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We attended the final vows of our spiritually adopted Franciscan brother, Brother Bernadino Marie.
Our Lady of Good Counsel Church, 230 East 90th Street, New York City.
Out cold:
Two Gunther rows:
A prayer after Mass at the shrine in honor of Our Lady of Good Counsel, a patroness to all homeschoolers:
God bless, Brother Bernadino!
When I was growing up, my mother almost never made casseroles. I was an only child, and she was the type of thrifty person who didn't like to make anything that would go to waste. A normal sized casserole would have taken our family three days to eat, and she always said there was no reason to keep eating the same thing until you were sick of it. More important than that, my father could not abide anything with ketchup or Campbell's soup or Velveeta or boullion cubes. (My mother's lifelong secret was that she always snuck a boullion cube into the gravy for color. My father, Lord have mercy on him, never suspected, resulting in a long and happy marriage.) Needless to say, for such a meat-and-potatoes man, all manner of casseroles were out.
If Mom had been the sort who made casseroles, chances are I would have been tired of them, but because it was a food never served at home, yet perpetually on the tables of all the large, bustling families I knew, I felt somehow as if we were missing out on something.
Almost every Summer, we would spend a week with my Aunt Robertine in the woods of Connecticut. My aunt had five children, more than enough to justify a casserole of any size. How I loved Aunt Robertine's kitchen, always with a huge tray of something savory waiting near the stove. The children would come in and help themselves to a bread crumb topped tuna bake, and I would be right there among them ready to fill and refill my plate. There was something warm and friendly about lining up for food and sitting shoulder to shoulder at the table.
That is not to say my mother could not cook as good a meal as anyone. It's just that two pork chops and three potatoes would feed our whole family, and, good as it was, this did not seem half so friendly to me as a great big casserole.
Yesterday, as I was putting dinner on the table--a completely plain and hearty "Sour Cream Noodle Bake," loaded with browned ground beef and cottage cheese and cheddar--I thought about an only child from long ago and how much she would have loved it, particularly if she could have shared it at a long, beaten up farmhouse table lined with children exactly like ours.
I am very happy for her.
Back in February, I had an appointment with the obstetrician. Looking at a grainy, black and white sonogram screen, I could see a beautifully formed little person--nine and a half weeks of age--with a tiny, thread-like umbilical cord. The doctor was kind and said all the right things as he showed me the small, still spot where the baby's heart ought to have been beating, but was not.
He left for a moment to call in another doctor for a second opinion, and I waited there alone, with the words of Our Lord calling the dead back to life repeating themselves in my head: "Lazarus, come out!"; "Little girl, arise!" But, alas, our little child would not be coming back.
On a happier day a month earlier, three of our teenage daughters joined 650,000 people of good will at the March for Life in Washington, DC. Just before they left for a 4 am bus, I scrawled a note, sealed it, and gave it to them with the mysterious instruction, "Do not open this until you get to Washington. When you do, make sure all three of you are together, and ask one of your friends to videotape as you read aloud."
The video clip that resulted is one of my favorite home movies ever. The three girls are standing in front of the capitol building with an orderly, upbeat crowd behind them. They are smiling and shivering with rosy cheeks and frozen breath. Bernadette holds a sign that says, "Love them both." Clair gives a quick explanation before Mary reads the card: "Dear girls, Dad and I are expecting another baby due September 29, the Feast of the Archangels. Always remember that you found out while you were on the March for Life, 2013. Your new brother or sister thanks you!" Their exclamations of joy and laughter could rival a hundred Christmas mornings, and you can hear their friends raising a shout of congratulations off screen.
So much happiness and love for such a little one--a soul who would live out his brief life in the hidden cloister of the womb.
Years ago, a friend of mine suffered a miscarriage, and her deepest sorrow came from thinking her unbaptized child might be barred from Heaven. Yet the Catechism teaches, "the great mercy of God who desires that all men should be saved . . . allow us to hope that there is a way of salvation for children who have died without Baptism."
In the Litany of Saints, St. John the Baptist comes before even St. Joseph and St. Peter. This is partially because at the moment Our Blessed Mother's greeting reached the ear of his mother, Elizabeth, unborn baby John leaped in her womb--freeing him from original sin even before his birth.
I pray that at the moment my child's heart ceased to beat, he heard the greeting of the Blessed Mother and leapt for joy, running straight into her arms.
In loving memory of Benedict Francis. "Goodnight, dear heart, goodnight, goodnight."
(Recently published in The Long Island Catholic.)
Not so very long ago, this blessed angel entered our lives. I remember thinking I looked horrible in these pictures, yet, looking now with a more charitable eye, I think these photos are lovely. Back then, we wondered if our new baby would make a dainty tea drinker. And, indeed, she has!
We take our tea tables seriously here at the cottage:
Our sweet little party guests loved choosing flowers and ribbons for hair styles by big sister Bernadette (Remember little Marie? Well, she is 13 now.)
Fortunately, Marie is also a comedian, so the line was pleasant enough:
Here is a sampling of some of her handiwork:
and
and
She gave the birthday girl curls to rival Shirley Temple's:
A sweet baby fairy showed up:
and took her place at the table:
When you are that cute, you can sit wherever you like.
Is it me, or do these girls look a bit like they are ready to sit for a Cicely Mary Barker painting?
The dolls had tea tables of their own:
All the little mommies took great care of them:
There was visit from Brother Bernadino, our spiritually adopted Franciscan brother, with a statue of the Child Jesus for the birthday girl:
Cake, of course:
And a bit of a lift to make sure no pretty faces are left out of the picture:
So much joy:
A thousand presents:
Including a new dress to match your lovely friend, handmade by the lovely friend's sister:
That is how to celebrate the seventh child's seventh birthday!
