Kisses from Heaven

"That was the thing. You never get used to it; 

someone being gone. Just when you think it's reconciled, 

accepted, someone points it out to you, and it just hits you

all over again, that shock."

 - Sarah Dessen, "The Truth About Forever"

     Driving in the car alone with my music is a very dangerous thing. Music has always been there when words or people can't be. Somehow, I just feel like something somewhere gets me when I listen to certain songs. The words understand me, the melody hurts with me, music is what I am but what I cannot express. And so, driving in the car alone with my music is a very dangerous thing. It can make me suddenly remember a moment from years ago that made me feel something really deep, or it can bring back all the questions I have in my mind. It can make me laugh or like today, can make me cry for the umteenth time when I was trying really hard not to. And here's why:

     I was listening to my music on shuffle, as usual, when suddenly "Alive" by Jamie Walker came on. I don't expect you to know him or ever have heard the song, but it's attached below. Suddenly, I was crying. Crying really ugly tears for the millionth time this week (and yes, it's only Tuesday). Everything came back; everything and anything. 

      I hate Winter. I hate being cold, I hate the death that Winter brings, I hate snow and ice even (although the snow the first time is pretty). I like ice skating, but I hate Winter. I will be even more honest and say that Christmas and New Years are some of my least favorite holidays. And while we're talking about all the things I hate, I most particularly hate the month of January. For many, it's a month for new starts, new beginnings, but I hate it so much. Everything around me is cold, damp, dormant. I hate having to leave the house bundled up. I hate the wind chill factors. I hate the lack of sunshine. I hate it. But what I hate the most is that for the past three Januaries, I've lost someone close to me. So, every January, I catch the blues. I catch them really deep. And this year, I can't wait until February. 

       My Mommom passed away on Sunday, January 10, 2016. Today feels like the one millionth hour of January 10th and I still can't wake up from this terrible dream. This nightmare, really, that she's gone. I want to wake up but I can't. But then again, I also feel like I'm in some sort of limbo where I keep feeling like she's only gone to Florida for a few months like she planned. But I know I'll wake up from that dream someday, and realize she's gone. She's gone from here forever. 

       I can still hear her voice saying, "Oh hiya," when I walk into the back room. I can still feel her arms snuggle me into her as she tells me she missed me while I think it's only been a few days. There's so much about her that feels so fresh and yet, it's gone. I can't let go of a few things yet, like how the whole day panned out, and I'm not sure I ever be willing to let that go. But I also don't want to let her voice or touch go either. Every time I look at her picture, I start to lose it.

I had to stop writing this blog post because I couldn't get through it. Here I am, three days later trying again.

       I have an amazingly supportive colleague community at the school where I teach. We had an in service day Wednesday and words, any words really, were hard. People let me slid. Thursday the kids came back. I had to be ready for two new classes of students and I was far from ready. But they had energy - first day back energy. My kids were laughing and telling me great adventures of their term break. For about 160 minutes yesterday, I didn't cry. I didn't actually have time to think about anything other than my kids. They are amazing.
       But that morning I had to really get myself ready for the day more emotionally than anything else. I couldn't get out of my funk. One friend and colleague just wrapped her arms around me. Another took my face in her hands and very grandmotherly said, "it's never going to go away, or maybe even easier, but you will be able to live on." Young people usually say, "don't worry, it will get better." But I feel like it never will. And then I listen to the older and wiser who tell me it's okay to feel like it never will get better, it's okay to get angry, it's okay to be a mess. And believe it or not, I haven't tried to hide my pain for once in my life. I'm okay with feeling completely incapacitated by my sadness for a little, as long as it doesn't last forever. I'm okay with it, because I lost my star.

      Mommom was star and a queen. Anyone could look at her pictures and see one of the most beautiful women ever. Her eyes were bright baby blue, she had fair skin and a great smile.  She laughed, she knew how to have a good time, she loved to party, she loved her family and she loved to travel. She's seen so many beautiful places and has met so many beautiful people. She loved so much. Oh she also loved to take pictures and have her picture taken. I inherited that. She loved to write. I got that, too. She was amazing.
      As the oldest (and favorite :P) grandchild, I got to spend 4.5 years of my life with her all to myself. I was spoiled by her. Well, we all were. But I was snuggled and cuddled up until the last time I saw her. I love the story of how she dressed me in every single outfit I got as a gift as a baby and made me model. Don't believe me? There's pictures. I have many fond memories of vacations with her, trips to the movies, even day to day memories of her from visiting so much at her house. From the time she fell through the chair to the 3:30 panic attack she had because guests would be coming at any moment the day of the family reunion. Inside jokes with her, shared interests and lots of smiles and laughs are things I cherished then and cherish even more now that she's gone.
     Mommom always supported me. She came to every concert and show. When I stopped performing, she came with me to support my students at their concerts and shows. Mommom was my number one cheerleader. She made me feel like a million bucks every chance she got. She video taped or made photo books of literally every event of my life. She loved supporting me and my sisters and cousins every chance she could, any way she could.
     
