There’s a basket full of school papers to go through, and it’s hard to make much headway. That’s because they’re Mom‘s papers, presumably from high school and college. Some are easy to figure out, as they retell a current event, or show the results of comparing two writers’ styles. There are news clips, too. Other papers, though, will remain a mystery. No date, no teacher’s name. But as long as Mom’s name is there – Joan Cassidy – I know…
Mom’s cousin Patty sent me a wonderful photo via email this week. The (unfortunately) undated photo shows their Aunt Marguerite (a nun my generation knew as Sister Amabilis) outside with a group of children, looking at a birdhouse. No doubt they were her students, as Sr. Amabilis taught first grade for 58 years. (That’s right – nearly six decades!) Mom adored her aunt, and wrote to her regularly. Sr. Amabilis saved the letters all those years and they were eventually…
As odd as this year’s Christmas will be (given the pandemic), it’s not the first time history has gifted parents with holiday challenges. For example, wartime. I can only imagine how my grandparents went to extra effort to keep those Decembers jolly for their young children. In 1943, staples such as sugar, meat, and coffee could only be obtained via food ration books – and even then, only when the items were available. Even after the world war was over,…
Have you ever felt a sense of grace while going through a really hard time? Have you found something to smile or chuckle about through your tears of grief? Mom called this “a sense of holy laughter” in a recorded interview, below. She was referencing how she and her siblings managed to laugh as they stepped cautiously through the final weeks of their father’s life in the spring of 1982. A sense of holy laughter. Grandpa loved a good laugh….
As a young girl, Mom had a pen pal, her Aunt Margaret Regan. Known to non-family members as Sister Amabilis, she was only 16 when she entered religious life. It was September 1943 and Mom was 13 when she wrote this to her aunt, who wasn’t permitted to visit her family very often. It was September 1943; her older second-cousin Eddie was on furlough from the Army during World War II. Eddie wrote on the back of the photo, “Quit…
This poem’s a tough one. Mom wrote it 19 years ago, still in mourning for the loss of her brother. Ray. Sweet baby Ray. This sounds ridiculous as I type it, but we only use that brand of barbecue sauce in our home, in honor of Uncle Ray. Mom was delighted when we served it to her on pulled pork those last years before we lost her, too. Both lost to Parkinson’s Disease. Today is World Parkinson’s Day. If you’ve…
Setting #1: Ferdinand, Indiana The phone call came late Sunday night. It was the call I’d dreaded, but knew I had to answer. “Mom died peacefully about a half hour ago, with Dad holding her hand.” Bill, my baby brother, the Marine, the caregiver, was gentle but straightforward as always. We spent the next few days making travel plans for her funeral and scanning countless photos of Mom from her 89 years. Bill’s wife, Barbara – a graphic artist –…
My mom and her sister, Bunny, are what sisters ought to be. To this day, they stay in touch regularly and visit when they can. Mom was born April 6, 1930 and christened Joan Virginia Cassidy. Her sister, whom we’ve always called Bunny, arrived a few years later, on January 17, 1933. Cecelia Frances Cassidy was her given name; first name for her mother and middle name for her dad. The good Lord gifted both sisters with red hair. ‘Twas…