My Father and Mother

Remembering my mother, Mary, my father, John and brother Paul Cassar

Commemoration

With heartfelt love we commemorate a life,

Dedicated wholly to family, friends and wife.

A life of willing sacrifice, and abundant love,

Aided always by a devoted trust in God above.

Contrasting sorrow surrounds us all now,

The way ahead is clouded, to continue how?

With this sensation of agonizing grief,

The intense and perpetual feeling of unbelief.

Now all is a void, a space never to be erased,

A different way of life, a sadder, lonelier phase.

But we must go on, the new day will dawn,

The clocks will still strike to herald the morn.

Remember his life was lived so completely,

Everything set right and always so neatly.

Pain will ease with each new tomorrow,

We have his guiding light now to follow.

He is there in Heaven, safe within Gods arms,

Watching over us now, keeping us from harm.

At peace with the Father of his prayers,

No longer any pain, no longer any cares.

Thank you God, the Father of us all,

For giving us this man who walked so tall.

Who showed by example, set the path we should lead,

Who was never corrupted by avarice and greed.

May the wealth of his goodness and kindness abounding,

Find a special place beside you in life everlasting.

written by Kay Cassar

My parents with my older sister Josephine when they last visited me at Pleasant Valley, NY, here seen in the Sanctuary just after one of my weekday morning Masses in the newly-renovated Church, in October 2000.

This is a memorable photo of a historic sunset I took on Friday January 4th 2002, only three hours before my father entered into eternal life. I took this picture in Gozo, from Xaghra, overlooking Victoria, and I can see the hand of God reaching out from the heavens to call dad to his new home. This is surely one of the best pictures I ever took, for more than one reason.

My Parents . . . . their early years . . .

My father was born on March 26th 1925 in St Julian's, the son of Joseph Cassar and Maria nee Magri, the sixth of seven surviving children. Only one sister is now still alive, Concetta. Their father died in 1935, when my father was only 10 years old and at the start of World War II. Their father Joseph was well known in St Julian's as the co-founder of the St Julian's Band Club, who along with my great uncle Fr. Paul Galea gathered a group of young men from the area and in 1927, the St Julian's Band Club was started, also attaining the services of a musician from Birkirkara, Angelo Pullicino, who eventually became the Bandleader for over 40 years.

The entire Cassar family experienced much poverty during the war, but grew up in a happy environment, close to their Church and close to one another. My father was always with Fr Paul Galea, whose niece was Mary Scicluna, the eldest daughter of Paul and Rosina Scicluna. I guess my father used to see Mary frequently, and eventually fell in love with her. My mother was born in Valletta on April 26, 1929, the daugher of Paul Scicluna and Rosina Galea, the first of 6 children. Towards the end of the war, my father became a policeman, starting as a Constable, and later becoming a Sergeant, with the number 337. My father served in the Malta Police Department until 1971, in various capacities, mostly as a clerk at the Government Burial Office at the Palazzo Castellania in Valletta. My mother moved to St. Julian's with her parents and siblings just before World War II, and lived for the rest of her life in St. Julian's, but remained a staunch follower of the St. Paul's parish in Valletta, where she was baptized.

My brother Marcel's Wedding picture with Maria Grech, after their Nuptial Mass at the Cathedral Church in Victoria, Gozo, on the 21st of May 1989. Maria's parents are on the left, and our parents are on the right. The reception was held at Ta' Frenc Restaurant in Marsalforn, Gozo

My sister Rosemarie's Wedding picture taken at the Suncrest Hotel, Qawra on the 2nd of September 1989. The Nuptial Mass was held at the St Julian's Old Lapsi Church. From left to right are Maria and Marcel, my sister Josephine, my father John, Rosemarie and her late husband Carmelo Garzia, my mother Mary, my brother Paul, and myself at the far right

My parents relaxing at Holy Spirit Rectory in New Hyde Park, back in September 1988

My parents during a 40th Anniversary reception held in their honor at Holy Spirit Parish Auditorium in New Hyde Park, New York

following a Mass in the Parish Church.

Their actual anniversary was on July 24th 1988.

Homily for my father's Funeral Mass - JOHN CASSAR - January 7th 2002

In the name of my mother, my brothers and sisters, and my two nephews, I'd like to thank all the priests, relatives and friends of our family who are gathered here this morning to give thanks to God and celebrate the life of my father John, or Johnny, as many of you know him. I thank you for your prayers and many other forms of support which our family needs so much at this hour and in the coming days.

As we say in one of the prayers at Mass: "For those who die, life is not ended but just beginning." I believe that my father is spiritually and emotionally in our midst as he was before. Yes, we are separated from his physical body, but we will never part from his spirit. People like Mother Theresa and Monsignor Michael Azzopardi (A Maltese philanthropic and generous priest) were once separated from us, but their spirit and the values in which they believed in, will always remain in our hearts, in our souls and in our minds. The tremendous amount of good that my father accomplished was done with sincere and genuine humility. Whether he was painting a room, or plastering a roof before the rainy season, whether he was decorating a cake or weeding a garden, whether he was ironing a mountain of clothes or preparing a rabbit or a chicken for us to eat, he did everything with a sincere interest, sheer joy and a total commitment.