      The night before Mommom passed away, my sister got to visit her and her friends. I will never be more jealous of any moment. I had an eye doctors appointment I honestly thought of just ditching so I could go to Mommom's, too. But my new year's goal was to take better care of myself and stop avoiding adult things. The next morning I got the call that she was in bad shape. Little did I know that I wasn't going to get to talk to her one last time; she was already gone before we got to the hospital. We got to say goodbye, but it wasn't anything like the regular goodbyes Mommom gave. It was nothing like the smuggling and hugging so tight you couldn't breathe and then having to wipe your cheek off from a thousand kisses. It was cold, it was blue much like the month of January.
      The week of planning for her memorial service felt like planning a party. And honestly, that's probably what she would have wanted anyway. Each day I had ups and downs. I'm a goofball sometimes and I use laughter to lighten to mood. So I brought up every funny, hilarious thing she did. Then, of course, there were the moments, by myself, that I would just break down and sob. We went through thousands of pictures and I was made even more grateful that I insisted on taking so many pictures with my grandmother. I could have made a memory board of just selfies with her. The week was also filled with debating whether or not Mary and I would sing at the memorial service. Finally, Thursday night, we went out to the garage and sang for what felt like hours until we came up with something.
      By Friday, I had felt like a million years had gone by. We went to the chapel in the cemetery where her memorial service was going to be held. We set up her pictures, her favorite things, and practiced once again our song. I was supposed to read at the service. I didn't pre-read. I couldn't. So when the memorial service started and I got up to read, I couldn't hold back the tears. In fact, I actually closed my eyes and read half of the reading from memory. I have been to too many funerals. At the end of the service, Mary and I got up to sing. Amazing Grace was what she wanted. We gave her the best we could do.
     It's now a week since we've put my Mommom to rest. It's a week later and I still feel like she'll be back any day now. But then reality hits me again. She's not coming back. I won't hear her voice or see her face except in pictures. And each night I just think about how much I miss her. I wish she would text me or like something on Facebook or call or email me at work and ask me to come for dinner. But she won't. I won't get to hear her snoring from the big easy chair in the living room when I walk through the door and I won't get to visit her in Florida like we had talked about. Of course, she won't get to see my cousins graduate, she won't see Lizzie at her prom, and she won't insist we eat at the Eagle Diner when Mary graduates college. She won't be at any weddings or vow ceremonies. She won't see any great-grandchildren. I hate thinking about that, but I do. But the thing I think about the most is - I wonder if she knew how much I really loved her. I know she knew I loved her, but I hope she knew how much.

     I hate Winter. I hate being cold. I hate January. And while all these kiddos at school are super excited about this blizzard we are getting this weekend, I'm kind of dreading the fact that I need to go get boots for both me and my puppy, milk, eggs and bread today after school with all the crazies. I dreading the cold wind that will make me super dry cheeks hurt even more. I am dreading the sledding adventure that will be me trying to get my car to church on Sunday. I am dreading it all because I really hate Winter. But you know what? I read yesterday that "snowflakes are kisses from Heaven." Well if this storm is what they say it's going to be, that it must be true. Mommom smothered us with kisses every time we arrived and we left the house. I guess this is her smothering us from above. And I guess the jokes on me now, isn't it? Miss you, Mommom. Miss you so much.

Just As Planned (by God)

"Well done, good and faithful servant. 

Come, share in the joy of your master."

- Matthew 25:21

    I do not believe in coincidences or irony; I believe in God-winks. I believe God has such a grander plan, beyond our human understanding, and that He will seemingly make it all work out right. For example, last week when I went to visit Sister Elaine and in my heart's deepest desires, I was longing for the opportunity to pray with my Sisters again. It was all in God's plan that I would wind up sitting there in my favorite Chapel, trying not to giggle my way through prayers with my Sisters and soon after join them for dinner. God's plan. 

