Attitude of Gratitude

"Nothing comes easily, 

where do I begin?

Nothing can bring me peace, 

I've lost everything. 

I just want to feel your embrace. 

Turn my grief to grace."

"Grace" - Kate Havnevik

A few weekends ago, I had yet another retreat under my belt. Below is the reflection I shared with my students on being grateful constantly and for all the right reasons. Since I haven't blogged in a while, I thought I'd share this with you. 

 

“Dear Mommom, thank you for helping me with my Girl Scout Badge. Here are some cursive letters (i t u e). Love, Rebecca Gutherman.”

I think that hilarious, little note was written probably when I was in 1st or 2nd grade; just about the time I was learning cursive. My Mommom had the most beautiful cursive handwriting and I wanted to have handwriting just like hers. I was obviously showing off.

“Dear Mommom and Poppop, Thank you so very much for the wonderful Communion Gifts. I am so lucky to have you as my grandparents. You will always be special to me. Love, your granddaughter, Rebecca.”

This note has better handwriting, a little crooked, but better. Naturally it was written in gold gel pen because that was the 90’s. It would have been incredibly incomplete without it.

My favorite thank you note, by far, was not actually written by me. It was written by my mom, because, judging by the picasso art, I could not yet write letters. It simply says, “Thank you mommom and poppop. You make me smile. Love, Becca.”

Growing up, my parents encouraged me, no, forced me, to write a thank you note for everything under the sun. Whether it was for plenteous birthday gifts or Christmas presents, or for the gratitude I was oh so overcome with when someone babysat us, helped us out, or took us on a trip. I can guarantee that most of the thank you notes I ever wrote went to my grandparents. Even more so to my Mommom.

My Mommom loved to write, so often we would end up in the endless cycle of notecards and letters. She would send a Valentine card with 2 dollars in it, I’d write a thank you note, signed by either me or both of my sisters. Of course, she’d later respond and hence, the endless cycle. While at the time it always seemed so nettlesome to write thank you note after thank you note, I learned to really appreciate writing and later, receiving thank you notes. It’s always such a joy to find one on my desk, in my mailbox at school or better yet, one in the real mailbox at home with a stamp attached. Yes, actual snail mail, people. I love the joy that comes with writing them as well.

My Mommom used to tell me I got my gift of writing from her. She would also tell me, I got my gift of people skills from her, my perfect penmanship from her and my love for lasagna, wine, traveling, taking pictures and documenting memories all from her. I’m my Grandmother’s granddaughter for sure. I should also mention that I get my bad habit of keeping EVERYTHING from her as well. I keep every note, letter, card ever given to me. I have drawers filled with them. I keep concert tickets, movie ticket stubs, sticky notes on the fridge, everything. That’s how I got a hold of the thank you notes.

When I graduated high school, my Mommom gave me two gifts: a ring that I’ve worn since that day that is inscribed with Mark 10:27 - with God all things are possible; and two very large scrapbooks. The scrapbooks weigh at least ten pounds each and have documented in them every picture I drew, every TY note I wrote, every picture I took, every trip I took, every concert I performed in or went to, everything. Two scrapbooks filled with momentos from my 18 years of life.

When I got them, I laughed, I cried and I ran my hand over every page that had her handiwork on it. She spent months working on this project and she put herself into every page wholeheartedly. I kept them in my bedroom and would open them up every time I did a “deep clean” of my bedroom - at least every few months. Each time I would sit on the floor and go carefully through each one, catching something new I never saw before. Each time, I felt so incredibly blessed not only that my grandmother put all my favorite memories in one place, but also that I had so many memories - happy memories of people, places and events. Truly, that’s what I treasure the most and each time I opened those books, I would thank my God for blessing me so much.

Just recently, I found myself on the bedroom floor browsing through these scrapbooks. This time, it wasn’t a result of a deep clean, although I should probably do that soon. Rather, it’s because I wanted to run my hands over the pages where my Mommom’s fingers delicately placed each picture perfectly. I wanted to touch the pages on which she had left so many traces of love. I wanted to touch her. The words of the song you just heard said it perfectly - it’s what I’ve been feeling so deeply since January 10, 2016 when my Mommom suddenly passed away.