In one of the letters he used to write to me every week, precisely on the occasion of my parents' 50th Anniversary 3 years ago, I remember my dad writing to me that the best things that ever happened to him was when he met my mother. . . . . they knew each other since they were very young, and got married young too, but the way they raised our family is nothing short of a masterpiece. I do not say this just to show off, but those who knew him well, know exactly what I mean. , I remember my dad writing to me that the best things that ever happened to him was when he met my mother

So today we honor a generation of parents the like of which we will probably never see again in the history of child-education and family upbringing. Let me share with you some of the experiences that I remember from my father, some of which he told me himself, others I experienced them myself. He used to recall the hardships he experienced during World War II during which time he was still a youngster. Once he found a pair of shoes belonging to a British sailor and wore them for two weeks straight, as he was afraid another boy would steal them from him. On another occasion he was sent by his mother to buy a case of tomatoes from Madliena (5 miles away from home), and when he reached his home at St Julian's, the case was empty as he was starving, and ate all the tomatoes.

Following the end of the war, my dad entered the Police Department, a career which he served with pride, honor and impeccable devotion. He was loved, respected and fulfilled his duties with utmost dedication, and gave his life, heart and soul to help retain order in our nation, which was going through some troublesome period. It was the highlight of my week when he used to take me or my brother to his Office, where we ended up playing with everything we found on his desk. In a letter sent to him in 1971 by the ex-Police Commissioner Vivian deGray, he wrote about my father: " Mr John Cassar worked under me in the Police Force for over 25 years. He was always employed on clerical duties to the full satisfaction of his superiors. Mr Cassar is a courteous, respectful, capable, conscientious and reliable clerk of unimpeachable probity and integrity."

In 1948, my mother and father were married and had 5 children between 1949 and 1964, Josephine and Rose-Marie, myself and Paul , and since were very close in age and since they always dressed us alike, many people thought that my parents had two sets of twins. Then came Marcel, and since we were much older than him, he found himself being raised by 6 parents instead of two. Undoubtedly they treasured us and loved us to no end, and the timely discipline we experienced from them, molded us into fine young people, respected wherever we went and wherever we worked.

I remember close to the end of the late 50s, my father was one of the first in our hometown to have a telephone installed in our house, not only because he was a police officer, but also because he believed this was a service to his community. Who knows how many neighbors came to our house, literally day and night, to make a phone call to a doctor or in any other emergency, and my parents welcomed them all in to use the phone. At the same time we were one of the few families who had a Television in our house, a good old Black-and White Telefunken, and even this item served as a generous service to our friends and neighboring community. Who knows how many people stopped by to watch the Pope on TV, or to witness any other historic event in the late 50s and early 60s. And who knows how many young men and friends of my father used to come to watch Soccer matches with him, especially during the World Cup of 1958, only to see my mother on her knees soon after they left, washing the floor when of the guys crushed a cigarette butt under his shoes on one of those stone-slabs that made up the entire floor. My annoying role at that time was to ask him 50 times during a 45 minutes soccer period "How many minutes are left ? How many minutes are left ?" And he would patiently answer me every time, even checking his watch to give me the exact time that was left.

The only time that I ever remember him getting angry at me was when I was 10 years old. We had a pet canary in a cage and I had mischievously plucked his tail-feather, the longest feather and the pride of every canary alive. Then there was the day during Lent when I missed him the most. My mother used to make broad-beans soup with kous-kous and onions and garlic once a week during Lent. But there was one day during Lent when my dad had to go to Church for the Spiritual Exercises, Sermons preached for men during a week-long Parish Mission, and it was impossible for me to slip those onions and garlic into my father's plate, as I used to do every time we had kous-kous for Dinner. On my mother's insistence, I had no choice but to eat everything, or she would shove it down even through my nose.

The love they shared with us was repeated over and over again during the last 11 years since the birth of Julian and Peter, who are the apple of their eyes. When my nephews are visiting at home, my parents will feel so rejuvenated and become like young people again, so much they enjoyed their presence, even if they occasionally they were not on their best behavior.

The Christian and spiritual education we received from them is a priceless memory. Their example was always sincere, authentic and built on a strong foundation. Someone once said: "Children have never been known to obey their parents, but they never fail to imitate them." On their example, I doubt if ever one of us children missed a Sunday Mass. I doubt if ever in their 53 years of Marriage they went to sleep without saying the Rosary together, and all of us together when we were still all at home. He was so proud of knowing the Litany in Latin by heart, especially since I did not know it by heart, neither in Maltese nor in Latin. In fact the last thing they did together before my father was called to Eternal life, was to listen to an interview I gave on RTK Radio (which was like a short biography of my Priesthood) and then said the Rosary along with the Poor Clares Sisters.

