Cleaning and Organizing and Stirring Up Memories

Cleaning closets and drawers merits a low spot on the chore list. Laundry, dusting, vacuuming, dishes, meal prep...they all take precedence over the unseen clutter that attacks you when you open a closet door. 

Nevertheless, yesterday, with no plan to engage in the exercise, I started going through one of the side tables  in our bedroom. It's my two-drawer stash of treasures: letters and cards given to us over the years: birthday cards, Mother's Day cards, Father's Day cards, letters, postcards. I confess...I'm a packrat when it comes to hoarding memories. I'll share just one in this post, but maybe this will become a regular column because there are so many memories stored in those drawers: a bag of letters addressed to the Erie County Holding Center where I lived for 24 days after the Spring of Life rescue in Buffalo, a rubber banded stack of letters from my brother Tom who died in 1996, a collection of letters from priests and the Poor Clare sisters, some ancient valentines my grandparents sent to each other. What a treasure trove to explore.

But my all time favorite memories were the cards, letters, and drawings from my children and grandchildren -- so many tokens of love and affirmation from our almost 55 years of marriage.Two cards were especially poignant and brought tears to my eyes, because they were from our darling grandson, Brendan, who died several years ago. How much we love that precious boy and pray for him every single day when we pray the rosary for our five children and their families.

But all of those are memories are locked in my heart for another day. Today I want to share about one of the more difficult times in my life and a group of delightful fifth graders who comforted me with their love and appreciation.

In 1985 my dad died of cancer. The last few months were a marathon of traveling back and forth from northern Virginia to the Baltimore suburbs to be with him and support my mom. Often I stayed for a few days, rotating with my siblings. I usually slept on the couch near my dad's room so I could be up in a flash if he needed anything during the night. 

He died on July 5th 1985 in the late afternoon. My sister Peggy and I were with him. My aunt and uncle had taken my mom to dinner for a respite. Daddy died as they were pulling out of the driveway. We ran to catch them, but failed. After a brief discussion about whether we should call right away, we decided to let mom have dinner. Instead we called the hospice nurse who came over and helped arrange my dad's body. One of my young nieces, I think she was nine, came into the bedroom, began stroking daddy's head and said, "Grandpa looks so peaceful." When Mom got back we were all in the bedroom with the local pastor praying the rosary. Daddy died a good death, blessed by the last sacraments, cradled in the arms of God and family. Rest in peace, Daddy.

It was a challenging, grief-laden time. I rocked my two-year old and cried for days. I signed up for an aerobic dance class to fight depression. I continued my volunteer activities at the children's school.

And then seven months later I was diagnosed with cancer, a transition from grief into terror. Surgery and chemo followed with months of feeling sick and struggling to take care of my five children and handle all the duties and chores that still needed to be done. Moms can't quit because of a personal crisis. Larry and I prayed and cried. I had a praise tape I listened to over and over as I struggled to be at peace. I didn't do a good job, I confess, helping the children deal with their fears. I was too focused on just getting through each day without falling apart. I kept looking at a picture on my wall with a quote from Job, "Though He slay me, yet will I trust in Him." Did I believe it? I was surely being tested.

Before my diagnosis I was volunteering at St. Louis School in Alexandria in Mrs. Dzanis' fifth grade advising the children individually on their writing projects. One of the great consolations of that hard time were the letters and prayers from the children while I recovered. So many people were praying for me. Some struggled with my illness more than I did wondering why God would allow a young mom with a young family who was so active in the pro-life movement go through such a difficult ordeal? "Why you?" someone asked me? What could I say but, "Why not me?"

And so, my drawer organizing yesterday filled me with consolation once again as I read the notes and smiled at the precious messages of those dear little fifth graders. Here are some of their messages. Is it any wonder they cheered me up and made me smile?

Never underestimate the gift of a note to a friend in need. Is there someone who touched your life in a special way? Send a thank you. Is there a suffering family in your community? Take them a meal or a plate of your favorite cookies. I am thanking God today for all the people who have encouraged and prayed for me over the years. So many friends reached out after my dad's death and during my cancer. People drove me to chemo treatments, no small sacrifice since I was getting them at Georgetown Hospital a 45 minute trip from home. So many people fixed us meals. One couple took us to a play at the Kennedy Center. My aerobic class sent flowers. May I never fail to be thankful and express gratitude to those who stand by me in crises and share their love and support. What a gift from God are friends. As the book of Sirach says:

A faithful friend is a strong defense: and he that hath found him, hath found a treasure. Sirach 6:14

No truer words were ever spoken! And may I never forget to thank my faithful friends. A big thank you to all you blog readers, especially those who pray for me. I am so grateful for you.