My Mother Has Passed Away, May She Rest In Peace

Please pray for the repose of the soul of my mother, who died peacefully on March 1 at the age of 89.  She passed into eternal life with four of her five children gathered around her hospital bed, just minutes after she heard our absent brother's voice on speaker phone.

After many illnesses over the past year that landed her in and out of the ER (including a stroke in December or January, which went largely unnoticed because it didn't incapacitate her; followed my a number of mini-strokes or seizures afterward, also misdiagnosed because they were so mild), she was hospitalized in mid-February. After tests, and about a week in the hospital, it was determined that it was time for palliative care because there was no more that they could do for her.  Within days of her hospitalization, she could no longer eat more than a few bites of soft food or drink more than a few sips from a straw, and even then, she had to be reminded to swallow.  And then she could no longer even do that.  She was as weak as a kitten in many ways; her digestive system began to shut down.  She couldn't move, speak, or open her eyes.  But the one kidney she still had was functioning and her heart was still beating strong.

It doesn't surprise me at all that her heart was still strong.  My mother was all heart, and a fighter, a woman of fierce determination and legendary energy.  It was so hard to see her brought to such a weakened state. But let me start from the beginning.

My husband and I had been in the Nashville area for two weeks, meeting the newest of our 23 grandchildren (born on January 30).  We had just returned home on February 17.  We knew that my mom had gone to the hospital and had been there a few days, but we were planning to rest up for about a week at home in VA before we headed north to see her.  Even though she was pushing 90, we had every confidence that she would pull through and go back to her new mini-apartment at an assisted living home, where she'd moved in December (after living with my youngest sister and her husband for seven years, until she required a higher level of care and could no longer be left alone in the house for even a short time).  Mom always pulled through; we'd already been through two stretches where it looked like we would lose her: once in 2008; and again in 2016, right around the time my dad died.  But she bounced back both times, living up to her "Energizer Bunny" nickname.  We liked to joke that she had nine lives, and truly, she had regained her health and vitality at times when no one thought she ever could.  In 2008, she got down to about 89 pounds and had to have a feeding tube.  In 2017, she needed almost round-the-clock aides at my sister's house, because she couldn't even get out of bed on her own anymore.  But just last summer, in July 2024, she looked like this:

My baby sister (Mom's caretaker for 7 years), Mom, and me.

So we thought this most recent setback might be the same sort of thing.  I fully expected that by the time we got up there, she would be settled back at the assisted living home and that's where we would be visiting her.

But this time was different.  The news from up north was grim.  Make sure you get a priest in to see her, I told my baby sister.  And my husband and I decided to cut our time at home short and get up there to see my mother as soon as we could. We left early on Wednesday, February 19, and while we were on the road, my sister texted me a video she'd taken of Mom receiving Last Rites and Holy Communion that morning. In this video, her face was infused with the innocence of a small child, and she mouthed all the prayers along with the priest.  That was the one thing I wanted to see happen--for my mom to receive those sacraments before she died--and watching the video made me cry happy tears.  It was so beautiful.

My husband and I arrived at the hospital Wednesday afternoon, after a 10-hour trip from VA. On Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday, we spent long days with Mom. She was still eating and drinking (although not more than about 300 calories a day) and still lucid, still talking happily to my children and grandchildren on FaceTime (albeit softly and with great difficulty).  On Wednesday night, she lit up when our toddler grandchild (son #3's youngest) kept saying, "Hi, Mimi!" and, "Miss you, Mimi!"  And when he asked, "Okay, Mimi?"  she answered, "I'm getting to be okay."  I believe she thought she was going to win this latest health battle, like she always did. And her sense of humor was intact.  In her airy, diminished voice, she told son #2 about how she'd been flirting with a male nurse, calling him cute.  When he told her he was happy to see that she hadn't changed, she joked, "I'll never stop flirting."  She was completely herself, in spite of all the injuries to her brain.  Still engaged, still knowing the names of each and every great-grandchild, still very much loving life.

During our long visit on Friday, February 21, my husband blessed my mom with holy water from Lourdes, which my older brother had brought for her.   And he put a brown scapular (an old one of mine) around her neck.

Friday night...my beautiful mother, teaching us all a lesson about humility
and detachment. I will never forget that last week-and-a half-with her.

Mom's room that night was filled with her children, with visiting and laughing, with my older brother and me spoon-feeding our mother like she did for us as babies.

Every doctor and nurse told us the same thing: Mom could have days, or weeks, or perhaps even more time. These sorts situations were hard to predict.  My husband and I thought we might have to prepare for a longer stay up north, so we left to go back to our home in VA on Saturday morning, planning to stay a week or so and then head back up to NY to be there however long was necessary.  But while we were on the trip south, we got word that my mother had declined radically and was no longer responsive.  My younger brother (the family rock star, who I half-jokingly refer to as her favorite) had come that day with his whole family and played his guitar and sang for her, and even that didn't evoke the smallest response.  She wasn’t opening her eyes anymore and looked like she was in a deep sleep.  If my mom couldn't rally even for her grandkids and great-grandkids, things were getting very serious. When we got that news, we decided to turn right around on Sunday, February 23 to head back north, because it looked like she could have very little time left.