In the past 20 years I was physically separated from them, but spiritually I never felt closer to them as in these past 20 years. They were always happy that I spent every single day of vacation time with them here in Malta, and because of this they were able to enjoy my presence much more than if I had stayed here in Malta. They came to visit me in New York from 3 to 4 times, and through letters and phone-calls, I kept in constant touch with them. My father loved to clip those Maltese newspapers cuttings for me and sent thousands of them over the years. Even in the past 3 years, when I could read all newspapers through the Internet, he still sent me his version of news headlines through the cuttings, which I appreciated so much. He did everything with utmost love, slowly, patiently, properly and meticulously.

When in 1982, they came to my Parish and stayed with the Dominican Nuns in their Convent, he noticed a statue of the Blessed Mother in their yard, which he painted with patience and a loving touch. They appreciated it so much and showed it to every parishioner. Granted he was no Michelangelo, but when I visited the nuns a few months ago, they were showing me their Statue, and I asked them "Didn't you paint it ever since my father painted it for you?" And they answered in a chorus, "Of course not, that was the work of an artist!"

As you may be noticing, in many of my reflections, I mentioned my mother and father together, because they were simply and utterly inseparable. Many people remember them for the heart of gold they have, and all of us who were so much closer to them, can witness that it was truly a heart of gold, embedded with diamonds and jewels of inestimable price. They would never eat anything before they saw all our plates full (unless it was kous-kous during Lent.) And we only heard the word NO as a warning, as a timely correction and an appropriate and deserved scolding. And because of this we are who we are.

My father was a man who was happy and content with just about everything, and was simply happy with the simple things in life. He was not a demanding person and never restricted us or placed any impossible rules or unfair regulations around the house. He will do anything to make everyone happy, and he was "jack-of-all-trades," heart and soul. There wasn't anything he couldn't fix, or try to fix. Even on the day he died, he spent the whole day taking down the Christmas decorations, and packing everything with methodical preciseness, not knowing that he would never unpack them again. He never rushed through anything.

Someone once said: "A great person is one who can bend down on his knees and plays with a child." And this my father did practically every day, with us when we were younger, and now with Julian and Peter. He was a true gentleman and a friend to everybody. There was nothing he would not do to help those who asked him for a favor. Once he told me a funny story when he was helping my brother Paul at his Bar next door, when a British tourist came in asked for a screwdriver. My father went inside our house searching frantically for a screwdriver, only to find out that the customer had actually requested a Cocktail. Imagine if he had asked for a rusty nail !

During the last week we spent together, I noticed him being a little tired, but he had convinced me and my mother and brothers and sisters that it was only the cold weather that was effecting him. But it was the cumulative tiredness of 77 years of hard work, patiently and humbly helping others that eventually caused him to leave us to Heaven, literally in a few seconds. Nobody could have predicted this sad outcome, and I hope no one here ever feels any guilt for not doing enough for him. My father had finished his work here on earth, his mission was accomplished, and who knows, maybe the Good Lord was searching for "jack-of-all-trades" for Heaven for the new year, and decided that my dad was the best man for the job. Our loss is Heaven's gain. We all hope that when we're called to eternal life, we'll all be prepared as my father was, and the Lord can say to us as He told my dad: "Enter into the Eternal Kingdom, because you have been a faithful and deserving servant." It was an honor for me giving him and my mother Communion the morning of the day he died. Even though we will not see him face to face anymore, he will be watching over us, and he'll continue to teach us and inspire us with the values that were so prominent in his life. We may not see him visually, but we'll always experience his presence in our hearts, in our souls and in our minds, in every move we make and through ever step we take.

Now a final word to my mother . . . . we listened to your advice for the past 50 years - now it's your turn to listen to us. We're not telling you not to cry, because that's a feeling we too need to express at times, but we beg you to be courageous and strong. Pray for him, but also pray to him. Only you know the living Saint you've lost. I am certain that he will be watching over you continuously, and on us too, from Heaven above, where, as little Peter suggested he is now personified in one of the stars, shining brightly over us. And he's already bearing positive fruits of his labors. The day after he died, little Julian received an exceptional result form St Aloysius College. No doubt Nannu John rejoiced at his accomplishment, as he did on seeing Peter weeding the front garden of their home, exactly as his dear Nannu John used to do.

The best gift God can give to a family is to have one of the children become a priest. The best gift God gave me is the presence of two precious parents and a wonderful family in which I was raised. God grant him the eternal rest he so richly deserves, and may the perpetual light shine upon him. May he rest in peace. AMEN

This was the day of my Ordination to the Priesthood, June 19th 1977, an unforgettable day for me and my parents, brothers and sisters. The ordination took place at St John's Cathedral in Valletta.

My First Solemn Mass took place on August 14th, at St Julian's Parish Church.

My parents are here seen next to the image of the Baby Jesus in the typical setting they created together many years ago. My mother did the canopy and my father sets Jesus with the Angels, lights and 'gulbiena' (vetch) all around. This has been a family decoration for close to 40 years, and the day my father died, he packed Baby Jesus and the Angels in their boxes, and then together folded the canopy for the last time.

