I wrap my afghans around my shoulders, fold them in a mix of creams, purples, and roses and place them at the foot of my bed or place them in wicker baskets as decorative pieces. it doesn’t matter. A flood of memories washes over me. This faded knitting was made by someone who has touched me but has yet to see the fruits of their labor. It was enough for her to know that she had made something special for her parents’ golden wedding anniversary, and in turn for me, that would make her so happy.
I am remembering a woman who had a profound impact on my life for 33 years. Her contributions are not recorded in history books, but they remain in my heart. During that time, this woman, Sister Mary Lenore, became a mentor, a companion, and an arbiter of hope.
When I first learned about her in the spring of 1949, I had just been assigned to St. Joseph Mercy Hospital in Sioux City, Iowa. She had arrived only a few months earlier. I learned to be a nurse and came to help staff one of the many hospitals our Sisters of Mercy manages in Iowa, Indiana, and Michigan.
Sister Mary Lenore began to spend the rest of her days doing the best she could with her limited professional skills as a nutritionist. Her diabetes had reduced her vision to a trace of light and shadow. While her future looked uncertain and increasingly gloomy, mine was full of her expectations and opportunities for service.
I was the youngest of the sisters at the hospital and had a few months before classes started, so I was assigned to “look after” Sister Mary Lenoir. Not at all sure what that meant, the morning after I arrived I approached her front door and asked if I needed to help her get dressed. She kindly replied that she could handle everything fine.
I was confused as to how she could do such a thing, but soon realized that she was very capable. She learned her way around the hospital, memorized patient room numbers, typed all correspondence, and was always on time for community prayers.
My “care” for her consisted of offering her my arm as we walked from the chapel to the dining room, sitting next to her at mealtimes, and explaining the food in front of her.
But the most important part of Compassion’s work was reading with her. We spent an hour, sometimes more, reading spiritual books and publications.
During these times, we got to know and share our lives and each other’s lives as fellow travelers. We saw each other’s spiritual paths as our own. This was probably my first experience of “seeing the soul” and it has continued throughout my life.
Mary Lenoir continued to live in Sioux City for many years, where she helped develop carefully selected menus for patients, knitted afghans and baby blankets, visited the sick, and prayed for the needs of many. .
I then held various positions, some of which brought me back to Sioux City. There I was able to walk with her again, sit next to her and share deep moments of her life.
But her physical health meant she could no longer be self-sufficient, and it was time to move to a nursing care unit at a retirement center in Dubuque.
On Christmas Day 1982, she called me to let me know that she was dying. It was an unlikely Christmas present, as we shared a breathless friendship, a time in which we came to know each other and ourselves in a new light. There were many treasures. She died within the next month at the age of 65.
Seventy-five years later, I am now with Sister Lois, whom I first met on September 7, 1946, when I joined the Sisters of Mercy in Detroit. Like Mary Lenore, her vision has degraded to blurred lights and shadows, and my own activities are now limited to where my trusty walker takes me.
How does retirement intertwine at St. Bernardine Home, a Sisters of Mercy retirement center in Fremont, Ohio? How will we share our lives together after so many years?
Now in our mid-90s, we reflect on our mission, past and present. Lois and I are the last two of the “Class of 1946” to exist on this earth, still living with the call to service.
Where you spent those years is more important than how you spent them. Yes, they have memories to share, experiences of light and darkness, moments that prepared you for this stage of life. We are not defined by other people’s expectations or our own limitations.
Lois has been learning how to walk in her new environment, counting her steps to the chapel and dining room. She organizes her personal space so that the items she needs are within reach, and her room is often filled with classical music.
Mercy’s active interest in community and church development, social justice issues, and current events are an integral part of her life. Several of her friends feed her spiritual life by calling at prearranged times to share her books and reflections. I read with her for 30 minutes almost every morning and then we share 11 o’clock mass.
Although my theological education was not as formal as Royce’s, I managed to find enough contemporary writing to sustain and inspire deep reflection on our lives now. The Internet provides thoughts on the day’s Gospel reading, and Richard Rohr’s Center for Reflection and Action provides daily information.
Less frequently, writing by Joyce Rupp, Melanie Svaboda, Thomas Rees, and Joan Chittister also enriches our time. These peaceful and strengthening moments give us insight into our vulnerability, hope, and acceptance, and we just sit quietly.
We were “once blind, but now we see in new ways.” We witness life continuing to evolve within each other and within our world. This is truly an experience where you can see your soul.
These 75 years with Sister Mary Lenoir and Sister Lois have not only given us time to read and support them; Rather, I walk by faith with them on their journey into the light.