As it turned out, she had only a week.  While we were in VA on Saturday, I got the first class relic of St. Therese of Lisieux that had belonged to my mother's mother and had come to me a number of years ago, so we were able to pin that on Mom's hospital gown when we got back.  I also got my Rosary-making supplies, and on the trip north in the car I made a mother's Rosary for her, with each of her five children's names spelled out in letter beads on it, one name in the middle of each decade.

My siblings (along with my husband and one of my sisters-in-law) and I all rallied and made sure that our mother was rarely alone--even often having at least one sibling staying overnight with her.  We spent many hours in that third floor room letting her know how much we loved her.  Also praying Rosaries and Divine Mercy Chaplets and the Catholic prayers for the dying, telling her how happy we were that she was our mom, but also that if she needed to go, we would be okay. (And reminiscing and laughing and getting a lot of comfort out of being together at this difficult time, gathered around our mom and having a sort of family party—something she loved so much.)  Even though she couldn't respond, we have every hope that she heard everything we were saying.  Eventually my two bothers and one sister-in-law had to head home (one brother lives five hours away from the hospital, the other two hours), but my two sisters, my husband, and I were still around, spending as much time as we could at Mom’s bedside. 

I don't think I could ever adequately describe how extraordinary the care my mother--and even all of her visiting family members--received was during those grueling last two weeks of her life.  It was worth it to have her at that exceptional teaching hospital in VT rather than the one closer to her home, even though it meant many ferry rides back and forth across the lake to visit with her.  The nursing staff brought a cart of coffees, fruit, and all kinds of snacks to the room.  One of the nurses who so lovingly cared for Mom during her last days remarked to my baby sister, "Y'all are making me want to have children.  It has been a pleasure serving your mother and your family."  We were told by other nurses that the constant gathering of family in our mother's room was not typical, and that many of their patients die alone.  Also that grown children of elderly patients often argue about their care, which we didn't do--thank God!  We were all on the same page: we just wanted to be with her and we wanted her to be comfortable.  Her pain was managed so well by the staff at this wonderful hospital that every time a doctor or nurse came in to check on her, they assured us that she looked comfortable.  We would know, they said, if she felt pain; but there was never even the slight furrowing of a brow or the hint of a grimace.  Mom did look at peace, and for that we were very grateful.

Mom got Last Rites a second time--I forget which day it was, because I wasn't there yet when it happened.  

On Friday, March 28, my youngest sister, my husband and I were at the hospital with Mom in the early afternoon.  (My other sister had been there through the night and had gone home to shower and get some sleep.)  We were getting conflicting opinions: it could be hours.  It could be days.  It could be weeks.  We decided to go home and sleep and come back in the morning. Her breathing seemed a tad more labored, but none of the staff who'd seen her that day had spoken of any new concerns.  But when she heard we were all going home, the nurse who'd been on duty with Mom that day said to my sister, "I think you should stay.  And you should call your other sister."  Suddenly, we had a feeling that it wouldn't be much longer.  So my other sister was called to come back, as well as the brother who lives two hours away (my older brother and his wife had had to travel out to Ohio to babysit for grandchildren and would not be able to come).  Once the four of us were all there, we decided that we would stay overnight with Mom.  I almost went home across the lake with my husband, because I worried the room would be too crowded, but he encouraged me to stay with my siblings and I will always be so thankful that he did that.  The nurses had already removed the second bed in the room to make space for Mom's many visitors; now they set up four recliner chairs for us and we had the most significant sleepover of our lives.

On the morning of Saturday, March 1, it became noticeable that my mother's breathing was much more labored.  

About three hours before my mom died, a lovely young nurse of Irish descent, who had the voice of an angel, sang Danny Boy to her while she turned her and administered her meds.  And then about an hour before she died, another nurse who'd taken care of her earlier in her stay stopped in to see her.  And In the softest of voices, while tenderly stroking my mother's cheek, this nurse leaned down and quietly encouraged Mom with these amazing words (which I've transcribed from a video my sister took, because I simply can't share something so private here in this space):  

"You and God, you've got some business.  You're working it all out, and you're taking care of that business.  And until that business is dealt with, I think you're going to stay right where you are. That's what I think.  But try to rest.  Relax. Your whole family is here, everybody that loves you is here.  And the person that loves you more than anyone is God, and He's wrapping His Holy Spirit around you, and He's going to wrap His Holy Spirit around all of your children.  They're going to be perfectly fine.  They're going to miss you, because they love you so much.  But they're going to be okay.  Because they know exactly where you're going.  You're going to go to Heaven, you're going to be with Jesus.  Just try to relax.  Think about all of that love--the love of your family, the love of the Lord, the love of Mother Mary and all the saints.  All right?  And we're all going to see you again.  Okay?" 

