Month's Mind and signs of the hundredfold

Today marks one month since we laid my sister Mary to rest. In the five weeks since her death, there have been more Masses offered for her soul than we can count, and she has been enrolled in many more through the various associations offered by religious congregations (including my own!). Every day brings a new grief, but there have also been many consolations. There is even a consolation in the grief itself: It is showing me that I love my sister far more than I ever realized.

A lot can happen in a month.

The hospital is setting up some kind of education program or fund in Mary's name. 

In the O.R. she ran for so many years, there is now a picture of Mary Kay on the wall. Someone told me it was going to be placed near the image of St. Ignatius (which someone Photoshopped so that he is holding a liver). Years ago I mentioned to Mary that an autopsy found that Ignatius had a pitifully desiccated liver; she took that information and ran with it. Only the Lord how many people on the liver team have Tiny Saints of St. Ignatius from Mary's "Tiny Saint" ministry at the hospital.

And a little over a week ago, I received a big, lumpy package from our convent in Alexandria, VA. It contained a hand-made Rosary from Sister Julia (who had been a guest at Mary's house during our last Christmas concert, and on account of illness ended up being nursed by her an extra three days). The Rosary was made with red beads, to represent Mary's birthstone, and six large freshwater pearls for the Our Father beads represented our Mom and her five daughters. The centerpiece was a Marian monogram with the miraculous medal within, since Mary died on the First Saturday of May, and attached to the chain were significant medals: Divine Mercy, since Mary died during the Hour of Mercy; Blessed Francis X. Seelos, whose intercession she especially sought in her illness; St. Joseph. (Recently I added another one: St. Ignatius of Loyola, the unofficial patron of the liver transplant team Mary worked with.) But there was more than a Rosary in the package. There was also a hand-made card, its pages decorated with pictures, beads, and colored paper, with a two-page spread from each of the sisters who made vows the same year I did (except for one sister stationed in Italy).

In that same postal delivery, I received a smaller envelope, from a Poor Clare Monastery. It was a sympathy card from a sister who had made first vows with us, in 1978, but then had gone on to the cloister. One of my co-novices in Boston had informed her as soon as she got the news of Mary's death. (The U.S. Mail functioned admirably in this regard!)

All of the messages promised prayer; all assured me of being loved as a sister by these women whom I have known for almost 50 years. Receiving all those sisterly messages (seven of them!) upon the death of my sister struck me as a sign of the "hundredfold" promised by the Lord to those who "leave father, mother, brothers, sisters, children and lands" for his sake. 

This race through the cancer journey has also put me in a position of being able to sympathize much more with people whose loved ones are being diagnosed with advanced or aggressive cancers. I can be more of a "sister" to them because of what I saw my sister suffer in her very brief, but intense fight.

One of the people in surgery sent us a copy of the letter from Mary in which she informed her team about her diagnosis, and let them know that she was stepping away from work to focus on "fighting the good fight" (we put that passage from St. Paul on the memorial cards). It is possible that some of these words will end up framed or documented (can you spot the John Henry Newman quote in Mary's final message to her co-workers?):

I recently received a rather concerning diagnosis.... we have a good plan in place. I have a ton of support. I have utmost confidence and my faith is strong.

This certainly wasn't 'on my Bingo card'! I do appreciate prayers. To the Catholics, please invoke Blessed Francis Xavier Seelos.

I have enjoyed my career over the last 45 years and working with each of you. I have few regrets, but chief of these is if I ever spoke harshly or behaved in an 'unbecoming' manner.

I will leave you with these thoughts. Please indulge me.

Know that God made you and placed you here for a reason. Be open to learning. Listen to understand. Walk the talk. And strive to be a person of integrity and credibility.

It has been my privilege.