With my parents in 1988

My parents are seen here with Bishop John McGann in 1982, at the Cathedral of St Agnes, in Rockville Centre, NY

Here my parents are again with myself and Bishop John McGann when he visited Malta in November 1990, when I was honored to be his tour guide as he visited the seminarians, the parents of Maltese and Gozitan priests, as well as other dignitaries. He enjoyed that evening at our house, and was very reluctant to leave, especially as he was'nt driving.

My parents here guarding the famous Big Ben in London, in one of our stop-overs in England on our way to New York.

Again my parents here relaxing at home, in preparation for Marcel and Maria's Wedding in May 1989, which was actually held in Victoria, Gozo.

Baby Julian's First Christmas in 1990, in the proud hands of Nannu John and Nanna Mary.

Here is Peter ready for an outing with Nannu John, both smiling and happy being in each other's company, planning another adventure together.

My parents' Wedding Photo, taken on July 24th, 1948. The Nuptial Mass was celebrated by my mother's uncle, Father Paul Galea. There were 4 other priests saying the Mass on the side altars of the Old Lapsi, St Julian's Church. The reception was held afterwards at their home in 16 St Angelo's Street.

These are some historic pictures from the 50th Anniversary Mass on July 24th, 1998, including a Papal Blessing we all gave our parents commemorating such a happy day for them and all of us.

My parents are seen here back in 1989 with Rosemarie and her husband Carmelo Garzia, soon after their marriage. They are seen by the Delimara Power Station, when it was still being built.

And here we see them with Marcel and Maria and a younger Julian, as well as my sister Josephine. Peter was still on the way when I took this picture at the Mdina Square.

During their last visit to New York, in October of 2000, my father, as well as my mother and sister took part in an anointing Mass we held in our parish Church of St Stanislaus Kostka.

Here are my parents with Josephine on a beautiful Autumn day in Upstate New York, during their last visit to my parish in Pleasant Valley in September-October 2000.

My Father as a policeman in 1949

A family photo in January 2000, after having a few Pizzas together at Il-Veduta at Rabat.

Around the family table after Dinner on New Year's Day 2001

And here is a group family photo on that same day,

January 1st 2001.

My parents with Julian and Peter (and Scooby-Doo) on New Year's Eve 2000.

Here they are at Marcel and Maria's home in Birkirkara, waiting for the stroke of midnight and the welcome of the New Year 2001.

My parents, Marcel and the boys meeting with Fr Benedict Groeschel C.F.R. during his visit to Malta in June 2001. Fr Benedict is a well-know speaker and prolific writer, and a personal friend of Fr Julian.

A very proud moment for my father in 1991 as he is presented with a special medal by Dr Censu Tabone, at that time President of Malta. The medal was in recognition for his work as a policeman and his role in defending the Maltese Islands during World War II as a member of the Police Force.

Snatched away so unexpectedly,

Taken quickly from our midst so fast.

Not a minute more to say our goodbyes,

Precious memories now are in the past.

Your legacy still will live forever,

Happy years we all have lived with you.

Surely we'll appreciate your guidance,

And remember you in all the things we do.

Blended with your wisdom and your wit,

Genuine love for us we'll always cherish.

Patience and hard work we've all admired

Blessed by your example, we'll not perish.

Sacrificing through your early childhood,

Frighteneing stories of the World War Two.

Finding then a jewel in our mother,

Reaping love and faith and prayer too.

Toiling many years as a policeman,

Proudly risking life and limb so bravely.

Lending many a helping hand sincerely,

Hoping that our lives we'll live more safely.

Always looking up to you, dear Daddy,

All the care and kindness we remember.

Painting, cooking, fixing and creating,

Going non-stop January till December.

Rosaries, Masses, Prayers and Novenas,

Teaching us and loving our mother.

Bending backwards helping all your children,

In our hearts, like you ther'll be no other.

I wrote this improvised poem on the plane during

my return trip to New York , January 23 2002

My, father, my hero

My parents with their grandson Julian, taken just after Julian's Confirmation ceremony at Santa Maria Church in Birkirkara.

Eternal rest grant unto them, o Lord . . . . . . .

And let the perpetual light shine upon him.

And may the souls of all the faithful departed, in the mercy of God,

rest on peace. AMEN

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And this is a photo of the sunset on April 25, 2010, the day my mother died. The church was St Publius in Floriana. One week earlier, Pope Benedict celebrated a Mass with 800 other priests (including myself) right in front of this Church, beautifully decorated for the annual feast of their patron saint.

My mother is seen here on the right, a photo probably taken in 1932, with her parents and two younger brothers.

Homily I gave during my mother's Funeral Mass on April 27, 2010, at St Julian's Parish, Malta

In the name of my brothers and sisters, as well as my mother's brothers and sister, I want to thank everyone who came for this celebration of the life of my mother Mary, whose life ended here on earth to start again in eternity. When we lost our father in 2002, we were all shocked because it was a sudden death. The death of my mother was prolonged, but accepted with a certain dose of suffering, brave acceptance and tremendous courage.