Then this nurse told Mom that she was going to pray for her in church the next day.  Let me be clear: this is a secular hospital, not a Catholic one.  But Catholic nurses kept finding their way to my mother's bedside.

When Mom's breathing really started to change, we thought of what several of the nurses had told us during those final days: that some dying patients seem to be waiting for everyone to leave, while others are waiting for someone to arrive.  Four of my mother's children were gathered around her bed that Saturday morning. The only one who wasn't there was her oldest son, who was out in Ohio.  So we got our brother on my sister's phone and put him on speaker, and he said his good-byes through tears.  Then about fifteen minutes later, with a tear rolling down one cheek, she died.

My mother had not been able to open her eyes for a whole week.  But right as she took her last breath, she opened them.  

I believe that my mother was seeing those people whom that nurse was talking to her about just an hour earlier: Jesus, and Mother Mary, and all the saints.  

As if this post doesn't already describe a passing from this earthly life that is so very beautiful, so filled with the love of God...I need to tell you about one other thing that happened, which we all believe was divine intervention.  I said above that on Saturday, February 22, my mother's condition changed drastically and she was no longer responsive, and it was determined that they could do no more for her than keep her comfortable.  At that point, we were faced with keeping her in the hospital on palliative care or taking her home to care for her in hospice.  The four oldest of us immediately thought that the transfer to the ambulance and the long ambulance ride across the lake to NY, etc. might kill her in her diminished state.  We also loved the kindness and efficiency of the hospital staff, who were always so gentle and patient with our mother, always said her name and spoke to her when they were taking care of her.  And we worried that we would not be able to keep her as pain-free as she'd been up to that point if we had to take her off the IV morphine (IV's are not allowed in hospice care, we were told).  My youngest sister, however, felt strongly that Mom should go back home to her house, where she'd lived before going to the assisted living home in December and where she still had a hospital bed in her old room.  The rest of us decided that even though we'd thought that our mother should stay where she was, our baby sister had been her main caretaker and health care advocate for so many years, and she deserved the make the final decision about where Mom would die.  We all agreed to have Mom go "home" and take care of her ourselves.

On February 24, the very morning when my youngest sister would be signing the papers to schedule the ambulance and the transfer and my mother's discharge from the hospital, her daughter sent her a text.  My niece was pregnant with her second child, nine years after the first, and she was scheduled for a C-section on March 4 unless the baby decided to come sooner.  She texted my sister to say that she was having contractions two minutes apart, but not to panic.  She said that she would text again later with updates after seeing the doctor.  But when the hospitalist arrived with the transfer paperwork shortly after the text, my sister said, "Hold on.  There's been a development."  My sister and her husband were the ones who were planning to drive down to MD to help out when the baby came; now, it looked like it might happen early, even that very day.  Maybe it was better if Mom stayed in the hospital, my sister thought, so she could be ready at any moment to make that trip south to meet her new granddaughter and know that Mom was in good hands.

The funny thing is, once the decision was made to keep Mom in VT at the hospital and all five of us siblings were in perfect agreement about her care, our niece never had another early contraction.  Not one.  Each day my sister would check in on her: no news.  Nothing happening.  Mom died on March 1, and my sister was in MD on March 3 as planned all along, so that she was in place to watch her older granddaughter while her daughter was in the hospital giving birth to her new granddaughter by C-section on March 4.  Amazing, isn't it?  Do you think God might have had a hand in how it all turned out?  I certainly do.

And talk about the circle of life!  My mom loved the role of "Mimi" to her 17 grandchildren, and she was so incredibly proud of being a great-grandmother to so, so many!   Shortly before her death, great-grandchild #35 (our youngest son's second daughter) came along; and shortly after her death great-grandchild #36 (my sister's second granddaughter, whose timing was practically miraculous) joined the family.  God is so good!  All the time!  And I know that Mimi is smiling down on all these young ones in the next generation, many of whom were fortunate enough to know her.

I will always miss my mother.  In life, she was one of those "larger than life," "life of the party" people. Dressed to the nines for every occasion in bright colors, with earrings and necklaces to match each outfit, Mom always looked like a million bucks.  She was a friend to everyone she met and was loved and admired by many. As she grew closer to death, I feel like she became a small child again.  Helpless and weak, with no possessions anymore (except the hospital gown on her back and the wedding rings we had to remove from her fingers), it was obvious that she'd left the world behind and all she cared about was the love of her family and of God.  It was tough to be there as she lay dying.  But it was a privilege as well, and the lessons I learned from that experience--about detachment, and acceptance, and childlike innocence, and trust in God--will be with me until the day I die.  

Twinning in 2021, when Mom was 85 years young.

Sisters, Sisters

You know that song, right?  It's the iconic Irving Berlin number that was in the movie White Christmas, starring Bing Crosby, Danny Kaye, and Rosemary Cluny.