     But sometimes our plan doesn't always match up with God's plan. You see my plan was to visit a few of my Sisters after observing at a high school near my college on a professional development day for the school at which I now teach. My plan was to go finally meet my dear Sister Marian, check in with my dear Sister Cathy, and visit a bit with Sister Jane, who they told me was not doing well. That was my plan, to see my girls. But God had a different plan. 

     On Friday, January 16, 2015, God called Sister Jane home. The email announcing her passing went out a few days later and I instantly started crying. I had planned to see her only a few days later, one week exactly after Sister Elaine told me that she was sick. But God had a different plan. Of course, I knew that. I couldn't be upset about God's plan being different than mine because I would live my whole life miserable if I did that. But I did mourn the loss of a dear friend, my dear Sister. 

     As I laid in bed that night, memories of my dear Sister played through my mind like a movie. Sister Jane sat in the pew ahead of me for all four years of my time at Immaculata. A pew ahead and then to the right. She had the middle seat. Every so often, she'd pass me a note before prayers on a yellow sticky, written in perfect cursive pencil. I'm pretty sure I still have the one from one particular snowy day Sophomore year when I showed up very early for Mass. Well, it wouldn't have been early if prayers weren't in silent, but they were and I didn't get the memo. She slipped in gently behind her, then turned to me as I took it, smiled gently and continued her rosary. 

      Every morning we celebrated Mass in the Gillet Convent Chapel, during the sign of peace, she would turn around, shake hands with everyone else and wait for me. When she shook my hand, she always wrapped both her hands around mine, smiled and tilted her head a bit to the right. Every day. Sometimes she would wave over her shoulder when I knelt down behind her. And on Sunday mornings, when she was there for Mass, she would wait until I was walking out of Mass just so she could thank me for singing. In all her gentle ways, she was gracious and prayerful. 

      Of course, there are so many more memories. I can't say how many times she introduced me to all her friends in the cafeteria. She definitely had a lot of friends, who liked ice cream and meeting students. She was a popular lady. I also can't say how many times she cured me of random illnesses. "Sister, I feel nauseous every morning." "Drink water. Eat peanut butter crackers." The next day, I'd be handed a bag of peanut butter crackers. Cured. She always cared so much and would do everything in her power to help a girl (or guy) out. It was those little day to day interactions with her that were always my favorite memories. Her smile. Her gentleness. Her all around beauty. 

     My favorite solo memory though? Well, let me preface this with some basic information. I went to an all girls' high school. By October of my Freshmen year of college, Sister Jane had asked me if I had ever thought of religious life. So, she knew about my high school background and that I was thinking of being a Sister. She had also cured me of two mysterious illnesses. I had apparently been sitting in the cafeteria at a random table surrounded by young men...boys. I didn't think anything of it. However, later, as I was walking across campus, Sister Jane stopped me. She asked me if I was feeling under the weather at all and when I asked why, she responded with the following: Well, I saw you sitting with the boys and I just wanted to make sure you were doing okay. I giggled a little and told her about my wholesome, Catholic young boy friends. She gave my hands a squeeze and promised to keep praying for me. 

      I can honestly say that my plan wasn't to fall in love with the Sisters at school or even become good friends with any of them. But God had a different plan and put each Sister into my life in a different way. Sister Jane was a gentle soul who was always looking out for me in little, gentle ways. Her gentle smile could be seen from across campus as I raced to catch up with her or down the hallway from my education classes. Her gentle hands always held mine every time we met. She was a hand-holder like me. She gave great hugs and I knew I could always count on her putting me on the right page if I was lost during Morning Prayers. Sister Jane could be seen coming off the Lourdes elevator and going on some adventure with all of her friends or simply to the convent. Whatever she did, wherever she went, she was gentle. She was, perhaps, one of the most gentle people I have ever met. 

      I hadn't planned to go into Camilla, hug all my Sisters, and cry right away. But I did. Of course, I also didn't plan to find one Sister and kind of dog follow her throughout the viewing. But God planned it perfectly that when I walked through the doors, Sister Mary walked out right in front of me. And she took me into the room where I received many hugs from many of my Sisters. During the Funeral, I was sitting by myself, praying that I'd be able to cry in the comfort of a Sisters presence, and God's plan was that Sister Monica would find me soon after I whispered that prayer. And as I knelt there in prayer, I realized that two years ago prior, we were mourning the loss of another dear sister of mine, Sister Albert. I don't believe in coincidence or irony, but I believe in God's divine plan. I could imagine Sister Marie Albert welcoming Sister Jane home - Sisters. 