None of us were expecting it - my sister and my dad had seen her the night before, laughed with her, told jokes, ate cookies, drank tea and she was only suffering from what seemed like a small bout of a cold. But the next morning, after I had routinely gone to Mass, gone to the gym and was headed to spend the day with my boyfriend, I got a very confused phone call from my younger sister. Without giving me any details, she told me to re-route and head the Abington Hospital right away - Mommom was in bad shape. Little did I know, even upon arriving at the hospital, that my Mommom had already gone home to God. I couldn’t believe it then and most days, I still can’t believe it. Yes, most days, I’m still waiting for her to come home from her 2 month vacation in Florida she took every Winter.

As I browsed through pictures to make memory boards and listened to numerous songs to help numb the pain, there was only one thing I really wanted. I wanted to hug her, I wanted to walk into her house, wake her up from “resting her eyes on the easy chair” and hear her voice again. As much as I always felt suffocated when she hugged me, I wanted her to grab my face, kiss me a million times and smother me with her arms. I would do anything to be suffocated by her love again. I just want to feel her embrace.

As hard as it’s been mourning my Mommom, my grief has been turned to grace. There have been ups and downs: Laughing at memories or spending hours sobbing because I lost my best friend; hiding my tears or sharing them with friends; feeling the sun shine warm upon my face and feeling empty. But mostly I’ve been reminiscing on how lucky I am to have had my Mommom for almost 24 years. As Justin Beiber would say, “I’m more than grateful for the time we spent, my spirit’s at ease.” I have so much for which to be thankful - the memories, the trips, the selfies, the adventures, the late-night prayers, the phone calls, the dinner dates, the laughter, the jokes, the joys. I’m so thankful that God gave me such a beautiful woman to nourish me, to hold me, to be my advocate when no one else would, to be the lone supporter in the crowd at a concert, to be my biggest cheerleader. I’m so thankful she was always there for me. And if I had the chance to write her one last thank you note, I would say:

“Dear Mommom,

Thank you for the time we spent together. Thank you for all the hugs and kisses. Thank you for all your love. Thank you for every note card. Thank you for passing down your love of music, writing and loving all people. Thank you for always having orange juice in the fridge for when I visit and knowing it’s my favorite. Thank you for always hiding the good candy and saving it for me. Thank you for your gift of humor and still bringing smiles to my face. Thank you for every FB message that may or may not have made sense. Thank you for giving me so many memories to keep you alive with me here and now. Thank you for every second of every minute of every hour of every day of every year I got to spend with you - the most beautiful woman in the world. I am so lucky to have you as my Mommom and you will always be special to me.

Love,

Becca

P.S. I love you. Shine on.”

Luck of the Irish, They Say

"Do not stand at my grave and weep,

I am not there. I do not sleep.

I am the thousand winds that blow.

I am the diamond glints on snow.

I am the sunlight on ripened grain.

I am the gentle autumn rain.

When you waken in the morning's hush,

I am the swift uplifting rush

Of gentle birds in circling flight.

I am the soft star that shines at night.

Do not stand at my grave and cry—

I am not there. I did not die."

     My favorite Holiday is Thanksgiving, because it brings all families together. My second favorite holiday is St. Patrick's Day, because it brings my heritage together. I am only a portion Irish, because of my Daddy's Mother, Bea. When you look at me and my features, some may say I look Italian, some say German, some say Swedish. I think I look the most Irish, with my fair skin and dark, curly hair. I had always wanted to learn how to Irish Dance, and Michael Flately was my favorite dancer. I love to sing the traditional Irish church hymns, like "Christ Be Before Me" and "Lord of All Hopefulness." I like to think that if Bea was still alive, I would spend so much time with her in her kitchen learning how to make her favorite dishes and there are days when I can't wait to get to Heaven to meet her. After going to Mass this morning and singing with the crazy hype Irish nuns, my favorite hymns, I stood in the kitchen channeling my inner Bea while rolling Irish Potatoes and listening to Irish Drinking Music. Of course, every so often, the Celtic Women would come on and I would dance. Good thing it was only ten in the morning and no one was up to watch me embarrass myself. In Twenty minutes I had made about 60 potatoes in addition to the ones I did yesterday. I found myself wishing for the comfort of the Annual St. Patty's Day Parade in my neighboring city and for my little sister who would have loved rolling potatoes. I found myself wishing I could carry my voice in Celtic song like the beautiful Irish girls. I found myself wishing I knew what it was like to grow up in Ireland during days of famine, suffering and war, if only to be closer with my ancestors. And I found myself wishing Bea was with me, filling my heart and soul with her stories. 

