I think of Father John’s letter often—the way one act of kindness can become a lineage. Someone once reached out to him. He reached out to Mom. Mom reached back to everyone who loved her with courage that made us braver. The crucifix moved from hand to hand, life to life, because the cross itself has always been a story of passing on: mercy received, mercy given. … More The Crucifix: A Symbol of Strength in Suffering
This experience of praying for indulgences for my mom brought me closer to God and to the souls in purgatory. … More My Mother, My Intercessor
I know that Loretta was on my mother’s mind because she began to talk about her with me. She talked about Loretta’s easygoing nature and ready smile. Even as the Leukemia got worse, Loretta was cheerful; my mother said that her smile and her faith in God never faltered. … More A Portrait of Loretta
Lord, this house is so quiet, I can hardly hear myself think
What is it about the silence that scares us so?
Maybe one of these days, I’ll have the answer
But today, all I got is an active mind, busy hands, and flour … More Baking Cookies No One Will Eat
This is when I learned that grief was not a destination but really a journey. I’ve heard, “you have to feel it in order to heal it.” I also learned that there was no timeline and there was no going back to the way things were before, that I might be on this path for as long as it takes. … More Finding Purpose in the First Year of Grief