I've had that song—and some others from the same delightful show—in my head for several days now, ever since my husband and I joined son #2, one of his older boys, his father-in-law, and a friend to attend the spring musical at his wife Ginger's high school alma mater. (She had planned to come, too; but the sitter she had scheduled to watch their little guys fell through, so she stayed back.)  This small Catholic school (about 400 students, grades 7-12) is absolutely swimming in talent.  Two years ago, I saw Hello, Dolly!, and I was blown away.  But White Christmas was even better!  The vocals were truly extraordinary.  The leads were terrific—but even some of the minor players who had singing parts were exceptionally good.  (My husband and I turned to each other a couple times, wide-eyed, both thinking the same thing: "Can everyone in this school sing?!") There were about 180 students involved in the production, which included lots of expertly choreographed dance scenes with dozens of moving pieces on stage at once. I wish I could aptly describe how PHENOMENAL this show was!  This was the 32nd Annual Spring Musical at this school, and it is the institution’s main fundraiser.  It is worth every penny of the ticket price, let me tell you.  

My husband and I have a list of must-see Christmas movies that we try to watch every December, but I'm embarrassed to admit that neither one of us had ever seen White Christmas until Christmas 2022, when our youngest son and his wife traveled from Nashville to spend the holiday with us.  It was our daughter-in-law's absolute favorite Christmas movie growing up, and she couldn't believe it wasn't on our list.  (It is now!)

I'm telling you, those high school kids put on a show that was every bit as entertaining as the famous Hollywood movie of the same title.  I wish I had been allowed to take a video of the two young gals who did the "Sisters, Sisters" number seen in the YouTube video above.  Their performance was amazing.  I just can't praise that high school musical enough!

Anyhoo, now for the clever segue—

Speaking of SISTERS: when we made our recent trip up north to check on our Oyster Haven rental house and watch the eclipse, we were able to get together with my mom, and my own two sisters and their husbands, for a lovely Sunday brunch.

Sisters, Sisters...

I am the second-oldest of five, with one brother born before me and one after; my sisters are the two youngest in the family.  Both of my sisters live close to my mother. The older one is about 45 minutes away.  She is a hard-working teacher's assistant and the mother of two sons.  She recently welcomed her first grandchild. My baby sister (far left in the picture), also a mom of two and a Grammy to one, lives really close to my mother: as in, in the same house with her.  

About a year after my dad died in 2016, my mom moved out of an assisted living residence and into my baby sister's home, and she’s been there ever since.  At the time, her health had deteriorated to the point that she literally couldn't get herself out of bed; she couldn't walk, even using a walker, without an aide to help her; and worst of all, she appeared to be suffering from dementia and going downhill fast.  She was practically at death's door, and my sister hired almost round-the-clock aides to help with her care.  I would post a picture of what she looked like back then, so you could compare it to the beautiful, vibrant octogenarian in the above photo—but she would be horrified, so I won't do that. Suffice it to say that you would be truly amazed by the transformation.

And it's all due the love and care she's gotten from my sister and her husband.

*For many years before my dad died, these two were my parents' close neighbors and helped them in so many different ways (with things such as yard work and home repairs--and my sister even used to stop by and load their pill boxes for the week, so they could keep track of their daily medications!).  My dad trusted my sister's husband with what was most precious to him: Dad took my brother-in-law aside at one point and asked him to be sure to take care of my mom if he should die first.  My B-I-L obviously took my father's solemn request to heart; and he in fact was the first one to propose that Mom should move in with them, when it became apparent that she was not healthy enough to stay at the assisted living home anymore.  He's got a heart of gold, that guy, and I think my dad knew this about him.  And my sister...well, there aren't enough words to tell you how amazing she is, how loving and selfless and self-sacrificing.  And she's incredibly organized, too (she jokes that she's got OCD; I say she's just Marie Kondo on steroids!).  She runs an incredibly tight ship, with humor and the most positive attitude in the world.  You have to be an organized person to take care of an elderly parent, to keep up with the aides' schedules, the doctor's appointments, the medications.  There is no one I can think of who could do a better job at all of that than my baby sister.  One also needs to be kind, of course, and she is that in spades; but she is not afraid to be firm with my mother either, if her health requires it. Because of my sister's attention to detail, because of her tireless energy and research, at 88, my mother is on very few daily meds--far fewer than she was more than a decade ago.  My sister is just a rockstar caretaker; she might the youngest in the family, but all of her siblings are in awe of her.

