Commentary

Eulogy for Erin Elizabeth Wright
by Mark Wright – June 26, 2004

It has been said that the Ancient Egyptians believed that upon death they would be asked two questions, and their answers would determine whether they could continue their journey in the afterlife.  The first question was: Did you bring joy?  The second question was: Did you find joy?  While I can’t vouch for this Egyptian understanding of death, I can state unequivocally that my sister would have answered yes to both questions.  Furthermore, Fr. Benedict Groeschel was once asked who goes to Heaven.  He responded that the holy go to Heaven.  When asked who is holy, he said that the Saints are holy.  When further asked what makes a saint, he said that Saints are those that love much.  Again, I can assure you (although your presence here is a witness to this) that Erin Elizabeth Wright loved very much.

Erin’s journey through our lives was a marvel to behold.  She transformed from a delicate little girl, protected by her parents and older brothers, to a fabulous young woman who conquered many things.  I find it poetic that she died at the age of 26 on the feast of St. Aloysius Gonzaga, the patron saint of the young, who himself died of disease in his 20’s.  Erin’s passing came at the end of a vibrant and productive growth through young adulthood.  I will always associate her life with the positive aspects of a maturing young person.

I think that the best themes to describe Erin’s life are those of passion and adventure.  She brought passion to everything: her work, her vocation, her learning, her arguments, and most importantly, her relationships.

First and foremost, Erin found a passion in art.  We can learn so much by her discovery and development as an artist.  It was her gift, and she gave it to others, expecting nothing in return.  For her, creating, through drawing, painting, sculpture, making crafts, and especially teaching others how to do the same, was a joy pursued for its own sake.  It is an example we can draw upon as we allow ourselves to endlessly pursue so many things for transitory purposes.  Her acts were a participation in the primary act of our God – creation.

Another passion in Erin’s life was working and playing with children.  Whether directing the art activities for a camp in Central Park, or working with disadvantaged children in the Bronx, or simply playing with my own daughters, she brought an infectious joy to her interactions.  Perhaps, this was a reflection of her simple and childlike soul that she radiated to the world.  Let us not forget that Jesus told us we must be like little children to enter the Kingdom of Heaven.

Erin also expressed passion about nature.  After moving to the concrete jungle of Brooklyn, she discovered a beautiful treasure in the environment just outside New York City.  This discovery led her back to the Hudson Valley, where she spent the last six months of her life.

All of this came about because she summoned the courage of adventure.  From the bayous of Louisiana, Erin moved to NYC for graduate school, in an odyssey that would change her life, and many others, forever.  All of us had doubts about her ability to make it in New York.  You know how the song goes…lets just say that she can make it anywhere.  Not only did she earn a Master’s degree, but she deeply enmeshed herself in the life of the world’s capitol and the lives of many residents there.  Erin helped countless youths in the Bronx and Brooklyn; she lived through 9/11; came to know Pete Seeger; learned to build boats from the first cut tree to the final application of paint; and sailed the Hudson River, much like the first “discoverers” of that area.

My sister’s sense of adventure led her to other realms as well.  As my wife so aptly put it, despite thinking she wasn’t very smart, she read the Greek Mythologies, Voltaire, and Shakespeare, and understood them – she even named her beloved cat “Puck”.  In addition, she traveled through Europe and hiked the Grand Canyon.  And even though she had a healthy questioning of religion, she embraced the spiritual and came to understand love, peace, and service to others.

I must pause to say that this sense of adventure and independence came because of the loving support, grounding, and freedom given to her by our parents.  Mom and Dad, your parental love was complete and ordained by God – don’t ever question it.  Very few know the pain of burying their child.  We stand in awe of the cross you must bear; but like Simon, we stand ready to help you carry it.  The Savior of the world didn’t bear his cross alone, and you shouldn’t either.

I would like to sum up Erin’s life by reading a poem that we have all heard at one time, but rarely have responded to its message:

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth

Then took the other as just as fair
And having perhaps the better claim
Because it was grassy and wanted wear
Though as for that, the passing there
Had worn them really about the same

And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet, knowing how way leads onto way
I doubted if I should ever come back

I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence
Two roads diverged in a wood
And I took the one less traveled by
And that has made all the difference

Robert Frost – Road Less Traveled

Erin’s sudden death will cause us pain for the rest of our lives.  No religious platitude will erase the void of her presence.  In the coming days we will ask why about many things.  The answers can only be partly provided in this earthly existence.  But, the answers do lie, as Erin does now, in the bosom of a gracious God who blessed us with her presence for a time.  It seems to me that the key to dealing with the stark reality of her death is to simply be grateful for what were given for a short while – because if life seems unbearable with her gone, imagine what if would have been like without her ever here.

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