Mercy Drops

The sky seemed to open - pouring down rain upon this already dreaded Monday morning. Parting the curtains, I look out my bedroom window to see gray overcast clouds all around. 

I am instantly reminded of something I read the night before,

“We’ve all experienced showers of blessings – mercy drops falling around us”

These words tugged at my heart so I took that moment & jotted down the phrase.

~  Showers of blessings   ~  mercy drops falling  ~

Never could I have imagined the storm that would befall our lives the very next day.

The house phone on the nightstand rings, immediately setting the day into motion. I look at the clock flashing 7:30am and think, “It’s kind of early for anyone to be checking in”.  Upon answering and hearing the sadness in Michael’s voice – I am suddenly wide-awake.  He did not have to say anything or go into detail because I knew.... Kathi had lost the battle she had been fighting for her life.

I try my best to say something to console his aching heart.  I hang up quickly (allowing Michael to continue the litany of early calls he needed to make).  As Ken returns to the room, he is unaware of the news waiting to shatter the embrace of life’s routine.

I say a quick prayer asking God’s protection over her soul.  My heart is full of thanks and gratitude for God’s promise of eternal rest.  I wonder in that moment who would be there to meet Kathi and welcome her home. 

Returning to the window, I gaze outside and take note of the rain falling.  I feel sorrow for the pain Kathi endured and I am sad for those loved ones (especially Michael, Kate, Matt & Kerri) whom she had to leave behind.  The darkness of day seems to overshadow the mystery of death and resurrection into new life.  I feel hollow, empty, and void of any joy.  Looking to the dark sky, I ask God, “Why today?  Why today did He shower His mercy down and take Kathi Home?”

In the depths of my grief, I am made to see the blessings of His Time and the Greatness of His Love.  Today, mercy drops feel upon Kathi - giving her the courage and the peace she needed to leave this world. 

We are left to trust and accept this storm.  

To Capture & to Believe that blessings can be found in each fallen raindrop.

  

Rest in Peace, my dear sister-in-law & friend, Kathi

I am Happy

I am happy sitting next to my best friend, sharing the small cushioned area of a church pew.  Here is the love of my life, meeting me for mass (I dare say on a Tuesday morning).  He sneaks out of the office to attend, marking it on his work calendar. We share this space and the quietness found in the early hours; allowing God’s whisper to overshadow the loudness found in the world outside.

Just sitting there with him, I am happy.  But at the same time, I’m amazed at the people we have become.  Daily Mass was never on the radar for the busy, happy, hipster couple – I thought us to be. But low and behold, we have both found our way here today, without either one of us “kicking & screaming”.  If I was to be completely honest, it is Ken who inspires me to meet him at church.    And yes, just saying that is both a little weird and strange.

For anyone who knows us would think it to be the other way around.  Where I am loud and outspoken about my faith – Ken is a strong and silent pillar.  For those mornings he says, “I’m going to mass,” has me rushing around because, "I’ll be darned if he’s there without me"!   I’m often slow to “rise and shine” and do get easily distracted by emails, phone calls, social media and morning TV.  But hearing him say where he’s going – gets me moving to be by his side.

Now mind you, Ken is no angel (as he often reminds me).  His attendance at mass indicates his need for a little serenity.  Where so many people carry their struggles alone & in silence, we are lucky to have the quiet of these mornings to gain a little peace.  Sitting there I know if the day should ever come and I am no longer strong enough to get to mass – Ken will carry me there.  And if the day should ever present it self and I can no longer kneel – Ken will kneel for me.  And if I were ever incapable of praying – Ken will speak the words for me. 

Just thinking about that makes me happy.

Blessing of our Marriage that Tuesday Morning

Happy 30^th Anniversary
 to My One and Only Love

Over and Over

As I move awkwardly into position, I can hardly believe I am here today.  For I have told myself, over and over, it would be impossible (with my limbs so compromised and weak) to continue the discipline needed to practice yoga.  For five years I cautiously rolled out my mat in the safety and solitude of my home.  Performing modified variations of sun salutation, downward dog, pigeon, and warrior, all to my liking, without challenging myself to go deeper or further into each pose. Filled with negative energy, I brought little to what I was experiencing.  My thoughts travel back to a time when my body was in its fullness of health and "modifications" were not something I needed.  When I was able to completely stretch and hold stances, when I was flexible and fearless.

But today, as I reach, bend, breath through and enjoy a full hour of practice – under the guidance of an instructor at a lovely studio, incense burning with the pleasant smell of essential oils … I feel safe.  I command my mind to stop judging my body.  I release the thought of what I was once capable of doing and adapt to a new reality.   That voice inside my head which, over and over, told me what was impossible - was silenced today!

BE CAREFUL WHAT YOU THINK – YOU’RE LISTENING!

**Thank you Leslie of Absolute Yoga for the gift of MS yoga**

The Moccasins

Her voice is filled with fear and carries with it a tone of terror. “He is terribly sick, the doctors aren’t even sure he will make it.” I listen, giving my full attention and ask for more details. “When did this happen? How old is he? How are his wife and kids holding up?”


Maryellen seems in a daze as she goes through the painful ordeal her good friend is facing. As the story of his illness unfolds, her matter of fact manner regarding the children strikes me. “His wife has decided not to tell the kids just how seriously ill their father is. She thinks it best to keep them from the truth.” I respond in my usual quick and unfiltered style, “Isn’t that what Dad decided for you, when Mom was dying? And didn’t he also keep you from attending her wake and funeral? I know he did it to shield you at the young age of 9 but do you think it was best?” Then I simple ask, “What do you remember about Mom, her illness and final passing?”


