"Death leaves a heartache no one can heal;
love leaves a memory no one can steal."
- Irish Proverb
"Happy Birthday...dear, dear Becca. It was so good seeing you again. You did a great job with the girls...and they love you. Seems like you found your ministry. Just like Jesus the Teacher! Have a beautiful birthday, my friend, filled with the choicest of God's graces - whatever your heart needs! Put this towards a little treat and think of me. Love and prayers, always, your Sister, Sandi."
I came home from a wickedly emotion week at work today and saw on the dining room table a few brightly colored envelopes with my name on it. There's nothing I love more than getting letters in the mail. This is day three of being blessed with such a thing and of course, I smiled when I saw my name on the envelopes. I carried my bundle of stuff up the stairs and sat on my bed to open the envelopes. I needed a smile - this week was a tough one.
The first envelope came from my great aunt Bunny (no, that's not her real name, but she'd kill me if I told you what her real name was). A simple pink envelope with a little birthday message scribbled inside. In a few days she will call me to see if I got the card and we will have a little conversation about missing each other and hoping to see each other soon. I'll thank her for remembering me and we'll hang up with an "I love you." A few days later, I'll write her a thank you note just to remind her that I got the card :)
The second envelope had a strange message written between the lines. The return address label read typed: Sister Sandi and then scribbled in pen next to it: & Sister Lucille. I didn't want to open the envelope. I was so scared to see what was inside. I sat the envelope back down and sat for a few moments before I got the courage the open the envelope. Inside the pastel yellow (my favorite color) envelope, was a little diddy card and in the card was the following message, five dollars and a cut out page from the Angelus book about the St. Rebecca, a nun from the 19th century. I couldn't even get through the first sentence without starting the sob. When I realized tears were rapidly dripping down my cheeks, I made a careful notion to not get any tears on the ink. I didn't want to smear the last handwritten note I'd ever get from her.
Sister Sandi, my dear friend, passed away last Sunday. I was dressed as a woman from the 18th century at a Revolutionary War Reenactment when suddenly my phone went off. A text message from one of the Sisters letting me know that Sister Sandi had gone home to God. A few hours later, I got a phone call from another one of the Sisters ready to have that tough conversation with me. I remember standing for a few moments reading the words on my phone. That dramatic thing that happens when someone gets bad news in hollywood, where they drop everything and start sobbing? Well, that happened to me. I dropped my phone and just started walking. I eventually say on a bench near the Potomac River and cried.
Exactly a month ago this week, I interrupted Sister Sandi's prayer in the Chapel in Chicago for a hug. The little woman who stood only a few centimeters shorter than me, smiled gently when she looked up at my face and walked with me to the hallway. It was there that we joined in a hug that was so tight, making up for the distance and the time since we had last seen each other. She so graciously hugged and joyously welcomed each of my students and my fellow faculty member as they entered the doors to Chapel before Mass. There was something good about being home and I knew part of it was being with my Sister, Sandi.
The rest of the week we saw each other here and there because although we were living in the same convent for the week, we both had very different schedules. I mean, after all, I was there with my students on a service trip and she had her daily life to attend to. However, we would always engage in wonderful conversation when we had the time. She was so gentle, as always, with my students. I knew that she loved them because I loved them and there would be no question about that. She asked me about the family and every day another little surprise would show up at my bedroom door labeled: for mom, for dad, for Mary and for Lizzie. My little surprise came on the first day - a hand written welcome note, as per her tradition.
I met Sister Sandi because of my little sister. A number of years ago, I was home from school and it was a huge weekend at the convent: Sister Anne was making her final vows. I decided to go over to the school, where the ceremony was being held, to see if there was any help needed to set up. Naturally, I dragged my little sister into it. She had to have been only six at the time. I remember so clearly how I had been upstairs in the Chapel with her when Sister Mary Joan asked Lizzie to go with her - she had a job for her. My Sisters could always be counted on for making any member of my family feel welcome and useful and appreciated. After a while, I went downstairs to see what kind of work Lizzie was getting herself into. I saw the following interaction taking place:
Lizzie was running back and forth between tables setting them with utensils. However, she wasn't doing it all at once but rather spoon by spoon, fork by fork and knife by knife. She was getting each spoon, fork and knife from this little nun sitting down at a table. This little nun just happened to be Sister Sandi, who introduced herself and began to tell me how much she loved my sister. She came from Chicago and over the course of less than 24 hours I immediately felt like I had found a new friend. After the ceremony the next day, I was standing outside with Sister Sandi when she asked me if I had ever thought of religious life because I was truly make a good fit. I hugged her and just knew that she would be a beautiful confidant and prayer partner.
In the course of knowing Sister Sandi for four and a half years, she never failed to send me or my sisters a birthday card, Christmas card and Easter card. Whenever I would visit Chicago, she either picked me up or dropped me off at the airport. Of course, regardless of her airport duty, she would always have a little welcome note in my bedroom. She would always make time to have a little conversation with me. Some of the most memorable conversations include all the times she told me that she would love me no matter what community I enter, all the conversations we had about our gifts and talents, and all the conversations where we cried because of God's goodness. She was so gentle, so loving and always up for fun. She had a great laugh, a great knack for friendship and a huge love for Culver's Ice Cream ("it's tradition!").
Tonight is Sister Sandi's viewing and I can't tell you how many times I searched every flight website for a low cost flight this week. I was obviously dreaming. I contemplated driving out for the day for her funeral tomorrow, but there would be no way I could do it. I wanted to be there but I knew that she would always be with me. I got her Birthday card to me today on the day of her viewing. Tomorrow is my birthday and the day of her funeral. I'll be spending morning Mass with our Sisters in prayer for the repose of her soul - I know she's dancing in Heaven right now. I know that she was so ahead of her a game that she had had my birthday card written and sealed and addressed probably before she had her knee replacement surgery. She was just waiting to mail it.
Of course, typically, I would write Sister Sandi a thank you note. I know she wont' receive it but if I were to write one it would say: My dear, dear Sister Sandi. I can't thank you enough for the card and in an envelope of my favorite color, too! I think I'll save your little gift for the next time I come to Chicago - Culver's on me? It was so good seeing you over our Spring Break trip. The girls LOVED being there and I know they LOVED you. You're such a wonderful woman of God and I am so glad you're in my life. Praying for you always. Love, your Sister, Becca. P.S. I love you."
Had I known that my goodbye to her right before we journeyed home from Chicago was going to be my last time seeing her, I wouldn't have done anything different. I gave her a squeeze, told her I'd see her soon and that I'd be praying for her. Of course, I finished our goodbye with an "I love you." There's something I love about my Sisters and it's that they always know how important those three little words are to me. They always know that I'm going to say it and they always know that they need to say it in response. So when I told Sister Sandi that I loved her, she put her hand on my cheek and said, "You, too, kid, you, too."
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