     Throughout Mass, I had a steady flow of tears running down my cheeks. Once again realizing that my friends are significantly older than me and this was not a new experience, nor an experience that would expire soon. I mourned in a different way than I'm sure my Sisters did because Sister Jane was someone different for me than she was for them. But Sister Trin said something that truly made me feel still parted of the extended IHM family: "It just wouldn't be right if you weren't here." It was a reminder that I was allowed to cry and to mourn the loss of my friend, my sister. 

     I kept thinking about what Sister Trin said throughout Mass. I kept thinking about home is always where my Sisters are. I kept thinking of all the perfect little moments Sister Jane and I shared. I kept thinking of how I felt so much sadness for not being able to see my Sister and hug her one more time. I was upset that my plans didn't work. But slowly, as I kept reflecting, I realized that I did get to see Sister Jane on the day I planned...just in a very different way. It was at this moment of realization that I looked up the ceiling of Camilla's Chapel. There was one single tile missing. I had tears rolling down my cheeks as I laughed thinking about a song I heard on the radio when I was a child. It's called, "Hole in the Floor of Heaven." Okay, so it wasn't a hole in the floor of heaven, but for me it was. It was a reminder that as much of my life that I didn't plan, God's plan has always triumphed. Yes, as much as my type A personality will hate to admit, God's plan is always better. Sister Jane will always be with me, another guarding angel up in Heaven for me. My plan isn't always the best plan, or the right plan, but God's plan is. I may not always agree, but if I surrender to God's will, I know everything God wants for me, will happen. I got to see my Sister just as planned.  

     My dearest Sister Jane, thank you for every gift of your smiles, your love, your gentleness. I am so blessed to have had you in my life. Ready the way for a homecoming when we meet again (I'll bring the ice cream.). 

Silly Putty Heart

"Sometimes I think the heart is like silly putty: 

flexible, lovable, impressionable, and able to wrap itself around anyone and anything.

The heart can be stretched so greatly, which is great.

But then, like silly putty, if stretched in two opposite directions too much, 

it might snap."

- A Becca Original

     Yesterday, I was feeling incredibly stretched. Maybe I have written about stretching in the past, maybe not. But stretching is a good thing. Think of dancers who not only stretch before they practice or perform, but also after. It adds incredible flexibility to the body. Think of pizza makers who need to stretch the dough so as to make the best pizza. Think of even rubber bands that need to stretch to keep things together. Stretching, one can see, is clearly something that is good. However, dancers will tell you that sometimes stretching pulls a muscle, pizza makers will tell you that sometimes the dough stretches too far and a hole emerges and sometimes the rubber band snaps. Stretching the human heart can be somewhat similar. 

     Today I write about how much my heart loves and with loving much also comes susceptibility to much hurt. I always knew that I was one to love much; I was born compassionate toward others. However, I didn't know that loving much had great consequences like immense hurt. The good news about this is that God loves you through the hurt; He stretches you. I didn't like stretching at first, much like the young dancer. I just wanted to dance; I just wanted to love. Many around me spoke to me about stretching, telling me it was a good thing. It was a lesson I needed to learn: in order to dance the best, I first needed to stretch. And so, God gave me many opportunities to stretch so that I could learn to love even more greatly. 

     While I learned that stretching was such a good and healthy thing for me and even began speaking about the stretching one endures in order to gain strength, myself. However, there was something rarely anyone spoke about and it was the very fact that stretching hurts sometimes. I never really focused on the pulled muscles, holes in the dough or snapped rubber bands. Why? Well that was negative and why focus on that? But the truth is, I was avoiding the truth. I kept telling myself that stretching is good, stretching will make me better, stretching will help me love. But there was always this little voice saying, "Well then why does it hurt so much?"

      Many of you know that the way I deal with conflicts of the heart is by seeking the advice of others. In recent months I have found myself many times in multiple offices around campus seeking the advice of my older, wiser, sisters. Of course, these are the Sisters who know quite a lot about me, some who have been with me from day one on campus. The future is both terrifying and exciting which led me quite a few times even this week to Sisters' offices and I think it can go without saying, but there were tears, too. In talking with Sister Cathy about the future, mi futura she called it, she reminded me of stretching. She reminded me that I will always have options and God will lead me to the right one. She encouraged me to keep going and keep on keeping on. I left her office feeling at peace, even though I had not truly made a decision about a topic. Just simply talking about my future with her allowed peace of mind for me for the time being. But of course, I'm a great thinker and with great thinking comes great worrying. Slowly, the worry slipped back in. I sought solace a harsh reality aspect from Sister Elaine and of course, I poured my heart out in the portress office to Sister Lorraine because I asked her to pray for me. All three times I was on the verge of tears...because I was being stretched and it hurt. 