     The closest thing to having my grandmother with me is spending some good time with the older sisters celebrating our Irish background. We sang, we danced, we colored, we shared stories, we laughed. We had an all around good time. I can't count how many kisses I got because of my sticker that clearly stated, "Kiss me, I'm Irish." St. Patty's Day brings out the drunk on life, full of love person in all of us. The amount of Irish around me made me feel at home, where I was meant to be, with family. 

      The above Irish blessing is one I constantly think of when I think of Bea. She isn't there, she is everywhere with me. I feel as her and my Granddad are with me always, protecting me. But after I read it again, I thought how perfect it is for Jesus on His Resurrection day?! For He was not there, He did not sleep. The song I chose for today is Siuil a Ruin, which translates, "Walk, walk, walk, my love. Go calmly and go quietly, go through the door and flee with me. And may you go safely, my dear." If that's not romantic, I don't know what is. And Jesus is the Great Romancer, for He sang this to me this morning!!

      Until we meet again, may the road rise to meet you, may the sun shine warm upon your face and the wind be always at your back, may the rains fall soft upon your fields, may God hold you in the palm of His hand. 

I Survived Death Roe...Bea's Pro-Life Story

   If you were born after January 22, 1973, you have done an incredible feat. You have survived DEATH ROE! Most people have commonly heard the term Roe V. Wade and they know what it stands for. It was the event that LEGALIZED abortions in the US (oh what HORROR!!!) But most people don't know that, "Roe," Norma L. McCorvey, the woman for whom the bill was passed is now Pro-Life, regrets her decision to abort her unborn baby and now speaks all over the US. Maybe you've heard of Gianna Jessen, the woman who survived a saline solution abortion in the 7th month of her mother's pregnancy. And how about, Lila Rose, the college student who sneaks into Abortion Clinics and exposes cases of abuse. She is the founder of Live Action, her pro-life movement. These are all among the most well known, pro-life names. And yet, while all are such inspirations to me, there's one woman who tops it all: Beatrice Gutherman. Yep, my grandmother. 

    Mother of eleven children, she was the epitome of CATHOLIC FAMILY during her time. She was a stay-at-home mother who was involved in both the school of her children and the family Parish. Among all the things she did, her biggest fight was the fight for the right for life. Rumor has it, she was arrested twice and yet, never convicted for being a passive protester outside of Planned Parenthood. Rumor also has it that she told every young woman entering the Planned Parenthood that she would adopt her baby if she went through with the pregnancy. In the end, Bea never had to adopt any other children because those women, touched by her prayers and sincerity, always went through with their pregnancies and kept their babies. Rumor also has it that her Pro-life legacy lives on. Ok, so the first two are really true facts given to me by my Daddy and the last one, that's true, too, because I carry on her legacy. 

      I never knew Bea, but whenever I'm getting ready to fight for the right to life, I beg her intercession. Whenever I'm praying outside Planned Parenthood or Marching for Life, like I did Monday, I feel her presence with me. There's so much of my grandmother I wish I knew and yet, I've heard so many stories that I feel like she's my best friend. When I finally decided to discern the religious life, Bea was the one I wanted to talk to; no one else. I wanted Bea's opinion on it and I wanted her to be proud of me. From what my uncles' say, she'd be more than proud of me. I wanted Bea to hold my hand during Mass, or come visit me at school, or drive me to retreat, or pray with me, or even just sit and chat. Heck, I'd do anything if I could just get a hug from Bea and maybe it's asking too much, but a kiss on the cheek would be pretty great, too. There is SO MUCH I wish to have had from Bea, because I know I am her grandchild, her legacy and her pride and joy. And on nights like tonight, when my world seems to be crashing down, and I am doubting everything, I wish I could call Bea up and talk to her, have her pray for and with me, and maybe she'd visit me tomorrow if she could...if she was here. Maybe she'd make me skip classes and walk with me all day and let me cry with her arms wrapped around me. And while I may never know what Bea would have said to me about my discernment or my fights for the Catholic Church, I still feel her peaceful presence with me. And while I never knew her in this life, her life lives on through me and my legacy that I will leave on this earth. And in the long run, SHE is the very reason I am a Death Roe survivor. My Pro-Life story is her Pro-Life story and her legacy is my legacy.