A few years ago, my sister went through old medical records of Mom's and stumbled upon some doctor's notes: apparently, my mother had a condition for which there was a fix, but it had not been addressed.  In the last years of my father’s life, she’d been suffering with Normal Pressure Hydrocephalus, and it was causing her to have both physical and neurological problems.  She'd started falling quite often, leading to a broken hip and hip replacement surgery.  The doctor would drain some of the fluid that kept building up in or around her brain, and she would improve for a time; but he had told my parents that if she kept falling, they should consider having a permanent drainage shunt implanted (and this had been noted in her records).  Somehow, however, this had never been done.  We think perhaps that my dad, who was going deaf but refused to wear a hearing aide, hadn't really heard what the doctor was saying. And Mom was too out of it to take care of herself during that time.  But as soon as she got that shunt, her physical and mental health drastically improved.  It was as if overnight, she seemed 20 years younger.  She's 88 years young these days, with a very full life packed with friends and activities.  She has 31 great-grandchildren now, and she likes to read the local newspaper obituaries and compare that number to the ones she sees mentioned there.  (So far, among her peers in the area she's winning the great-grandchildren contest!)

Thanks to my baby sister, my mother got her life back. She and her husband are saints, they truly are.  A few years ago, his mom started failing, too, and they took her in (I believe she's 90).  Both moms live with them now, each with her own bedroom and a shared bathroom between them.  Isn't that amazing?  What a blessing my sister and her hubby are to those lucky ladies.

Saints do live among us!

It's great that every time I want to visit my mom,
I get to visit this sister, too!

To know this sister is to love her.  

Sisters are such a blessing.

Especially mine.

*On April 23, I added this paragraph.  I really hadn't adequately described how wonderful my sister and her husband are.  Maybe you'll have a better idea now!

Hope

Sometimes, hope can be inspired by the most mundane things, especially in this crazy, mixed-up world in which we're currently living.  Sometimes, hope looks like a family of nine filling up an entire pew at a weekday Mass: a mother on one end and a father on the other, with their seven beautiful children--five older daughters and two young sons--between them. 

That hope-filled sight is what my husband and I saw a few rows ahead of us when we attended Mass  on Friday morning--on March 19, the Solemnity of St. Joseph.  As if that family wasn't sweet enough already, they were joined by a grandmother a few minutes after they'd gotten seated.

But it was more than merely seeing three generations of a large, lovely Catholic family sitting together at Mass that comforted our wounded hearts and refreshed our weary souls.  It was that this particular family, which we'd never seen before that day, was there at church unmasked, every single one of them, their faces--made in the image and likeness of God--visible to all and shining with the light of faith.  In a sea of masked faces, this family stood out.  In a good way.  Such a good way. It made my husband and me wonder: is it possible that we can hope for an end to all of this, sooner rather than later?

Sunday Mass attendance is way down at our parish, even though the Covid lockdown of churches in our state ended a while back.  There are no longer pews roped-off, but the church is always far from crowded and people are careful to space themselves out from others.  There is a sign on the door saying that masks are required, so most if not all people wear them.  My husband retired early from his career as a commercial airline pilot in September of 2020, and since then we've been going to daily Mass together whenever we can.  (If ever there was a time that our country and our world needed extra prayers and sacrifices, we thought, this is surely it.) There is a core group of about 30 "regulars" who usually attend daily Mass, but even when the group is that small and that spaced-out, pretty much everyone wears a mask.

Both my husband and I tested positive for Covid in early December of 2020, and we spent about 10 days battling what felt like the flu.  We both ran slight fevers, were tired, had body aches and headaches, and had mild coughs.  Neither of us lost our sense of taste or smell, but we both felt our sense of taste was "off."  (For me, it was like being in the first trimester of pregnancy, when your stomach is queasy and nothing tastes good. I couldn't even stand the taste of my beloved coffee and was drinking cinnamon tea instead--so you know I was sick!)

Once we'd recovered from Covid and knew that we couldn't contract or spread the virus, we thought maybe it was okay to forget about masking up for Mass.  But our parish priest made a comment about obedience and pride during a homily, and we asked ourselves if maybe that message applied to us.  So on went the masks again.  We suspect that Father believes the pandemic is over and is anxious for people to get back to living normally and attending Mass regularly, but he wants to be obedient to the instructions of his Bishop.  So in a way, we feel that wearing our masks in church makes his job easier, and we look at it as a sacrifice we can offer up; but in another way, it seems so very wrong on so many levels, and we think it's doing so much harm--to individuals and to society as a whole. 

So you can imagine how thrilled we were to see this unmasked family.  (I want to be them when I grow up!) They did not seem disobedient or prideful; on the contrary, by their humble demeanor they exuded an aura of piety and grace.  And courage.

In this day and age, oddly enough, walking around without a mask on is courageous.  You can get yourself into a whole lot of hot water with some folks if you do. But how crazy is it that even if people have gotten the vaccine, or better yet, if they've developed the antibodies from having fought off the virus, they are still required to wear masks and keep "socially distant" (ugh, what an awful term!) until...well, until when? When will we decide that this virus with an extremely low mortality rate has run its course and herd immunity has been achieved?  When will we decide that we can live again--fully live, without our humanity covered up by pieces of cloth that many scientific studies have shown don't really work against viruses but instead merely give the pretense of protection? When will we stop being afraid of other people?!

