The Photo: Generations

I was working on a Mother's Day post when I came across this photo of my Nonna, her three daughters, and me. It was my very first visit to Italy. And I put aside my post because this photo, of three generations of mothers, says it all.

Surrender, Forgiveness, Mercy

When I wrote this article several years ago, my editor called me and said, "This must have been a hard one to write." And it was. It took two days to conduct the interview with Maria because it was so emotional for both of us. She cried telling her story, I cried listening to it, and for two days there we were, two strangers named Maria, crying over the telephone. I was overwhelmed with the responsibility of telling her story, and it's one that has stayed with me all these years...

Maria’s Story

                Not everyone personally knew Patrick Foster, but his story is one that is familiar to members of his parish. Some might remember it as a story of suffering and loss, but it was also one about love, heroism and, ultimately, peace. It’s a story so rooted in faith that it didn’t end with his death but continues today, five years later, with his wife, Maria.  And it’s one she feels compelled to share, for out of her pain over Patrick’s death, she experienced God’s healing grace through surrender, forgiveness, and mercy.

                When Patrick and Maria first started dating, one of the first questions they asked each other was, “Are you Catholic?” Both came from strong Catholic backgrounds, and establishing the importance of faith early in their relationship set a foundation upon which they built their marriage.  Maria says they put God in the center of their life, their marriage, and their home. When God blessed them with children – first Hillary and then Patrick – they recognized the responsibility they had as parents and turned to God for wisdom on how to be an example. And as a husband and father, Maria says Patrick was someone who trusted God with all his heart and who loved his family tremendously.

                “As a husband, he made me feel like a princess,” Maria says. “He was the kind of person who would tell me that he would die to protect me. He would leave me notes telling me I was beautiful and smart. Later, those notes helped me in my grief. He was also a loving and supportive father. Every time he came home he would immediately hug the kids. He was always checking on them to see if things were going well with their friends or with school. The kids were so important to him, and that’s something they remember to this day.”

                Then came that tragic night of March 13, 2010, the events of which later unfolded in the headlines: Patrick was working as a cab driver when he picked up a passenger, Darryel Garner; Garner shot Patrick five times in an attempted robbery; gravely wounded, Patrick subdued his attacker, called 911, and managed to pin him down until the authorities arrived; and that after calling the police, he called Maria.  

                “The night of March 13 will be stamped in my heart forever,” Maria says. “When Patrick called telling me he had been shot, I didn’t ask who, where, or even what his injuries were. I just wanted to know if he had called 911. He was very calm and told me that he could hear the sirens coming and for me to meet him at the hospital. I yelled for the kids – I was in such a panic – and Hillary hugged me and told me it was going to be okay and that I just needed to go and take care of Dad. Even the drive to the hospital was terrifying because it was raining, it was very dark, and I got lost.”

                When Maria arrived to the hospital Patrick was alert, but in a great deal of pain. The hospital staff kept asking him questions – What is your name? What is the date? – in an effort to keep him awake. At one point they asked Patrick how much he weighed, and when Maria answered 180 pounds Patrick corrected her by saying 185. Finally he looked at his wife and said, “Maria, tell them to help me.” They were the last words he would ever speak.

                Patrick was transferred to the Advocate Condell Medical Center where he underwent six hours of surgery, and despite the fact that there were no complications, Patrick never woke up again and remained in a coma for 73 days. He was transferred to Froedtert Medical Center in Wisconsin, and every day Maria would make the drive to be with him. When the doctors eventually brought up the subject of removing Patrick from life support, Maria refused, fervently believing that a miracle would bring Patrick out of his coma and that he would begin to heal.

                “God knows us before we are even born,” Maria says. “God also knows the hope and fear we keep in our hearts. So He listens, understands, and performs miracles for us. We can see those miracles when we trust in God, His love and His mercy.”

                And so she waited for her miracle. But days went by, there was no improvement, and one day when the pressure of those daily drives and the uncertainty of the future became too much to bear, Maria fell completely and totally to pieces.

                “I was in despair,” Maria remembers. “I told God that I was human and so very tired. But even in the darkness I still felt the love of God that I had known since childhood, so I surrendered to God’s will knowing that I couldn’t hold on to Patrick anymore. And I gave him back to God. At that moment I felt such a release in my heart; the only thing I asked God was not to leave me because I couldn’t do this alone. I then went to the chapel to pray and I felt God’s presence holding me.”