     Yesterday, after I spoke with Sister Elaine, I went back to my room for a little bit truly felt in my heart the pain of being stretched. Because I am a writer, I needed to write a metaphor of how I was feeling. I'm not a dancer (anymore...once in my heyday of five years old, I did ballet) and so I couldn't equate my heart to the actual stretching the dancer does and I am most definitely not a pizza maker. And while I've definitely had a number of rubber bands snap on me, that just didn't seem quite like the right metaphor. Thats when I remembered one of my favorite toys as a kid: Silly Putty. 

     I'm sure many of you remember Silly Putty. It's flexible, lovable, impressionable and able to wrap itself around anything. It looks like a wad of pink gum. I remember twisting and turning it, massaging it in my hands. I remember pressing it upon the newspaper and seeing the cartoons reversed and stretched on the Silly Putty. It was ruined after that but that never bothered me. It also got ruined when you lost the red egg shell container it came in. Of course, often  I would get in trouble for wrapping my silly putty around things that I shouldn't have been like pens or the table or things in the kitchen. But it was so cool and awesome and I just couldn't put it down. One time I even remember "losing" my silly putty and then my Aunt Karen giving me a new red egg with the silly putty in it. My Dad got a little upset because seemingly I had wrapped it around too many things and I didn't actually lose it. But the part I remembered the most about Silly Putty was that if you stretched it too far in two different directions it got limp in the middle or eventually snapped. Silly Putty, I realized, was the perfect metaphor for my heart. 

     First of all, my heart is definitely flexible and able to wrap around anything and anyone. It has been stretched so much in the past that I have become able to love even more greatly and love many. My heart is flexible in the sense that I can truly find a way to love anyone. When it comes to being lovable, I've been told by a few that my heart is just as lovable if not more so. I'm not quite sure what it is about my heart, but people love it. My very human heart is also very impressionable.This one comes from my High School Greek Teacher, Senor (he also teaches Spanish....). He told me that when he was a kid, Silly Putty was ruined after only one cartoon/newspaper trick. That being said, once an impression has been made on the heart, perhaps it may be ruined. For example when someone makes such a beautiful impression on you and you learn to love that person, but suddenly that person does something that hurts greatly. The impression may not have false, but the reality of recognizing that another is only being human hurts. Perhaps, the heart then is ruined? The heart can no longer trust? That's a deep concept of equating the heart to Silly Putty in that sense. Of course, we must also think of the red egg shell casing. While it is good to open up the egg shell, because how else would we get to the Silly Putty to play with it? If one loses the red container, the heart can longer be protected against all the icky gunk that might get mixed it. Definitely, the Silly Putty was ruined after that. The heart, perhaps, just as so. At this point, I was really thinking about how perfectly this metaphor was working for me. But it wasn't until I remembered the part about my Dad getting upset at my aunt for giving me new silly putty that it truly hit the spot. 

       My heart has been through the battlefield and lost it's protective container a long time ago. During Lent we pray "God give me a new heart." Did anyone ever question this? Like why on earth would we want a new heart after our old one has already been stretched, has already been hurt so anymore hurt wouldn't matter, and has already, without a doubt, been impressed upon. Doesn't it seem a little ironic? Well, we ask for new hearts for the same reason that I asked for new Silly Putty. My Silly Putty, aside from being "lost" was also ruined. I wanted a new clean slate with a new container. But just as my Dad got upset at the new Silly Putty, knowing that I would only wrap it around everything under the sun, copy newspapers and probably lose the container, I found myself upset at God for a few minutes for giving me a new heart that would only be hurt and soon ruined again. But God reminded me that He was molding my heart and He would not let it get ruined. 

