a close-nit Irish Catholic community. This story was developed from a combination of things including his childhood, recent events and his experiences in the law. It is a story for you to reflect on your own experiences and draw your own conclusions.

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Chapter One

As I stepped into my car, I wiped the tears from my face. Suddenly, my cell phone rang. I wasn’t quite sure what the call was as I had the phone on vibrate, and I had only recently purchased my first cell phone. I took the phone out of my pocket, trying to figure out how to answer it. It was my friend Rickey, who tried to look for me coming out of my mother’s funeral. He was expressing his condolences as he hadn’t had a chance to see me at the funeral parlor the night before. He told me he had looked for me all morning. We shook hands and embraced, and I told him I would call him very soon. After all that had happened recently in such a short time, I was kind of numb, but I think I started coming out of it at that moment. It had been such a short time that I had been home; I really hadn’t had time to sit back and take it all in.

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Rickey and I had just graduated from law school three months before and had studied for the bar together until my mom got sick. It was the first week of July, and the bar exam wasn’t until the last two days of the month. When my mom got sick, I stopped preparing for the exam. That morning, I guess what I was feeling coming out of my mother’s funeral and heading to her burial was that my mother was where she would want to be. Heaven—that’s what she always told me since I was a kid. Not that she was expecting to go so early in life, but she was a very religious and devout Roman Catholic. I guess I thought that with such a strong faith and love for Christ, she must be very happy now that she lived a Christian life and died in Christ.

Her death was very tragic and to me has continued to affect my life even to this day. My mother played a great role in my life from the day I was born. Raising me wasn’t the easiest path for anyone. I grew up in a very blue collar family with a mother who was a nurse and a father who was a milkman. We were a family of eight kids from an Irish background, and we were very devout Roman Catholics. When I was young, I had a lot of learning disabilities—but my mom was always there for me. If I could tell you how many special Saturday morning programs she would take me to in order to help me, you’d be amazed. My biggest problem through grade school was dyslexia. It caused me a lot of problems, but my mom was determined to get me over it and take me to every special program she could. The good news is that she did it, and I was able to succeed in life. This is from a woman who I was number seven of eight kids—and counting the two who died as infants, I was nine of ten. But my mom did it, constantly telling me, That’s the Christian way—to help others. She would say, Donegan, work hard and always keep your prayers, and Jesus will provide.

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That morning, I got in the car, and I was thinking all of this as I drove to the cemetery to bury my mother. In my car were my two sons and my daughter, who was just a little over a year old—that in and of itself was amazing to me. At the time, I was twenty-nine years old, I had just graduated law school, and within the week of my mother’s death, I had taken the bar exam. I’ll never forget it. My mom had become sick, like I said, two weeks before the test, and I didn’t want to take the exam any more than the man in the moon. The test was the last Tuesday and Wednesday of July every year. You would spend that time after graduation up until the time of the test studying day and night. But I had to stop doing that, as I had lost all concentration. My mother had been in the ICU unit at the local hospital for about two weeks prior to the test. That’s why I wasn’t studying—I was at the hospital twenty-four-seven, wondering how the hell this was happening. She was only sixty-four years old and never had a medical problem in her whole life—or so I thought. But we spent two weeks in the local hospital until finally the doctors were going to transfer her to nearest college hospital. The only problem was that she was not going to be transferred until Tuesday. I had to leave for my test on Monday. I remember thinking that my mother would think taking the test under such circumstances would build character according to Christ. But I went to the hospital Monday morning knowing I did not want to leave her—I wanted to postpone my test until February.

The bar exam could be taken one of two times each year—either in July, when graduating students usually took it, or in February of the following year, if you failed or had to take it then for another reason. I thought as I went in to see her that Monday morning that this was a good time to postpone the test under the circumstances for the whatever reason. Plus, I hadn’t studied for about two weeks and wasn’t sure mentally if I could get through the test. However, that morning my mom was in great spirits. She was up, alert, and willing to talk to me. This was the best I had seen her in two weeks. I had hoped she was getting better. This was amazing to me, because my mom had been in and out of coherency over the last two weeks. Seeing her this way made me want to stay with her even more. She knew she was going to the college hospital the next day, and I was thinking about all that had happened the last two weeks with her becoming sick and being put in the hospital. It all happened so fast, and I didn’t want to go to the test. I said, Mom, I can take the test in February. I really don’t want to leave you at this time.

Mom said, Donegan, we’re all going to be together on Thanksgiving at the house, I’m going to be fine, and you’ll be kicking yourself for not taking that test. It will be hanging over you, and you won’t enjoy the holiday.

You see, Irish holidays are something—especially in November and December. You have Thanksgiving, and then you go right into the Christmas season. For us it was a time for togetherness—it had been since I was a kid. We had very devout Christian stuff at the church and a lot of family at my mother and father’s homestead. We were lucky as a family at the time; a lot of us were married, but we were all still in the same neighborhood. The holidays meant a lot to us, and being together—boy, that was the best for my parents. We all went out of our way to get together as often as possible. It meant a lot. Being together as Irish Catholics, we had a lot of ribbing each other and a lot of drinking. The drinking had never gone over to well with my mom, but it was part of the holiday season.