                Five days later, Maria was with Patrick when the nurse came in to bathe him. When Maria offered to help, the nurse left them so that they were alone. For two hours, as Maria bathed her husband, talked to him and comforted him, she went to another place – a spiritual place – in which the hospital room fell away and there was just her, Patrick, and the presence of God. And finally, Maria received her miracle.

                “I told Patrick to let God decide,” Maria says. “I told him he was the love of my life, the father of my kids, and that he shouldn’t worry. I promised him that I would stand on my faith and find my strength in God. I reassured him that we would be okay. As I bathed him his fever went down and his heartbeat returned to normal. I held him and he felt healthy. Then he opened his eyes and looked at me. He was aware, he heard me, and he was comforted. His heartbeat slowed and then stopped. Patrick went to God knowing we would be okay. And this was God’s gift to me. This was my miracle.”

                In the days, weeks, and months following Patrick’s death, whenever the pain seemed more than Maria could bear and she woke up crying in the night, the morning sun would dispel the darkness of the night and Maria would once again feel Christ’s light and His presence.

                “My faith in God, my relationship with him is stronger than ever,” Maria says. “I will never heal one hundred percent, but He comforts me, dries my tears, and gives me the courage to face the cross that I accepted when I surrendered to Him. Faith is the only way to make sense of the storms and confusion, and it is the only thing that can give us the confidence we need to move forward.”

                Amazingly, a big part of Maria being able to move forward was dealing with her feelings concerning her husband’s attacker, Darryel Garner.  In the beginning, she never even thought of him; she was too busy focusing all her attention, love, and prayers on Patrick and his well-being. Later, after Patrick died and the charges against Garner were upgraded to murder, she saw him for the first time in court and admits that she had mixed emotions seeing him there, alive, while her husband was gone. But throughout everything, she never – not once – felt any hatred toward him, and instead placed her trust both in the legal system and in God’s final judgment.

                “My heart loves God, and to have God’s love you need to show mercy and to forgive,” Maria says. “We must forgive because we need to be forgiven. Every day I pray for all those in jail, including my husband’s murderer; I pray for them to find God in their hearts.”

                Today, Maria says that she and her family are doing well. The sad memories sometimes still overwhelm, but they know that talking about the sadness opens the way to remembering the good times which, in turn, leads to healing. And with these past few years Maria says that she sees another miracle in witnessing her own children grow in their faith; that they find comfort in knowing that their father did an amazing job while on this earth and that he is now with God.

                And because nothing will ever stop Maria from loving God, she is taking one day at a time, finding the peace that can only be found with God, and telling her story.

                “I want to share my story,” Maria says. “I want those who are suffering – from the loss of a loved one, from unemployment or illness – to know that they are not alone. We can unite our suffering to Christ’s suffering on the cross, and in God’s mercy He will not abandon us. God wants us to be a light in the world, and we need to let His light shine.”

Give Him a Full Pantry

Earlier this week I received the following text from Timothy: “Can I make some protein shakes this summer? I won’t have as much access to food, so I want to get some good source of protein and healthy food.”

WELL, as you can imagine, I put him straight. “What?!?” I texted back. “Not have access to food and worried about not having enough sources of protein? Do you think you will starve?”

I was half laughing, but also slightly insulted. I mean, really. All the cooking I do, and he is worried about not getting enough to eat? To his credit, Timothy immediately texted back saying he did not mean it the way it sounded; it is just that he has been working out (and bulking up) this past year and needs to eat more often.

Still half laughing and half exasperated, I did understand. After all, he just spent the past year living within walking distance of FIVE dining halls and was accustomed to eating at all hours of the day (and night).

What can I say? The kid likes to eat. Timothy’s well-being has always been affected by the state of our pantry. A full pantry = happy teen; a bare pantry = worries that he will starve. In high school, when he noticed how I always stocked the pantry just prior to a visit from Jonathan or Nicholas, he began asking for a Jonathan-is-Coming-Home-Pantry or a Nicholas-is-Coming-Home-Pantry.

Tomorrow Timothy is coming home for the summer, so yesterday I spent several hours at three grocery stores—Publix, Lidl, and Costco—and a good hour and a half unloading the groceries and putting them away. Full pantry, full fridge, full freezer. Whew. 

When I was finished, I sent Timothy the following text: A Jonathan AND Nicholas pantry is waiting for you.