       So then I asked Him why on earth, then, was He stretching me so far in two different directions? In being honest, this past week, I was feeling so stretched by two different things that I loved so much. I could feel one pulling me in one direction while another was pulling me in the opposite direction. There was no malice or even negative aspect of either sides stretching me. In fact, both are beautiful ways to celebrate my gifts and talents. But oh my goodness, was I being stretched. And so, in being honest with God, I told Him how I felt that it He stretched my heart anymore I was fearing that I was snap and my heart would break. I was already feeling like weak Silly Putty because I have been harboring a hurt inside for a while, one that I haven't spoken about or really even debriefed. I questioned God and was upset at this new heart that was still so brand new and impressionable and flexible. 

      I posted my metaphor on Facebook and within minutes many of my dear friends of God were telling me that while the heart is like Silly Putty, the heart is stronger. Some told me that yes, the heart may break, but God is the glue that puts the pieces back together. Some even said that my heart, the Silly Putty is molded by the Maker, my God and He knows what my heart is capable above. Why else would He wrap my heart around people and places that I love so tightly. I was reminded once again that stretching is a good thing and it's only because of the hurt that I have yet to deal with, that I am afraid of breaking. I was reminded that I need to be stretched in both ways equally so as to be able to love constantly and consistently both things which are stretching me. I was reminded that being stretched well help me love beyond the harbored hurt. 

     And so, I can to the conclusion that while my heart is like Silly Putty and I may fear it might snap, God won't let it snap. He is the molder and the maker of all good things, especially my heart. While I'm still at a period of hurting from stretching (you know how those days are...after working out, you're sore for a few days), I know this is for the best. 

The Remnant of a Sniff: Remembering Sister Marie Albert

"I woke up this morning and heard the news, 

I know the pain of a heartbreak.

I don't have answers and neither do you, 

I know the pain of a heartbreak."

- "When a Heart Breaks," Ben Rector

    I have been silent this week, friends, but that doesn't mean I haven't been writing. I have been using my other (secret) outlet as a coping mechanism. Yes, I have been writing poetry. Today was the funeral of our dear Sister Marie Albert, and so, I feel  it is the time to share one of my poems with you, that I wrote in her honor.

The Remnant of a Sniff

it's what lingers after

a sledding adventure in

the brisk, snow-filled air.

it lingers over hot cocoa

even as we try to warm ourselves.

it's what lingers after

the common cold or flu

has paid a visit to the body's

immune system.

it lingers over the tea 

we drink to regain our sense of smell.

it's what lingers after 

an allergy attack in the

awakening of Spring.

it lingers over afternoon coffee.

it's what lingers after

hearing the joyous news of a birth

or

the heartbreaking news of a sudden passing.

  

it lingers as hugs and tears are shared.

it lingers after my weeping

and 

my mourning.

it lingers now.

but what lingers also, 

is the remnant of a smile 

as memories of you

flood my heart.

- 1/21/13

     It's snowing right now, and if I have never said it, snow is a sign from Heaven for me. I take snow as a sign that all is right in my world. It snowed the first day I ever mentioned my discernment to Sister David and I knew it was my path of life. It snowed on a day I was walking to the Motherhouse for Mass on a Chapter weekend and I knew I was meant to be there. It snows today, and I know Sister Marie Albert is at peace. This is her sign for me.

      Yesterday may have been one of the longest days in my life. Sixteen straight hours of being awake and not a signal break in the day. I went from 5-11 full force. In the middle of my day, around 3:30, my best friend, Cameron, and I walked down the street to Camilla where we were finally going to get our closure. But before we even walked down the street, I said, "Just a fair-warning: this is not okay in my heart yet; I am going to cry. I'm sorry." And just as he does for me, he nodded in silent agreement that he not only understood, but may have to do the same. That's the one thing about him that I love, we can have conversations upon conversations of full understanding with each other without saying a word. God blessed me in that sense. 

     We walked into the front doors of Camilla and right away we saw some of our sisters from school. There were shared smiles and waves and that was it really, until Sister Denise came up to my side. It was as if she had known I walked through the door; like magnets connecting with great force. She linked my arm and said, "Be strong, baby girl, we're just going to talk to her." Before we even entered the parlor, however, Sister Carol opened her arms wide and greeted me with a, "My hall buddy. I am so glad you are here with us." Of course, already, tears were silently streaming down my face. Sister Denise once again linked my arm, but I honestly admitted that I would need to hold her hand and I asked her not to let go. Cameron followed behind me, close enough to be there if I needed him, but far away enough to give me space to cry. I closed my eyes and did just what Sister told me, I spoke to my sister. 