Many people look at death as the end of everything. I prefer to see it as a transition. - the physical life of 60, 80, even 100 years have ended, but eternal life has started, towards which we all have to look forward to. Naturally we tend to visualize death as something negative, but it's very important that we also look at the good and positives that a person's life can produce. Life generates life 5 children that my mother brought into the world, the many opportunities she had to do so much good in life, the example that she and my father always gave us and those who knew them, as well as the opportunity to be an important part in the life of my two nephews, and the happy and genuine contact she had with her own parents, brothers and sister, relatives and many friends.

As we read in the first reading, in life there is a time to

rejoice and a time to be mournful, a time of war and a

time of peace, a time to speak and the time to be silent,

a time to cry and a time to laugh my mother lived through

all these emotions, and her entire life was a veritable

example of how to live them with perseverance,

determination and the hope that one day we will all be

together again. I don't think it was a coincidence that

she died on the World Day of Vocations because I know

how much she loved and admired the priesthood. It wasn't

a coincidence that she died on the Good Shepherd Sunday

because the same Good Shepherd picked her up and

placed her gently with the other sheep in heaven. And it

wasn't a coincidence either that she died a few hours short

of her 81st birthday, because now she can celebrate her

first birthday in heaven with my father, her parents and all

those who had preceded her in death.

And what a celebration that would be!

When I look at the 81 years she lived through, by far the most impressive value that strikes me in my mother is that of sacrifice. The sacrifice in her childhood, in the 54 years she shared in a happy marriage with my father, in her endeavour to make sure that the heritage of St Paul and St Julian should be respected, and the ongoing sacrifice to make sure that her children and grandchildren never be denied anything, as well as the physical suffering she endured so bravely during the last few months and weeks of her life.

During her childhood, she always mentioned the sacrifice they endured during World War II, and since she was the oldest of her siblings, she was always trusted with greater responsibilities towards her younger brothers and sister, something which helped her mature at a very young age. The only advantage she had was that her father was a baker with a well-known Confectionary, and therefore they had the unusual luxury of tasting a few cookies or an occasional slice of cake, something which other children could only dream of, especially during the turbulent war years. Then there was the ongoing sacrifice she did with our father in our regard, something which we did not appreciate at first, but we all know that this type of sacrifice was totally sincere and definitely altruistic. Like every parent their age, who knows how much they sacrificed, so that we can enjoy them ourselves as their children. We all hope that on their wonderful example, we can do the same to others, especially those who are dependent on us, our children and children's children.

The example they shared with us was always sincere and authentic. Someone once said that children have never been known to obey their parents, but they have never failed to imitate them. On their example I don't think we ever missed a Mass on Sunday. I cannot even recollect one day during their 54 years of marriage together when they did not say the Rosary together, and when we were all still home, all of us children with them, and even recently, following the Rosary on the radio every evening.

Since my mother was born in Valletta, she was especially devoted to Saint Paul, the patron saint of her parish, and very rarely she missed joining in the annual feast of the Shipwreck of the Apostle St Paul on February 10th, the national feast of Malta. And moreover, since she lived all her life in our hometown of St. Julian's, she cherished everything related to our parish church, from the festive banners she herself had sewn, washed and protected every year to the other activities held regularly, especially within the St Julian's Ladies Club for the past 33 years, precisely since its inception.

But the sacrifice that stands out the most is the fact that she did everything possible to see us happy and content, and with all humility I can say that we never disappointed her and on their example, we made both our parents proud of our respective accomplishments. She also had the privilege of seeing her two grandsons grow into handsome boys, sparkle in their studies, and God willing within a few years we will have two doctors in our family, or at least one doctor and a specialized scientist, depending on what field Peter decides to follow in the future.

Whenever an elderly person dies, we seem to remember mostly the last few years of their lives, which usually end up to be unproductive, but many other bygone memories come to my mind referring to my mother. I remember how much she prided herself in dressing us in the best possible outfits, clothes which are undoubtedly still stored somewhere at home. She always dressed my two sisters alike, and she did the same with me and my brother Paul, to such an extent that many people thought that my mother had two sets of twins. I remember her endless patience in ironing our pleated surplices which we had to wear on special occasions as altar boys. I remember also her insistence on my taking with me to the United States bags of almond cookies, which I personally disliked, and as if Americans have never tasted cookies. I could never turn her offer down and suggested that if I don't like them, I can always share them with my parishioners, something which of course they enjoyed thoroughly. Even until a few months ago, she mentioned the families she still corresponded with in New York, mainly by sending Christmas cards, and even though they did not always respond, she never forgot anyone, especially old friends who had treated them so nicely while visiting. She was a woman who thought of everything and everyone.