Now, you should understand that we are sisters and very involved in each other’s lives. Yes, the blood flowing through my veins is the same as hers. And Yes, I am her senior by 10 years but she is my Boss (owner of the business which employs me). We have laughed, cried and shared on everything we hold dear – all our lives. I tend to wear my heart on my sleeve, sharing and telling every thought and feeling that crosses my path. Maryellen, my baby sister, is not such an open book. But this question before her seems to, ever so gently open a door, which would otherwise remain closed.


“I don’t remember much about Mom”, she confesses almost guiltily. “She was always lying down and resting.” Then, opening the door a little further goes on to tell me what she does remember. “I stood in the parking lot, looking up and waving at her in the window of her hospital room. That would turn out to be our final good-bye.” I take a deep breath and swallow the lump which had formed in my throat. She continues, “The next thing I remember was coming off the school bus and knowing immediately that she had died. There were so many cars parked in front of the house. I went inside, sat down on Dad’s lap and cried.” Again, so matter of fact in her manner.


What she then shared broke wide the door of her heart. “I was 9, and after that brief cry I could think of nothing more than the moccasins I had seen in the store window. I wanted them so much and wondered when we could go and buy them. Here was this terrible news about Mom and what I remember most in that minute was caring about those stupid moccasins!” I am utterly blown away with her telling of this truth.

My own remembrance of our Mothers illness is vastly different as I’m sure my 3 other siblings (Ann, Pat & Frank) each hold. But, I immediately tell of my realities, “I shared the responsibility for taking Mom for chemotherapy. I was at her side when the doctors gave up any hope of remission. I stood at her hospital bed praying “the Hail Mary” while she took her final breath and then drove Dad and Nanny home to prepare for your arrival from school.”


I have looked at my mother’s passing from so many angles and viewpoints but this was completely new and different! Almost 35 years have passed and I am first hearing about “the moccasins”.   Our memories of that catastrophic moment seem frozen in time. Mine held within the confines of an 18 year old being forced to quickly grow up and face the harsh reality of death. And for Maryellen, the innocent desire of a sweet child found in those moccasins; overshadowing and maybe protecting her from the unimaginable tragedy unfolding around her.


Walking through that slightly open door gave us both the courage - to relive, to retell, and to help each other carry that which is deep inside our very souls.

Frank, Ann, Pat, Chris, "Baby" Maryellen

Beautiful Marie 

In Loving Memory of our Mom ~ who lives forever in our hearts. 

Rusty Old Shed

It was an amazing story.

Told with humor, which completely held my attention

and authority, which utterly peaked my curiosity.

I found myself entering into its mystery and believing the lesson of the tale.

I have not been able to let it go.

 I bring it to life now – using my imagination to embellish the details; making it my own.

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She arrived at the Pearly Gates of Heaven and was met by a smiling man in a white robe. “Christine, it is good that you are here!  I will be your tour guide and show you around this place,” spoke Saint Peter.  Christine was aware of all that she left behind: her possessions, achievements and stresses she had in her life on earth.  Her heart remained full of love given, and love received. But, she still carried a feeling in her gut – a feeling of being dissatisfied.  It was with her on earth and now seemed to carry over into her new eternal life. Christine simply ignored it and turned her attention to Saint Peter, noticing the lightness and freedom in each of his steps. 

“Are you ready to begin exploring heaven and all its offerings?”  

Saint Peter led Christine to a beautiful meadow overflowing with cherry blossoms and a running, clear stream.  The colors everywhere were so vibrant and the air so fresh with a sweet fragrant smell. All this beauty and yet Christine was fixated on an old metal shed she spotted in the distance – rusted and worn from the passing of time.  She was quick to inquire, “What is that and why is it here?”  Saint Peter answered, “Oh, it is nothing – leave it be”.  And the tour continued.

Before Chris’s eyes were snow-capped mountains with peaks engulfed in the misty haze of clouds. Lowering her gaze, the shadowed valleys summoned her to explore their many paths. As she scanned the landscape, the sight of the old rusty metal shed, again, came into view. She couldn’t help but inquire further, “What is that and why does it seem to be following us every place we go?”  Knowing Chris would not stop asking until satisfied with an explanation, Saint Peter invited her to move toward to the shed.

Once closer Chris could not help but remark, “What is this terrible looking shed doing here in heaven?  What purpose can it hold?”  With that said, Saint Peter opened the door to reveal a giant warehouse of shelves.  Each shelf contained boxes, all tied with red ribbons.   Saint Peter explained, “Every box contains the name of a person who lived on earth.  And within each box is placed the blessings that went unrecognized and unused during their lives.  These boxes of blessings are then stored away in this old rusty shed.”

Christine scanned the area in search of her name.   She passed countless number of boxes in varying shapes and sizes.  She knew each box represented how well the person lived, each size revealing the specific number of blessings lost and forgotten.  As she came upon her own, Chris could feel that hollow pit return to her stomach.  Her box was rather large and she now understood that the remedy for her discontent was here within her grasp. So many blessings she had failed to recognize and accept throughout the days of her life, now carefully placed in that box - neatly tied with a pretty red ribbon – stored for eternity in a rusty old shed.

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My prayer is that we uncover and use every blessing set before us 

 Leaving nothing to be stored in heaven.

(Thank you Sister Pat Duffy for the gift of this tale)