      I got through the rest of the night, my six hours of classes with an angel by my side. Truly, I knew she was with me. When I finally was able to collapse in my bed, I let the river pour. But even then, it was still just a river. This morning, I moved around so slowly, as if trying to avoid the inevitable. Finally, I pulled myself together and trekked down to Camilla once again, in my black and yellow, but this time alone. I prayed and talked with her during my ten minute walk and told her honestly how hard it really was for me. Thankfully, when I walked into Camilla, I saw "little poss," or as many know her, Christina, the Postulant. I sidled up next to her, and listened as the IHM community prayed the Rosary, with Sister Lorraine, the Mother General leading. To a few of the school sisters I saw during the final good-bye, I gave hugs, even to the cold-ridden ones, like Sister Marcille and then made my way to Chapel. 

     I don't think my cheeks were ever as wet, even in the rain, as they were today. When I saw each of the sisters from school, line up on either side of the main aisle, I couldn't hold back the tears. Honestly, the hardest thing for me, was not only carrying the heartbreak of my own heart, but the heartbreak of the sisters. They created a passage-way of sorts for their sister. It was so difficult to watch their faces and not feel their pain. Yeah, it was hard.

     It wasn't toward the end of the Mass that I realized which sisters were sitting behind me a few pews. Part of the council and a good deal of the motherhouse sisters. So, it was no surprise to me when I walked into the Portress office for work tonight, to have the sisters ask me about it. What I was surprised about was the amount of support they each gave me. Plenty of beautiful words were said, but what stuck with me was what Sister Rita (my home girl, I call her, since she's from Levittown) said. She said, "Becky, dear, she's going to be your special friend up there. I can promise that. Pray to her all the time, she's got you special under her wing." 

     The surprising thing about that saying, was that as I stood with Sister Marcille and a few of the students, I felt a peace come over me. Of course, tears were still streaming down my face, but I could feel her presence with me. I closed my eyes and just let that peace come over me with the gentle breeze that came with it. The sisters began to sing the Salve Regina, and you know that feeling in your heart, when even if you can't sing, you have to sing? That's what came over me. I joined in with the sisters who were literally surrounding me and sang as if that song has always been engraved deep in my heart. Afterwards, I heard Sister Marcille whisper to Dara, "That's a community tradition." Oops. Yet, I know Sister Marie Albert would have just laughed at me in her kind way.

     As I walked home tonight from work, after listening to so many of the sisters at the Motherhouse wrap me in words of support, I couldn't help but smile up at the sky. It's clear tonight, despite the snow. I couldn't really tell if it was snowing or not, but when I looked into the lights that lit my journey home, I could see the fine pieces of icey snow falling so gracefully. I felt as if someone was literally dumping a bottle of fine, silver glitter on my head as if to make me shine. Then I realized it. Sister Marie Albert always told me to shine. And wouldn't she be the one to dump a bottle of glittery snow on my head from Heaven tonight. 

     Hey girl, I know you're listening, so let me tell you, how much I really appreciate your loving support during these beautiful times I knew you. And honestly, I know you're with me more now than you ever could have been here. Help me keep shining with a smile in remembrance of you!

This Girl Is On Fire - Advent Day 2

"She's just a girl and she's on fire.

She's living in a world and it's on fire.

Feeling the catastrophe, but she knows she can fly away.

Oh, she got both feet on the ground, 

and she's burning it down."

- "Girl On Fire," Alicia Keys

    The goal is to ready your hearts. That's the main goal of Advent. Ready your hearts for the coming of Jesus...the little baby. Over the past few weeks God has given me a lot to think about (and stress about....and by stress, I mean pray...). Advent is usually one of my most favorite seasons of the year because it is the start of the new Liturgical year. It means Christmas is coming. And yet, it seems this year that there is a bit of blockage in my heart. Things, inside, have honestly been a little rough lately. And since I told you this is about ups AND downs, I feel I can share!

    There are two weeks of school left and a ton of school work to accomplish. In addition, I am required to maintain somewhat of a social life by attending the Christmas activities. It's not that I don't want to, it's that I feel burnt out. But the burn out is more in my heart than in my brain. My heart is recovering by a little more brokenness than I think I chose to accept. It's trying to figure out relationships and how much can it share with someone without sharing too much. Who can it trust? Who can it bleed (cry) in front of? How much can it sacrifice until finally breaking? And how close can it get with people without it meaning more? You see, so many relationship issues have come into play in my life recently between friends, best friends, family members, and yes, boys. My heart has felt lonely in so many ways lately and the fire that seemingly used to be on fire is burning out. Logic says that water puts out flames even more so, but this Saturday, I learned that it is quite the opposite when it comes to the fire of the heart. 