A curious anecdote which even surprised me took place around 1988 when they were travelling with me to New York for a short visit. While transferring through Frankfurt Airport, there was a terrorist threat of some kind which necessitated another baggage check before boarding the plane. So as we lined up to have our hand baggage checked. I knew exactly what was in mine, but had no idea what my mother had put in hers they were filled with almond cookies! When the female Security Guard asked her what they were, my mother simply opened a bag and offered her one of the cookies, which the Guard took and ate right away, even asking for a second cookie. And with all that tension and scrutiny, my mother was able to convince and endear another woman by a simple innocent motherly gesture while I was petrified waiting behind my mother wondering what was going to happen to her if they suspected drugs or whatever. It was a classic example of trust, innocence and sheer faithfulness.

As we heard in the Responsorial Psalm, "The Lord is truly my Shepherd, nothing shall I want." I fully know how my mother trusted her Shepherd to lead her through darkened moments, uncertain episodes and fearful situations. And although we miss her presence among us, remember that there are many others who are at the moment welcoming her among them, and I have no doubt that there is a great feast in heaven with those who had preceded her in death. And like that beautiful flower, the Lord welcomed her and transplanted her into his big Heavenly Garden, because as we know, every now and then, the Lord comes down on earth to choose a few plants and flowers from the Maltese families to take with Him to embellish his Garden. Surely His garden must be beautiful, because He only takes the very best.

But really, at the end of our life, what will matter ?

Ready or not, some day it will all come to an end.

There will be no more sunrises, no minutes, hours or days.

All the things you collected, whether treasured or forgotten will pass to someone else.

Your wealth, fame and temporal power will shrivel to irrelevance.

It will not matter what you owned or what you were owed.

Your grudges, resentments, frustrations and jealousies will finally disappear.

So too, your hopes, ambitions, plans and to-do lists will expire.

The wins and losses that once seemed so important will fade away.

It won't matter where you came from or what side of the tracks you lived on at the end.

It won't matter whether you were beautiful or brilliant.

Even your gender and skin color will be irrelevant.

So what will matter? How will the value of your days be measured?

What will matter is not what you bought but what you built, not what you got but what you gave.

What will matter is not your success but your significance.

What will matter is not what you learned but what you taught.

What will matter is every act of integrity, compassion, courage, or sacrifice that enriched,

empowered or encouraged others to emulate your example.

What will matter is not your competence but your character.

What will matter is not how many people you knew, but how many will feel a lasting loss when your gone.

What will matter is not your memories but the memories that live in those who loved you.

What will matter is not how long you will be remembered, by whom and for what.

Those who knew my mother up close and personal knew how busy, productive and industrious she was all through her life in whatever work she put her mind into. Even at the age of 60 and 70, when most people are retired and prefer to take life a little easier, she started to take classes in lace-making and I can tell you that every piece she crafted was a true masterpiece.

So today we salute a generation of parents who are so hard to replace. Parents and couples who suffered through thick and thin, who lived at different times, but still were successful in whatever they attempted, even without computers, without cell phones, without the Internet, without Colleges and Universities, for my parents even without a car all through their lives. They learned the value of forgiveness and spread a message of compassion; they learned the value of gentleness and spread a message of respect; they learned the value of appreciation and spread a message of gratitude; they learned the value of cooperation and spread the message of patience; they learned the value of sacrifice and taught us all to love all that is simple; they learned above all the beauty and richness of our faith and spread the love of our church.

Because truly, those whom we have loved during our lifetime and have left before us, are no longer where they were before, but they are wherever we will be, because we'll carry in our hearts and souls all the seeds of goodness they have sown throughout their lives. Like the Beatitudes which Jesus mentioned in the Gospel, they spread peace, lived poverty of spirit, are thirsty for holiness, cried because of the world's evil, witnessed even persecutions. May all those seeds they planted in our hearts become fertile and continue to flourish for the rest of our lives.

A photo with my mother in 2006 at St. Julian's Parish Church, which she's been attending over the past 40 years, helping out in various parish projects, especially with the Ghaqda Nisa Giljanizi, a cultural, social and religious group for women.

With love, your children, grandchildren, in-laws, brothers and sister......

Thanks for praying along with us,

as you remember my parents John and Mary, as well as my brother Paul

in your prayers.

Thank you sincerely for visiting this Memorial Web-Site.

My younger brother Paul died suddenly on December 8, 2010. Born December 27, 1955, we grew up together, playing soccer, serving daily Masses, attending the Minor Seminary, and recently becoming committed to teaching English to foreign students, who admired him and loved him. He married Kay Benton in April 1996, and lived happily together at St Julian's. where he died, aged 55.

Homily I delivered at Paul's funeral, December 15, 2010

It has been said that for a young person, death is an enemy to be feared, for a middle-aged person, death is a fact to be faced; and for an elderly person, death is like a friend to be greeted. My brother Paul, like many of us his peers here present would fit in the middle category. We're not that young anymore, still we all believe and hope that we have a long life ahead of us. But whether we like to admit it or not, the end of life is something we have to face, and realize that it could come knocking on our door sooner than we ever expected.