"We have spent a year being so afraid of dying that we've been afraid of living."

I saw that quote somewhere, so I can't take credit for it. However,  I agree with it wholeheartedly.  In the words of George Bailey in It's a Wonderful Life, "I want to live again!  Please God, let me live again!"  Our family has been unusual in that since the end of the initial "15 days to flatten the curve" lockdown, we have not let Covid keep us apart.  We have not stopped seeing each other. We get together to celebrate birthdays and holidays. Our grandchildren come over to our house routinely to play in our basement.  We shop, we go out to eat, we go to the gym.  In our own little world, we have been living as normal a life as possible.  But when the greater world outside your door has gone mad, it can't help but affect you.  

When I get depressed, I remind myself that all the people I love most and I are living here now, in this time in history, for a reason.  God put us here at this strange time, so this is where we're meant to be.  In my lifetime, I have never known real suffering; but throughout history, so many have had to endure unimaginable horrors--wars, famines, plagues, and worse.  We will get through this; and perhaps with the help of the heavy crosses we will be asked to bear, we will even become saints in the process.

But it will take a lot of daily Masses.  And Rosaries. And novenas.  It will take faith in God's will for our lives and faith in His boundless love and mercy.  It will take courage.  And it will take a lot of hope.

INSTAGRAM GIVEAWAY: A Signed Copy of Erin's Ring

I am currently running a giveaway on Instagram.  On July 25, I will randomly pick the winner who will receive one signed copy of my YA novel, Erin's Ring.

If you're interested in entering to win, you can go to my Instagram feed (where I go by @laura.h.pearl) and find this recent post.  (I also have a tab on the sidebar here at my blog's home page that will take you right over to my IG account.)

Erin's Ring was published way back in 2014, and I haven't been as good at promoting and marketing the novel as I could/should have been.  It is a book that I never thought I'd have time to write, as my family was beginning to grow by leaps and bounds right around the time that my publisher, Cheryl Dickow of Bezalel Books, approached me with an offer to fund a second novel--one that would be appropriate for younger readers than my first novel, Finding Grace, which was published by Bezalel in 2012.  All I could see ahead of me were the weddings of my sons (one of whom got married shortly before I finished writing the book, and one shortly after) and the imminent births of new grandchildren.  I was also suffering from some strange symptoms which turned out to be caused by hypoparathyroidism, and I had to have a non-malignant parathyroid tumor removed from my neck. We hadn't moved down to VA to be near our married boys yet, and I knew that I would be doing a lot of traveling from NH for all the upcoming family events.  I had no idea how in the world I was going to be able to write a novel (even a relatively short one) in six months' time, with all that was going on in my life and in the Pearl clan.  I am a wife/mother/Grammy first, always and forever, and the role of writer takes a back seat to those vocations.  But somehow, I got it done.  And not only that, but I wrote without panic or stress, in a state of almost complete joy.

I can only attribute this almost otherworldly happiness I experienced while working on Erin's Ring to the Holy Spirit, who was definitely working in me bigtime.  I almost turned down my publisher's generous offer, for fear that my life was just too busy and I wouldn't be able to concentrate properly and meet the requisite deadlines.  Left to my own devices, I would have said no; but during that whole time I was trying to figure out what I should do, my husband's faith in me never wavered.  Even knowing how I sometimes suffer from an extreme lack of confidence, he convinced me that I could do it.  I prayed.  I prayed hard, very much aware that if I turned down this amazing offer, there would most likely never be another opportunity like it for me. And once I signed the contract, the first thing Cheryl did was to take it with her to Adoration, to pray for the success of the book while in the presence of the Blessed Sacrament.  (With a start like that, how could I doubt that I had made the right decision?!)

Of course, we all know that true success, the kind that is pleasing to God (the only Book Reviewer whose opinion matters at all!), is not measured by the world's standards.  By worldly standards, my poor little novel has not had a very good run--despite being the recipient of two Book Awards from the Catholic Press Association in 2015.  But I do believe that it can do some good in the world.  And that's what convinced me to have this giveaway, hoping that a copy of Erin's Ring will find its way into the hands of the very reader who needs it, who might be inspired or edified by it.

Thanks for stopping by, dear readers.  And if you do decide to enter the giveaway contest, may the luck of the Irish be with you!

Team #DanimalStrong

In my most recent post, I told you about the battle my beloved brother-in-law Dan is waging against AML, a form of leukemia with which he was diagnosed in December of 2018.  I also promised some photos of the many people who love Dan and purchased matching #Danimalstrong t-shirts to show their support for him as he fights his way to a cure.

It's hard for us, with our limited human understanding, to accept that there is so much suffering in this life on earth.  Many people lose their faith in God during the roughest patches, because they don't think a loving Father would allow his children to experience so much fear and pain.  But I think this quote (from an eminently quotable saint who is a veritable font of wisdom) explains the value of human suffering perfectly:

We need to suffer patiently not only the burden of being ill, but of being ill with the particular illness that God wants for us, among the people He wants us to be with, and with the discomforts that He permits us to experience.  I say the same of all tribulations.  
                                             ~St. Francis de Sales


Here is another profound saintly insight into suffering and how it brings us closer to God's Son than anything else does :

If God wills that we be struck down by some affliction, take it as a sign that He considers us mature enough to be associated even more closely with His redeeming Cross.

