To know her was to love her.

Sister Sylvia reminded me so much of my dear great-aunt Sr. Amabilis. It was uncanny. Both teachers, deeply religious, tiny, and loads of fun.

I met Sister Sylvia about 30 years ago at a tourism meeting. She was smart, kind, and sort of sassy.

Her home was on the hill in Ferdinand, at the Monastery Immaculate Conception. She was their Minister of Hospitality.

A few years later, we built a big new roller coaster at the theme park where I worked. We hosted a Tourism Week luncheon in early May.

We invited Lt. Governor Frank O’Bannon.

… and Sister Sylvia Gehlhausen.

The news media was invited, too. And since there was a shiny new roller coaster right by the front gate, everyone was invited to take a ride.

Before lunch, of course.

I sidled up to Sister Sylvia, who had turned 71 a few months earlier, “Are you gonna ride? You don’t have to – it’s okay. We’re just glad you’re here with us.”

Sylvia blinked her blue eyes and grinned at me, “Of course I’m going to ride!”

Oh, I wish I had a photo from that day. Or video, better yet. Sister Sylvia chose a seat toward the back of the train (the lieutenant governor white-knuckled it in the front seat).

Off they went.

A few minutes later, the station erupted with applause as the coaster train slowed to a stop.

Gazing over the riders, the first thing I noticed was the middle-aged businessmen trying desperately to mash their hair back into place before the TV cameras caught them looking so disheveled.

The next thing I saw was tiny Sister Sylvia. Wide-eyed and a bit pale, she burst out with, “I forgot to breathe!”

We got her a cup of water and she was back to her usual self a few minutes later.

Gary and I saw Sister Sylvia later that year after Midnight Mass at the Monastery. We laughed again about her roller-coaster ride.

I told her how I admired that she bravely hopped aboard the thrill ride, and asked if there was a prayer she said along the way.

Sister Sylvia placed her tiny hand on my arm and said solemnly:

“Oh honey, once we got moving I knew even God couldn’t help me!”

Oh, Sister Sylvia, your wit will be missed here on earth. You see, she passed away this morning.

I can’t imagine the number of tears shed over this not unexpected, but still sad, news. Sister Sylvia was a teacher for many, many years and no doubt amassed thousand of fans over the decades.

Here’s a news clip from 1969:

As Sister Sylvia approached her Golden Jubilee, the Louisville Courier-Journal came to call:

Sister Sylvia lived her entire life – all 97 years – in Ferdinand. I remember her telling me how lonely she was when she first went to live at the convent. Just 16, she would wander out to the colonnade that wraps around the castle-like monastery and listen carefully. Sometimes she could hear her brothers playing down the hill in town. They were out of sight, but she knew they were there and she knew they were happy. And that was enough.

And so, knowing Sister Sylvia has left this world for heaven must be enough for those of us who loved her. And if we listen carefully enough, surely we will hear the soft resonance of her wind-chime laughter.

Forevermore.

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