Paul's sudden death was a terrible shock to all of us. Certainly his irreplaceable loss must have caused an emotional earthquake here in town, since so many people knew him. As we read in our first reading, there is a time for everything on this earth, a time to rejoice and a time to be mournful, a time of war and a time of peace, a time to speak and the time to be silent, a time to cry and a time to laugh. During a funeral, mourning, grieving and crying are inevitable, as well as expected. But I have learned through my life as a priest that this is also a time to celebrate a life that has passed on into eternal life. I don't mean a festive celebration, but a spiritual flashback of sorts as we all relive the life of Paul and thank God for having crossed paths with him in various spheres of life.

In his humble way, Paul had a great heart, always concerned about the welfare of others. I am certain that everybody who got to know him, somehow fell in love with his character. Of course he grew up here and never left St Julian's except for a few months when he was planning to get married to Kay in 1996.

Obviously we grew up together and our childhood was very similar. Being three years younger than me, Paul was probably more popular because he had a wider variety of friends. More athletic than me and probably more of a social butterfly than me, he always had good friends growing up, whether it's at a football match, at Paul's Bar, whether carrying the statue of St Julian in the 1990s, or even recently at his school and in his teaching foreign students, where he found almost like a second vocation. I know how happy he was treating and teaching these foreign students and he did not look at it as a job, but as truly a mission, a labor of love, a vocation.

Since my mother always dressed my sisters the same, and me and Paul alike, many people thought my parents had two set of twins. We actually did a lot of things together, playing for endless hours as young children, singing with the children's choir Pueri Cantores in the early 60s, attending the Minor Seminary, playing football with the same friends, and being altar boys for many years, even both of us going to serve at the Vatican for the summer months. Our parents made sure we never miss the 6:30 AM Mass every day, and rain or shine, we would be there helping Dun Frangisk, Dun Gwann, Dun Furtu, Dun Karm, Dun Anton and other priests who visited occasionally. And this was at a time when the Latin Mass was transitioning into the vernacular, into the Maltese language, after the reforms of Vatican II. I remember we only stopped serving when I entered the Seminary in 1970. But his fidelity to the church never wavered one bit, and whether it's being at church here or at Lapsi church, or at the English-speaking Mass at St Patrick's with his wife Kay, I know Paul never missed one Sunday Mass and I also know how deep down he encouraged his friends to do the same.

For a while, me and Paul became role-models for our younger brother Marcel, and with whom, Paul became a close confidante, especially over the last couple of decades. Paul was always there in those difficult time when an illness hit a family member, when his nephews got sick, or when someone needed a hand to hold, a timely presence to affirm companionship and honest friendship.

He was certainly respected and loved, and the attendance today is a clear affirmation of this. He was always looked upon as a good organizer, in the many competitions he used to organize at Paul's Bar, whether it's darts or pool, but especially the St Julian's Shooting competition which attracted many aficionados of skeet and trap shooting. And he would be meticulous in making sure all the details were taken care of, but never attracted any attention on him. He did everything inconspicuously, to see others and his friends happy. I know how many of his friends were disappointed when Paul's Bar was no longer opening, but things, projects and plans do change in people's lives and Paul found his second vocation in teaching foreign students.

This was accelerated when he met his wife Kay, and I remember well how happy he was when he got married in 1996, a simple ceremony with not much fanfare. We all know how dedicated he was to Kay and they collaborated together just about in everything they did. Our support to you Kay, as I know full well that this is the toughest on you, as you had built your life around Paul, even leaving England and settling here to be with him, while teaching in various church schools. We were all so happy that he loved so much his teaching and I'm sure this was undoubtedly influenced by your example and your own enthusiasm and dedication to your own teaching vocation. Paul himself was dedicated to all the things he loved, whether it's his beloved Liverpool, and his companion Kenny, whom he named after Kenny Dalglish, in fact his first dog, a black Labrador was also named Kenny.

The death of a person is similar to the birth of a baby. If a baby could think, it would be afraid of birth. Leaving the safe environment in its mother's womb and venturing into the unknown, leaving literally the only world it has known so far would seem a kind of death. But immediately after birth, that child would find itself in loving arms, showered with great affection and cared for at every moment. Surely that baby would say: "I was foolish to doubt God's plan for me - this is a much more beautiful life than I've experienced in the past 9 months."

For the Christian, passing through death is really like a birth into a new and better world. Those of us who are left behind should not grieve as if there were no hope. Life is changed not taken away or stolen. Our dear ones live on, in a world beautiful beyond anything we can ever imagine. With Jesus and Mary, they await the day when they will welcome us with joy. But as we read in the Gospel parable of the 10 virgins, we also have to stay awake and alert, because we do not know when the Lord will call us home. The past Sundays of Advent further accentuate this thought to be on guard, to always change for the better, so that when we are called, sometimes unexpectedly, we can say: 'I have done my duty.'

We cannot take God for granted. We have to appreciate each other continuously. I'm sure that since last Wednesday we have all flashed-back to the last time we saw or spoke to Paul, and we all regret we could not say Goodbye or So Long to him, but that is why it is imperative that we show love, respect and appreciation to those who are closest to us. What brought us here today are Love, Faith and Hope. Love means doing the small, simple things in life with a great heart, with a lot of Love. We realize that that's what Paul did most of his life, many unnoticed acts of kindness, which were frequently discovered afterwards. We understand that Life has to end, but Love doesn't. Paul's example will continue on, in the way we treat one another from now on, in the way we show love and respect to one another.