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That Monday morning, my mom was insistent that I go and take the bar exam. I started thinking, Yeah, it’s only two days, and I knew my stuff. Plus, I thought after looking at her this morning that my mother must be getting better. I had done very well in law school, and my wife and mother had always been there for me, pushing me and making sure I studied hard. I thought to myself, You know what—your mother’s probably right, and I went and took the bar exam. I got down to the test on Monday afternoon and looked over some stuff for Tuesday’s portion of the test. When I got to the exam facility on Tuesday, I think I took the bar exam in a conference room at a hotel. Guys and girls going into take the bar exam were very desperate. In the bathrooms and in the lobby, people were sick, and some were crying. For some people I knew, I tried to have them put things in perspective, telling them about my mom being sick and not knowing what was wrong with her. They were local people, and later I found out they had passed the exam. I guess they all had a method to their madness, and that was their way of coping.

After I finished the first day, I tried to call home with no success. That was unusual to me, and I started to call my brothers and sisters to find out how my mom was doing. Again, I had no success. After a while, I started getting aggravated as I thought I should be spending time studying and nobody was calling me back. This went on all day—well into the wee hours of the morning. It really bothered me, too—because instead of studying like I should have been, I was awake all night thinking about my mom and what life would be like without her. I can’t remember who finally called me—whether it was my wife or a sibling—but I found out my mother had taken a turn for the worse. Son of bitch, I thought, all this going into the second day of the bar exam. But I thought of my mother and thought she would want me to do my best. I went and took the second day of the bar exam—I probably set a state record for being done the fastest—but I was on my way to the college hospital to see my mother. I felt a little relief about the test being over but wanted to get to my mother.

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All the way over on the drive to the hospital—about a two-hour drive—I kept asking the Lord to please make everything all right. I thought that my mom was the most religious person I knew, and I thought, She has to make it through. I can’t really remember the drive; all I recall is that she always told me to trust in the Lord, that he would watch over you. The more you believe in him, the better off you’ll be. I remember in the weeks leading up to this drive, I actually believed in that and believed in her.

I got to the college hospital and went to see my mother. When I got to the hospital, I thought I was going to see my mom I left on Monday morning—the woman who was awake, alert, and in good spirits. I was very surprised, because the mom I saw was unresponsive and drugged on morphine. Unbeknownst to me, my mom had cancer, and she was in a lot of pain after I left her. That was the turn for the worse. I guess they found out she was really sick and dying. Before that, I knew she was bad—but not this bad. As it turns out, she had cancer in her liver that had metastasized into her lungs. Here was a woman who never drank or smoked a day in her life, dying from what she told me time and again I would die from if I didn’t stop drinking and smoking and start taking care of myself.

I guess at some point after having all those kids in the past, they had given her bad blood. Apparently this resulted in her current condition. Bad blood was apparently blood that was not the right blood type for the person receiving it. I wasn’t quite sure about this or how it related to how my mother had gotten so sick. But I had just taken the bar—a very stressful situation—and when I got to the college hospital town, everybody told me things would be okay, not to worry. My siblings and I were at the hospital that night—and when I say we, I mean all eight of us plus some spouses. My mom was out of it, but everybody was telling me I could talk to her tomorrow. At that time, they still hadn’t told me about the cancer. I was still trusting in Jesus. I left the hospital that night, and my older brother said, Come on, I’m taking you out for a drink; you finished the bar exam, and with all that’s going on, we all need a drink. I definitely went because I really admired and looked up to this brother. If he told me things were going to be okay, I believed him. We went out and got smashed and had a good time. We really didn’t talk about what was going on with my mom. Both of us wanted to keep the mood light, and talking about her would only bring us down. I talked to my wife later that night when we came back to the house we were staying at in town. She was pretty pissed that I had gone out.

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For three years during law school, I hadn’t been much of a spouse or a father. I was very busy and working all the time when I could. I had to make money to support my family. It was a trying time for my wife, because we married when we were very young—and up to that time, I hadn’t been much of a partner. I was an Irish Catholic drunk, but fortunately not a violent one. We had been married about six years before I left for law school. They weren’t an easy six years for her, either. We had two sons—early and quick. But when law school came along, we looked to move as a family. That didn’t work out. So I moved near the law school myself. It was about a two-hour drive, and my wife was on her own. It wasn’t like I could jump in the car and be right there if there was a problem. She had to handle it all. The night I called her, she must have thought we were getting close to not being apart anymore—and here I was, calling her in the middle of the night drunk. Needless to say, she wanted me home immediately, regardless of anything going on with my mom. The next day I came home to my wife and kids and waited to hear from my siblings about my mom’s condition. That was Thursday, and not much changed in my mother’s condition until late in the day. I found out my mom had awakened and talked to everyone, but I wasn’t there. I also found out they thought she might be able to get a liver transplant to save her life. But that hope didn’t last long, because we found out later that a transplant was not possible, as the cancer had metastasized into her lungs. I thought, So be it. My mother started experiencing a lot of pain again that day and had to be put back on high a dosage of morphine. The woman who was awake and alert on Monday was no longer available. I never did get a chance to talk to her again, but I had to get home and try to move forward.

Chapter Two

One good thing is that my mom was coming home the next day, as there was nothing the doctors could do to save her. They were sending her home to keep her comfortable and die in peace. She came home on that Friday, and on Saturday afternoon, we had a wonderful mass at my parents’ home. It was something—the bishop of our diocese was a good childhood friend of my mother, and he came to celebrate the mass with us. The priest who did the mass actually grew up right across the alley from my parents’ house. My parents were very devout Christians. It amazed me—all the people from the neighborhood who came. There’s nothing like devout Irish Catholics to mourn the dying. It seemed to me that all the stuff I had read about an Irish wake was true. We had a lot of family and friends around. While the women wept, the men drank. All the folks I can remember growing up with were there—the Fergusons, the Fitzgeralds, and the Kennedys. Everybody came. I remember seeing Nancy Corrigan with her two young sons; her