Mother Damien

Dear P,
I was so happy to get your e-mail today. I am far from expert in sending and accessing e-mails, and our system has only been out in order after several weeks being out of order. Loving thanks for your prayers for my recovery, prayers to Our Lady. I would love to hear all about you and what you are doing. Nepal is very much in my thoughts and prayers there days. Iremember you with much affection. Much love M. Damien IBVM

Those were your last words to me, dated January 2009. I've been searching my mailbox for the latest and it seems we did not write to each other in 2010. Or maybe you were too ill to write and I never knew. Or maybe your fingers were too tired, trying to get the hang of the modern computers after your stubborn typewriter at Southfield, which you used with just your index fingers. In either case, I only curse myself.

I still have your letters, Mother. All of them. From Rathfarnham, from St. Stephen's Green, from Springfield, from Southfield- all of them sealed with love and prayers. No other letter's arrival could compare to the little flutter my heart did, when yours arrived. How careful I had to be to slit those aerogrammes, to ensure I did not tear your writing. How much it meant, just knowing you still remembered me and that you still called me pet. Pet. I'll always be that to you and you the tall, tall person who brought me compassion, resilience and honesty. I never hope to lose those. I always hope to remember what it means for women to be independent, strong and live the life they have chosen for themselves. I always hope to remember that to live is to make those around you happy. I cannot imagine giving my life to a cause the way you did- with such selflessness. But when I think of your blue habit, your wimple, your stockings (which sometimes ran a ladder) and your forever neatly polished shoes, I think I might try and do a little more than I am capable of. 

Since yesterday, I find myself standing in front of Loreto Hall, near the entrance, where the statue of Our Lady stands. It is year 2000 and you're returning to Dublin for good. I have soaked your white shirt with my tears and the metal of the cross on your chest is warm against my face because I've pressed myself against it for a while now. We will write to each other darling, and I'll always keep you in my prayers, you said.  

I've found myself turning less and less religious since my Loreto days, Mother. I don't have a definition for God anymore. But I know from you that praying is about the strength we transmit to those we love and those we care about. I don't know how much mine has, but what I have right now, I send it all to you.

When I shared my news of heartbreak, a dear friend wrote back today, "she did so much, the passing must have been peaceful," and knew exactly what I had hoped for you. I hope it was, Mother. 

http://thehimalayanbeacon.com/magazine/2011/04/05/darjeeling-mother-damien-leaves-for-the-holy-abode/#comments
http://expressions-impressions.blogspot.com/2011/04/to-mother-d-with-love.html