~St. Josemaria Escriva


It's obvious that God considers Dan mature enough to handle what many of us could not, that He has chosen Dan to carry this heavy burden because He loves him so much.  I am in awe of my brother-in-law right now, of the way he is carrying the cross that has been chosen for him.

As he fights the particular affliction he's been given, here are some of the people God wants Dan to be with during this particularly difficult time in his life. (These are just some of the many photos bouncing around the Internet these days, but this is a pretty good sampling of Team #DanimalStrong members).

#DanimalStrong!  PRAY FOR DAN!

(Many thanks to Kendra Tierney, who posted the above saint quotes in her Instagram stories recently.  I am grateful to have seen them right now, when they help so much to make sense of what is happening to this guy we love so much.)

#DanimalStrong: Pray for Dan

I have been meaning to write this post about a special family member for several months now, but I've been putting it off.  I can't really explain why, but tackling deep or emotional subjects has been difficult for me lately.  It's like I've got writer's block, unless I'm discussing simple topics like holidays, home decor, fashion, books...or any other subject that doesn't have a whole lot of gravitas.  I'm worried that when it comes to talking about important things, I won't be able to say what I want to effectively enough; so I just don't even try to say it.

I've always thought of myself as someone whose natural shyness keeps her from expressing her deepest thoughts aloud, and therefore it's a good thing that I can usually write them down when I can't speak them.   But I haven't had much of a voice anywhere these days, even here at my laptop keyboard.

However, when my husband's brother Dan underwent a bone marrow transplant yesterday (with their youngest brother Mike as the donor), I decided it was time to finally write this long-overdue post about my beloved brother-in-law, who was diagnosed with AML (a form of leukemia) right around Christmastime and started his first round of chemo just afterward.  Ever since his sudden and shocking diagnosis, Dan has been waging a heroic battle to reclaim his health.  I don't know that too many people actually visit this blog; but I do know that the ones who do are unusually good prayer warriors.  And that is exactly what is needed right now, more than anything else.

When I married into the Pearl family in 1980, I got the best husband I could ever hope for.  But I got so much more: I got the privilege of belonging to a family that is like no other--a huge, tight-knit clan where every single member loves God and each other about as fiercely as humanly possible.

My husband and his seven siblings are unusually close.  All eight of them are responsible, hard-working, church-going, intelligent, successful, funny, personable, loving people with a zest for living and a deep commitment to each other and to their Catholic Faith.  For them, Faith and family are what it's all about.   (Sorry, my bad: make that Faith, family, and Notre Dame football--or just Notre Dame in general.)  And when they learned that one of them was sick, they did what they always do: they pulled together to figure out how they could best help and support him; and they started to pray even more frequently and fervently than usual (which is saying a lot).  The Pearl family is praying for and hoping for a total cure; and moreover, their Faith tells them that God can make good come out of even a situation as painful and scary as this one.

I first met Dan in 1973 when he was 13, two years younger than my husband and I were at the time.  He was (and is) a handsome, strong, kind-hearted, funny guy, gifted both athletically and academically, who could seem like a bit of a quiet man-type if you didn't know him well.

1975 St. John's yearbook, Varsity basketball photo.

Back row, L to R: Dan and his older brother (my then-boyfriend, now-husband).

But Dan was (and is) also always the quintessential life of the party. He is Wild-and-Crazy Uncle Dan, beloved by his many nieces and nephews.  He trademarked a fist-in-the-air, mouth-wide-open party pose at family weddings and earned the nickname "Danimal."  We've got a big family, and there have been a lot of weddings.  So there's been a lot of THIS:

This iconic Danimal pose is now the stuff of Pearl family legend.

One of the first ways the family chose to show solidarity with Dan as he began his grueling cancer-fighting treatments--after the novenas were started, that is--was to have a bulk order of t-shirts made for everyone to wear, to let him know that we're with him, we love him, and we're storming the heavens for him.  And of course the design on it had to look like this.

Everyone posed for pictures once their t-shirts arrived in the mail.

Our youngest son, doing a pretty good Danimal impression.

Dan's daughters wanted to make a huge photo collage poster for their dad, showing everyone in their Team Danimal shirts.  I would love to share all of these awesome pictures with you today, but I'm going to save them for another post tomorrow.  Because what I really want to tell you about right now is the amazing gift that was given yesterday, freely and with so much love, from a younger brother to his older brother.  And also about the amazing courage and fortitude of a guy whose attitude from day one has been,"I'm going to fight this," who hugged his baby brother after the bone marrow transplant and said, "I know this is going to work."  He's the Danimal.  He's my hero--and every Pearl will tell you the same thing.

