VOTE for Anita's Memory!

The Quilting Gallery is holding a weekly quilting contest

and I have entered one of my quilts.

Help me to win a $25.00 gift certificate

from The Fat Quarter Shop by voting for my quilt,

Anita's Memory,

here!

something to be said ...

theresa, if the mind pictures words and the heart feels them, i suppose there is something to be said ... when with eyes closed you can be seen and felt with reminiscing warmth, i believe there is something to be said ... while i pray for your journey and love you from afar, i know there is something to be said ... thank you. sarah

I met Theresa, or "T.O." as we often called her, 25 years ago when she lived and journeyed alongside me as my Novice Director. We became friends in the years that followed and she walked and witnessed me through first and final vows. Yesterday morning she passed away and all I can do now is say thank you through the tears.

Mijo, flowers and Life!

Yesterday Mijo turned 2 years old!!!

And I received these from a special group of friends!!

Today I am feeling alive with Life!

I hope you are also!

Thank you, Kim

Remember Kim of hues of nature ~ the wonderful artist who designed and crafted the darling pixies which make up Three Friends? She has decided to offer Mary's Fairy in her Etsy Shop to aid ovarian cancer awareness, and will donate $5.00 from each doll she sells to Gilda's Club of Detroit.

She then put together a Treasury at Etsy entitled A Tribute to Mary ~ check it out here. Thank you, Kim ... you have been an angel of comfort amidst the pain of our loss.

Namaste.

A Tribute To Mary

23 August 2008 Farmington Hills, Michigan My Dear Mary Helene, As Isaiah pronounced, “We do indeed sing this day for you. We observe this feast in your honor, as you march with your flute toward the mountain of the Lord.” What a glorious song your life has composed! Yet, even as I write these words I can hear you saying “I didn’t compose it, I just tried to sing the score God set before me.” In that case, Mary, you certainly have assembled a sizeable choir. It spans the generations … beginning with the young at IHM, “the merest children” as Matthew calls them, and ending with, well, the mature at McAuley. To young and old alike, the Master Teacher’s voice, resounding in your musical ear, was indeed revealed through you. Your harmony was exquisite; your ability, unending; and yet your robe remained simple ~ usually plain ~ and unassuming. I remember very vividly those first few weeks after entrance. While our three classmates strategized over who could get through candidacy the fastest, you and I retreated to the showers, questioning what we were doing with our lives, and singing our own rendition of Swing Lo in two-part harmony. Years later, when we found ourselves to be the only remaining members of the class of ’82, we smiled, continued to question what we were doing with our lives, and tried to figure out how to fit Swing Lo into a final vow Liturgy.

Music was a passion we shared. We could hum the Michigan fight song in every-other-note duet style, and play trios for the recorder with three instruments and two mouths. We played and sang together often, and talked about the beauty and creativity of the musical word, poetry in motion, and its vast capacity - to heal, to teach, to bring one to tears or to laughter, to leave one speechless with a musical experience. Perhaps the most powerful musical experience we shared happened in 2005. Amidst chemo treatments, fatigue and nausea, you managed to join me in San Antonio for a weekend of music and work. We scribbled and crossed out, and scribbled again on a pile of paper scraps, which eventually became musical scores and a lovely collection of songs on CD. Best of all, Mar, you finally met Anita face-to-face. And there you shared, two women Religious, teachers, musicians, highly educated and successful, battling the same illness with dignity and determination, comadres in this life, and now in the next. These past six years, Mary, have certainly been a most challenging rendition of Amazing Grace. You walked courageously and gracefully through many dangers, toils and snares, and in the end, Grace indeed led you quickly and gently home. If I had to choose just one song to describe your journey through this earthly life, I would choose the traditional Shaker tune, Simple Gifts. For amidst the numerous and prestigious accomplishments you made ~ many of which remain unknown to most ~ you never ceased to be Mary Helene: the fourth of five children, born into a Catholic, Italian (and Irish!) family, who proudly hailed from Motown. Daughter, sister, cousin, aunt, friend, student, musician, teacher … you never lost sight of who you were – ‘Twas your gift to be simple; or from where you had come – ‘Twas your gift to be free; and nothing and no one ever fell below you - To bow and to bend you shan't be ashamed. Spending this time with you, as you journeyed with and toward the Divine, has been nothing less than Sacred Grace; an enfleshed Eucharistic Moment of bread, blessed, broken, and shared. Your continued concern for the comfort of those around you often reminded me of the stories of the death of Catherine McAuley, foundress of our Mercy congregation. When she was close to death and the Sisters had traveled to gather around her bedside, she whispered “Make sure the Sisters have a comfortable cup of tea when I am gone.”

As I sat next to you these days, I found myself praying Catherine’s Suscipe over and over again. I’m not sure who I was praying for, Mar, you or me, but I figured it didn’t matter. So once more, Mary, I pray with you the Suscipe of Catherine McAuley: My God, I am yours for time and eternity.