    This past Saturday, we had a day long (seriously....8:30am to 10:30pm) retreat called "Hearts on Fire." Since we are being honest here, I'll tell you that as much as I love retreats, I don't like these types of retreats. It's hard for me to find "retreat" in a series of intellectual talks and strictly scheduled activities. For me, retreat should be a time where I can embrace quietude and less of a dependency on time. But, I went with it. I helped out more than I participated, registering people in the beginning, singing at Mass and the likes. At the end of the day, I really thought that I hadn't gotten much from God during the day. But, like usual, God was waiting for the last possible moment to give me a wow moment. He waits until I am just about to give up and surprises me. 

    My Daddy was coming to pick me up after Retreat, but he came a little early to hear the last talk and go to Adoration with us. While I can't honestly tell you what the last talk was about, I will remember Adoration forever. My dad and I sat in the same pew, but quite a distance apart. As soon as the Blessed Sacrament was exposed, tears started running down my face. Despite being surrounded by a ton of people, strangers at that, I just let the tears go as if it was just me and Jesus. As I was sitting, crying, in my heart, all I wanted was a hug. I wanted someone to wrap their arms around me and protect my heart. I wanted my heart to stop hurting so bad. I asked God for a hug. It was almost as if He said, "DUH," because I looked right at my real Daddy. So, I did what every little girl does when she's hurt. I went to my Daddy. He immediately put his arm around me and I cried. I cried, and essentially sobbed and he just held me. Oh to feel so little and protected again. Instead of the fire going completely out with the water of my tears, they were like kindling. 

     The next morning, after really reflecting on and thanking God for my hour of Adoration with my Daddy, I sat down and prepared myself to once again be a Sponsor for the Sacrament of Confirmation. For for the fifth time in my twenty years of life, I was a sponsor. And what a joy, yet again, it was. Ironically, the same Bishop was Confirming this time, confirmed me so many years before. It was so perfect that on this start of Advent, Giovanna took the name Anne (Mary's Mama). How excited Mary must have been to be expecting a baby, but imagine Grandma's joy! Especially for the FIRST GRANDBABY! Yes, how perfect Confirmation was! When Bishop Maginnis shook my hand at the end of Confirmation (after remembering confirming me so many years previously), he mentioned I should stay out of trouble. I answered as honestly as I could, "If only it were that easy." His response? "Touche, wise one. Try." It added a bit more kindling to the small flame beginning again in my heart!

      That afternoon, there was no rushing around, and so, I treated my littlest sister to a lunch date! I let her choose the place and the lunch we split (since we ironically have the smallest appetites ever). I even humored her by ordering a blue soda for her and for me. Needless to say, we were sick to our stomachs from laughing so hard, eating so much, and we both had blue tongues to share the tale. At the end of the date, she took my hand and said, "Well this was nice time spent together before you go back to school. Thanks, Becky." She sounded so mature for her little 8-year old self! I felt so blessed in that moment! The fire was growing bigger. 

      This fire, now slowly coming back like a campfire in the dead of Winter, was struggling still, but growing. I was trying so hard to feel something other than brokenness in my heart for this Advent and still, it didn't seem like this little flame was going to be enough. I had just finished my first class today when I remembered I had to stop by work study to get some info for an upcoming fundraiser. It went a lot shorter than I expected, actually. At the end, Sister Cathy surprised me by asking if I wanted to pray the Advent reflection with her. When I thought about it, she had never asked me to pray with her before. It's something I've done with so many other sisters, but never with her. It was definitely some unique kindling to add to my flame of heart. 

     So, after all of this being said, my heart is fostering a little flame inside. I can feel it really trying to grow. Maybe your heart is the same. Maybe you feel so cold that you can believe there's a fire there. Maybe all that is needed for a fire is there, you just need some flint or matches. Or maybe your heart already is a flaming hearth! However your heart may be, be open to the kindling that will be thrown into your fire. Maybe it's the Scriptures, maybe it's a conversation, maybe it's a bit of kindness and gentleness shown toward you. Whatever it is, I can guarantee that God is giving you kindling and logs for your fire! I'm waiting for my logs to come, just like I am waiting for Baby Jesus. God is preparing my heart for His son. Remember, it's going to be cold around here when Jesus comes. He's going to need some place warm to stay. Make it your heart. Be a girl (or guy) on fire!