Rainbow

We arrived at St. Peter's Cathedral in downtown Scranton at 4:30 for the 5 p.m. Mass.

My wife and I had just spent the day assessing the damage to our house caused by a flood. It's the second flood in seven months we've had in this house that's about three hours north and has been for sale for almost a year. 

I prayed for guidance. I prayed for wisdom. I prayed for help. 

The first reading was from Genesis, about what happened immediately after the flood waters receded in the story of Noah.

The priest started his homily with, "We are all familiar with the destructive power of water," then proceded to tell a story of two of his friends whose West Pittston home was inundated in one of the most recent hurricanes to hit NEPA.

A key line: The wife was crying over a water-soaked wedding photo, and the husband said: "Don't cry for anything that can't cry for you."

Another key line: The priest, in relating back to the story of Noah, stated that God made a covenant with humanity, saying he would never again destroy the earth by flood. 

I damn-near cried.

This is certainly not the first time I've had strange coincidences happen to me that seemingly offered guidance, wisdom and, ultimately, help.

When light hits water the right way, the result is a rainbow. 

Artsy flood shot of my garage shortly after we arrived.

Stubborn old Bohunk

    Me, my brothers Nick and Steve, and Poppy in 2010.

I could say a lot about Jerry Dolivka.

Poppy, as he was known to the grandchildren, grew up in an area of East Baltimore known as Little Bohemia. He was the patriarch of a large family. He was a civil servant, working at Fort Meade. Later, he was president of Fairmount Federal Savings and Loan.

He was a strong — some might say stubborn — Bohunk whose smile and twinkling eyes could lift your soul, and he left an impression, especially with the waitstaffs at many area restaurants. 

But, in remembering Poppy, who died Wednesday at age 90, I think about the story of him going off to World War II. 

No, it's not a story about his military record or devotion to country. This story shows his Catholic faith and his devotion to the Blessed Mother.

Before shipping out, my grandfather and grandmother, Marie (Baba, to the grandchildren), prayed to the Mother of Perpetual Help. For those unfamiliar, it is a particular depiction of Mary holding an infant Jesus that is popular with the Redempterist Order. 

     Mother of Perpetual Help

My grandparents prayed and promised that, should my grandfather make it back from the war alive, they would name their daughters after the Blessed Mother. 

Through some interesting twists of fate, the brass discovered Poppy could type. He ended up a clerk for a brief time, avoiding the front lines. He later served as a guard on a prisoner transport in North Africa.

Baba and Poppy married June 22, 1946. 

My older aunt, Mary Lou, came along a few years later. Then my mother, Ann Marie. Then my younger aunt, Jeanne Marie. 

Three girls, all named honoring the Blessed Mother. 

In the decades that followed, Poppy and Baba's devotion to the Blessed Mother only got stronger. Visitors to their house on Chesaco Avenue saw the massive framed icon of the Mother of Perpetual Help in the living room. The tombstone on the grave where Poppy will go to join Baba has an engraving of the Blessed Mother on it. 

About a year before he died, I was sitting next to his bed visiting. He'd just been moved home after rehabbing a broken hip. He was in pain and confused. 

But on his dresser, I spied a keychain with a Mother of Perpetual Help image hanging from it. 

I held the icon up to him. 

"That's my girlfriend," he said, smiling. 

Despite poor health and senility, the stubborn old East Baltimore Bohunk held onto his faith.

That's how I most remember Poppy.

It's a rare quality, despite having many things that could shake it, to remain so devoted. 

It's a trait I hope to carry on and teach to my daughter, Sophie Marie.