Teach me to cast myself entirely

into the arms of your loving Providence

with a lively, unlimited confidence in your compassionate, tender pity.

Grant, O most merciful Redeemer,

that whatever you ordain or permit

may be acceptable to me. Take from my heart all painful anxiety; let nothing sadden me but sin, nothing delight me but the hope of coming

to the possession of You

my God and my all, in your everlasting kingdom. Amen. Until always, Mar … Sar, ttss

Three Friends

Kim made these darling little friends for me to give to my friend, Mary, who was struggling through the final days of her earthly life.* The first lil' pixie is Sarah. She is needle felted of hand painted roving. She carries a little nature journal in one hand and a tiny quill. In the other hand she carries a tiny piece of fabric to quilt, in Mary's blue, with tiny stars and pine cones, and has a needle felted little bird nest for a hat. Mary's fairy is in a beautiful forget-me-not blue roving with her slippers strapped to her side, a tiny yellow glass seed bead on each ~ she has taken them off now that she has begun to sprout wings. She carries a journal with three friends on the cover, along with her flute. She has a Swarovski crystal butterfly in her hair. Karen's lil' pixie has tiny green glasses to match her dress and shoes. The bottom of her dress is decorated with hand painted mohair locks and a needle felted heart is on the skirt. A little acorn cap adorns her head. She carries a wooden heart button and a miniature Harry Potter, The Goblet of Fire. Karen and Sarah have no wings and their shoes are still firmly in place. As such they can walk with Mary along her journey, but only until her wings take flight. Mary's wings did indeed take flight early this morning. The earth-angel of the little group has transitioned into the next life and is being deeply missed by Karen and Sarah.

*Unfortunately, the three friends did not arrive in time to meet Mary on this plane, so I will gift them to Karen in hopes that they might help to bring a smile to her face once more.

Grace-filled moments ...

My friend is dying. She laid atop her bed in a fetal position, fully clothed, coat and purse at the ready by the foot of her bed. Her eyes half-closed, or maybe half-open. She looked pale, tired, and gaunt. She wanted to go out for a bite to eat, but not really. Her stomach had been paining her for several days already, it was distended and hard. She wanted to pretend that she was well, like she used to be, able to rise and move quickly and join me for a Coney or Taco Bell run. But her body had gotten the best of her; the fatigue she could no longer deny.

Maybe I’ll rest just a little longer.

I removed her shoes and covered her with an afghan, hung her coat and drawered the purse. We would spend the evening inside this time, without food or talk thereof.

I watched her stir in fitful sleep. Her stomach growled in loud protest to the little room it held amidst the growing masses of poisonous consumption. I cannot fathom being in her skin; I wonder if she can understand being in mine.

Nineteen months earlier I’d been forced to bid another close friend farewell. I sat by her side as her body succumbed identical to the scene before me. Same pain, same poison, same patient. I beckoned her to remain close to her comadre, to midwife her transition and welcome her home.

The thunder in her belly grew louder and tears began to escape from behind the veil covering her eyes.

I hate this. I hate it all.

I thought the same as the words left her lips. I rose and lay on the bed beside her. She rolled to her back, handed me the pillow she’d been hugging between her arms, and tucked her toes under my thigh. I rested my hand on her boney knee and gently caressed her leg as she spoke.

She spoke of fear: not of death, but of pain … of having to say goodbye … of putting others through loss, especially her mother … of not expecting this death to have arrived so soon …

And we shared the silence. The unspoken heartache of the moment. The here and the now which would forever be one of the last. We cried and we honored the wordless ache we both harbored hidden from the other.

Then came a knock at the door: her night meds. She rose to brush her teeth and I readied her bed for sleep. I tucked her into bed and we embraced in deep love and gratitude for the sacrament shared. I arose and stepped toward the door, then turned back and told her “I love you, Mar.”

I love you, too, Sar.

Can anything good come from cancer?

In October 2002 and February 2003, two of my closest friends ~ Mary and +Anita ~ were diagnosed with stage 3 ovarian cancer. Instead of succumbing to the hideous disease, both of them fought with gentle patience and deep faith that their time had not yet been realized upon this earth. It has been both heart-wrenching and Blessing to have walked alongside such feminine faces of God as these two soul-sisters. I bid an earthly farewell to +Anita on 27 Oct. 2006, and am presently preparing to do the same with Mary. But tomorrow I walk for and with them both through the streets of downton in the Komen Detroit Race for the Cure. This is for you, Mary and +Anita.

"Live your life with purpose and let the days of God give you meaning; share your life with those who inspire your days and invite you to greatness for the sake of others so that, at the end of your days, you will find that your life has made a difference to someone, for something, and most importantly for the Creator." +Anita, Feb. 2005