Here is a devoted son, brother, husband, father, and grandfather.

And now also a slayer of dragons (or cancel cells--potato, potahto).

A while back, after some initial rounds of chemo, it was determined that a bone marrow transplant was the best option for Dan's continued treatment.  All seven of his siblings were sent genetic testing kits and instructed to swab the insides of their cheeks, to determine who might be the best match.  The people working on the transplant team at Dan's hospital in Chicago were amazed at how quickly all the kits were returned and how eager all of the siblings were to donate if they could.  (Apparently, not all families are like this one.)

The best scenario is that a donor is not only a full match, but also a sibling--and furthermore a sibling who is of the same gender, if possible (a great argument for large families!).  The final way the candidates are ranked concerns age, with the youngest full match being the preferred option.   And would you believe that all three of Dan's brothers were perfect matches--which does not happen as often as you would think!  (If you knew these boys, and how they are practically joined at the hip, it would not surprise you that their genetic make-up is so similar!) Several of the sisters were partial matches, but even if they'd been full matches it would not have been as ideal, since the transplant works best if the donor and recipient are the same gender.

My husband was the first of the three brothers to learn that he was a full match.  But he's the oldest of the four boys, two years Dan's senior; and shortly after he got his positive results, another brother (John, who is a year-and-a-half younger than Dan) was deemed a perfect match, so he moved into the prime candidate spot.  I know that my husband wanted whoever could give Dan the best outcome to be the donor; but I also know that he was a little disappointed that he wasn't the one who was going to be chosen as the lucky brother who would give this life-giving gift to Dan.  As the oldest boy in the family, he feels a sort of fatherly responsibility for his younger siblings--especially now that both of their parents are gone.

The brother who is the youngest of the eight siblings, Mike, was on a business trip when the kits were sent out, so he was the last to get his swabs shipped back to the hospital.  When it was determined that he was also a full match, he became the best choice out of the three possible candidates; and after filling out a health history questionnaire and having a physical, it was a go for the transplant.

You've gotta love the way the Pearls keep their sense of humor, like the good Irishmen that they are, even in the face of life's toughest challenges.  When Mike learned that he would be the donor, he made this hilarious comment (the one with the stars next to it) on the family text stream.

All kidding aside, the two brothers were prepped for the transplant procedure.  Dan's immune system was completely wiped out by chemo ahead of time, so that he would be ready to receive Mike's stem cells and to effectively take on Mike's immune system as his own.  Mike flew from California to Chicago and was given medications over a number of days leading up to the big day (Dan's "second birthday," is what the hospital calls it).  But the actual bone marrow transplant itself didn't take long at all.  What used to be a rather invasive procedure for both parties now seems about the same as giving blood for the donor and getting a transfusion for the recipient.  Modern medicine is incredible!

As one of my daughters-in-law texted yesterday, "Thank God for modern medicine, wonderful doctors and nurses who give their life studying these things, and family to carry this cross with."  Yes!  And thank God for Faith, without which we would all be lost.  The greatest thing we learned yesterday, other than that they felt the transplant had gone very well and Dan was feeling okay afterward, was that a priest wrote up a prayer for him and it was recited aloud by all the participants in the room yesterday before things got underway.

They also all recited this prayer with Dan.

Wow...just wow.  Imagine the power in that room; imagine how close Dan must have felt to God, and how comforted by His presence.

If anything, Dan's illness has made an already very close family grow even closer.  It has rallied them all against a common enemy that dared to attack one of their own.   AML picked the wrong guy!  As my daughter-in-law also said, "Even though they were already so close, it's amazing how God brings so much good even out of this suffering, bringing them all EVEN closer together and all of the cousins as well.  It's beautiful."

One of my sisters-in-law decided that since the brothers now have identical immune systems, they will henceforth be called "the twins."  I love that--and I'm quite sure it will stick!

I like to imagine Dan with a head cold 25 years from now, razzing Mike about the lousy immune system he gave him...and Mike retorting that at least he got "increased intelligence and enhanced looks" out of the deal, so he should stop complaining about a stuffy nose.  That is the way the Pearl brothers have always operated, finding laughter amidst tears, and I simply couldn't love them more--for that and for a million other things.  (That goes for the Pearl sisters, too, of course!)  I love them to the moon and back.

I don't usually have favorites in the family, because they're all gems; but I think right now it's okay if two Pearls take the top spots.  God bless them both with many, many years of health and happiness.

Dan with his wife, son, and new twin brother.  #DanimalStrong!!

Before I go, I just wanted to remind you how important it is to give blood.  And if you've ever thought about signing up to be a bone marrow donor, please do it.  I can't think of a better gift that you could give--especially for those families who aren't lucky enough to have a pool of eligible donors in their own ranks.

That's it for now; I'll be back with t-shirt pictures tomorrow.  Meanwhile, please PRAY FOR DAN!!