We were brought here also through Faith, faith that knows no boundaries, just as Paul accepted everyone and gave them in turn a strong dose of what he believed in. The same faith he had in his patron St Paul who told us in the second reading today to 'be firm, steadfast, always fully devoted to the work of the Lord, knowing that in the Lord your labor is not in vain.' I firmly believe that Paul's work here on earth was not done in vain. Many people have been enriched by his genuine interest in helping us in so many unpredictable ways.

And we were brought here together through Hope, hope in the afterlife, and in the hope of being re-united with Paul and all our loved ones who preceded us in death. The Hope that like Paul, we can all reap the generous fruits of the hard work we gave while still alive. The Hope that his two dear nephews Julian and Peter, whom he loved as if they were his own children, can make their uncle proud by their future accomplishments, hopefully both in the medical field.

It is of course tough on every priest who has to bury a young person. Yes, I buried babies, young children, teenagers, young adults, but it is somehow harder leading the Mass of Christian Burial for a younger sibling, with whom you shared your entire childhood with so many memories and anecdotes. We both had a similar trait that we complimented each other for it - the drive to do what others may have deemed impossible. We never gave up on anything we wanted to accomplish. Our motto can very well be IT CAN BE DONE. My daily prayer must have been his on many tough days: "Lord, there is nothing in this world that You and I together cannot handle." So let's Paul speak to us right now

You can shed tears that I am gone,

Or you can smile because I have lived.

You can close your eyes and pray that I'll come back,

or you can open your eyes and see all that I have left.

Your heart can be empty because you can't see me,

Or you can be full of the love that I shared.

You can turn your back on tomorrow and live yesterday,

Or you can be happy for tomorrow because of yesterday.

You can remember me and only that I'm gone,

Or you can cherish my memory and let it live on.

You can cry and close your mind, be empty and turn your back,

Or you can do what I would like you to do - smile, open your eyes, love and go on.

When one day we will be in Paul's position and have to face Jesus and account for our actions, we will be judged fairly and we'll get our reward accordingly. Something that will certainly help us now as we meditate on that encounter are these words of wisdom: The larger our faith, the smaller our fears.

The greater our trust, the lesser our doubts.

The stronger our beliefs, the weaker our worries.

I am deeply grateful for the presence of all of you here today, the many priests con-celebrating with me, our relatives, many friends of Paul, his British friends who came over for this occasion and all of you who remember Paul in so any other ways.

It's been a tough decade for our family, and after losing both parents, my sister's husband, Kay's sister only a month ago and many other close friends, we now bid goodbye to Paul, or better yet 'So Long," as we all hope to be re-united at the last Get-Together in heaven.

Go in peace, dear Paul, and we assure you, you'll never walk alone. You will never walk alone.

Some more family photos from my collection

Visitors to this site so far

My father aged 10, seen here second from right with a sister and two other brothers

My mother's First Communion, possibly in 1937 or 1938

My parents' wedding cake, made by grandfather Paul, who was a baker at Cafe Cordina at that time.

My parents with my two sisters, in August 1952, just before I was born

My mother with my two sisters in 1951

The house where we lived until 1957, and where the first 4 children were born, at 16 St Angelo Street, St Julian's

A family photo from 1962

Another family photo from 1963

A family photo from 1965, with our latest addition, Marcel

Another family photo from 1967

The First Holy Communion photos of the 5 children, Josephine and Rosemarie in 1957, Julian in 1958, Paul in 1962 and Marcel in 1971

An extended family photo taken in 1968, during a wedding on my mother's side of the family,

with uncles and aunts, cousins, grandparents by the new St Julian's church.

My father last few years as a policeman

Our family at my Diaconate Ordination in June 1976

Marcel and Maria on their honeymoon, visiting New York for a few weeks

Rosemarie and Carmelo, also during their honeymoon in New York, here seen on the Empire State Building, with the Twin Towers faintly in the background.

During baby Julian's Baptism at St Julian's parish church, with both sets of grandparents, besides Marcel and Maria and myself

Julian Jr, one year old

During Peter's baptism at St Mary's Church in Birkirkara, again with both sets of grandparents, besides Marcel and Maria

Various photos from our family Photo Album throughout the years

Paul and Kay's wedding in St Joseph's Catholic Church in Penketh, UK in April 1996

Julian's Graduation from St Aloysius College, Birkirkara

My mother working on her favorite hobby, lace-making, a hobby she developed later in her life, with two of her masterpieces on the left of her photo working with the cumbini on the trajbu

My mother with Archbishop Paul Cremona in 2009

My brothers and sisters, in-laws and nephews with my mother on her 80th Birthday, just after a Mass was celebrated atMarcel's house in Balzan

On my 25th Ordination Anniversary at St John's Cathedral, Valleta, June 19, 2002