And I added some kissy smiley faces for emphasis.

Full grocery cart at Publix. 

There was also a full grocery cart at Lidl and Costco. 

A Very Royal Tea Party

Just in time for Saturday’s coronation, look what arrived to Angevine’s*:

Commemorative demitasse spoons from the coronation of Queen Elizabeth II. The satin lining shows the hallmarks, along with the city and corresponding symbol, where each spoon was made (the symbols are engraved on the back of the handle).

And to help you make a proper cup of tea, we also have Royal Albert teacups (Lady Hamilton pattern).

(*Some of you may not know that, for the past year, I gave been working part-time at Angevine's Fine Silver and Gifts)

Lessons from a Lockdown

On this day three years ago, when I flipped the calendar page from April to May, I reflected on the lessons we learned from a world-wide pandemic that kept us housebound. Those lessons still apply...

1- Every day is the same. Every day is different.

2- You can’t see something unless you look for it.

3- A day is filled with endless possibilities.

4- The best playroom is outside your back door.

5- People are kind. And self-sacrificing. Don't let those who are not cloud your judgment.

6- Simple is beautiful. Simplicity is liberating.

7- Simplify.

A Whole Lot of Less

I once went on a day trip to Atlanta with a nun from Tanzania who, upon leaving our house, slipped a handkerchief into her pocket. No purse, no handbag, no jacket or snack. Just a hankie.

That image stayed with me and later I wrote (and published) a story on the lessons of simplicity Sr. Gaudiosa taught me during her visits with us. (A Hankie for My Pocket)

Those lessons keep me mindful of too much, of clutter that has a way of taking over all aspects of life, everything from what is in our closets to how we schedule our free time.

It was in this mindset that I packed for our spring break trip this past April.  I wanted to keep things simple. Then, because I needed to provide drawer and closet space for our Masters guests, I squirreled away the rest—the clothes, shoes, and jewelry that weren't going with me—into storage boxes. Here is what I packed:

-enough clothes to mix and match outfits for nine days

-six accessories (Fitbit w/ interchangeable straps, a ring, a pair of earrings, a wrap bracelet, one scarf, one black backpack)

-beauty products (only the essentials, all packed into one small zippered bag)

That's it. I packed all these items into one medium sized suitcase and one tote.

For those 9 days of vacation I had what I needed; I had a choice of what to wear but was not burdened with too many selections. I wore a watch daily, added the wrap bracelet and ring in the evening, but didn't waste time pawing through my jewelry drawer. When it was chilly I wore a cardigan, when it got warmer I knotted it around my shoulders, and I carried the same backpack all week (sometimes packed with snacks for a hike, sometimes packed with just a wallet and iPhone).

I wanted for nothing, but had exactly what I needed. Not too much, not too little, but the blessing of just enough.

Interestingly, we have been home for three weeks and I still haven't pulled the rest of my clothes and jewelry out of storage. I'm sure at some point I will, but I don't even miss them.

Living with enough is more than plenty.

An Ode to the Storytellers

His name was Dale and he welcomed us to the Monterey Depot Museum, our visit a last-minute substitution for a hike that had been postponed due to rain.

It was not a big museum; the first room contained a model train display, and the larger, second room was filled with artifacts from the area’s rich mining and railroad traditions. But Dale, despite being almost completely blind, knew every inch of the place and gave us a personal tour, telling story after story until that little museum showed us a little corner of the world where "the hilltops kiss the sky".

With a soft drawl, he pointed out different objects as he described coal mines, miners’ strikes, moonshine stills, homesteads, and a railroad that connected it all. Like any master storyteller, Dale could recall names and spit out dates, all while weaving history and legends and folklore that kept us totally engaged.

Dale reminded me of my father, who loves to spin tall tales and will often sing a ballad right there sitting at the kitchen table; he reminded me of grandparents and uncles and visiting preachers who sit in rocking chairs on rickety porches, talking and entertaining and telling stories with humor and cliff hangers and impossible heroics; he reminded me of Story Keepers, those gifted individuals who are walking libraries of histories that, one day, will be lost.

At the end of our visit, Dale encouraged us to visit a local site called Bee Rock, an overlook on the Cumberland Plateau. He provided detailed directions, and fifteen minutes later we were standing on the overlook, surrounded by hemlock, pine, rhododendron and mountain laurel, breathing in the views and grateful for the storytellers …

the Dales of this world.