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In T.S Eliot’s wasteland; the Fisher King sits by the shore, with the arid plains behind him. In the wake of World War 1 and the additional devastation of the Spanish flu, London Bridge had fallen down. European culture had become sick unto death – powerless to save a dying continent, he wonders, “shall I at least set my lands in order?”

Never in a million years did I think I would not be by my mother’s side as she passed from this life. I had sat at my mother’s bedside for years as she struggled with different aliments and I was sure I would be there with her at the end.

Some of the advice was confronting. To call it politically correct would be misleading. If I hadn’t wanted to rekindle some of the spark we once had for each other, I would have written the content off as misogynistic and moved on. Still, with an open mind, I’ll share what I discovered from the plethora of advice out there.

There is no denying, we are in a time of darkness. To ignore the global suffering would be to ignore reality. To deny the emotions created by this suffering would be called ‘toxic positivity,’ what the Macquarie Dictionary blog listed as a word to watch in April and is to force oneself “into a happy mood regardless of the situation, to the point of denying your real emotions.”

Since antiquity, epidemics have spread along trade routes and even more swiftly and dramatically in an age of globalisation. Despite the devastation, humanity has learned to overcome. When the Black Death struck in 1349 it wiped out nearly half of Sienna’s population in Italy, leaving the walls of its new cathedral standing. Today, still unfinished, the walls have been absorbed as part of the cathedral’s history.

We need to be realistic about the place of Catholic social services in the broader theatre of Australia’s welfare and community services sector. Where once it was the foundation of the evolving safety net, it now occupies a somewhat niche contribution within a wider and more comprehensive government and other non-government services network.

I’m a church-every-Sunday kind of person. When I travel, I look up local Mass times. I know where to go if I need Mass at an awkward time; like really early (7:30am St Francis Xavier’s) or really late (8pm St Augustine’s). My family might not be the best-dressed or the most well-behaved, but we turn up, and, being two adults and six children, we help make the numbers. If I do miss Mass for some reason, I feel out-of-sorts all week.