A month before writing to say a final goodbye, my friend Carrie called to ask me for a friend’s address. She
had a baby gift to send the new mother.
It was vintage Carrie. In the midst of
everything, she was still thinking of ways to share in and bring joy to others.
And when I say “everything,” I mean in
the midst of cancer treatments, doctor appointments, pain management, and
taking care of her family.
No
matter how dark things got or how much pain she was in, Carrie’s messages always included praise and thanksgiving for the God
who gave her two amazing children—after medical experts told her in no
uncertain terms that she would never have any. She called them her “miracle
babies.”
When I hear people talk about fighting cancer, it is always Carrie who comes to mind. She fought that battle with all her might, all
the way until the end. If that meant painful procedures that may or may not
offer cure, but instead offered a way to extend her time on earth being present
to her family, Carrie always said yes.
Carrie believed in and relied on the power of
prayer. Not in the sense of telling God what to do, but always with a powerful
balance: her complete trust in God’s
Divine Providence—and a healthy dose
of petitions straight from her humble mother heart.
Her prayers of petition were always grounded
on her family. Carrie had no problem
reminding God that she had to stick around longer because her son and
daughter were simply too young to be without a mother.
I will never forget Carrie
describing the gift of her scars… the
marks on her body, she explained, was her road map, “a map I hope
leads me to eternal life!”
In reality, Carrie and her scars were, and continue to be, a light post leading all of us to heaven.
And I have no doubt that her suffering prayers on behalf of others carried
many a painful journey, always reminding us of the ways God has already begun
answering our prayers.
A week before her death Carrie wrote, once
again, asking for prayers—always first for her family, and this time, for a
holy death.
They are the most beautiful, loving, joyful children in the world,
and
their own mother had to pierce their hearts. Above all else, I ask
that
you pray for my Matteo and Francesca. Stefano is also devastated,
of
course. My prayer is that the end will be peaceful and not
panicked… If possible, I'd like to die at St. Francis of Assisi Hospital in
Evanston. My children were born there, half the staff knows me, and I have felt
that Francis was always with me in a special way--I was baptized by the
Franciscans, wrote a book for a Franciscan, my spiritual director was a
Franciscan, I was married at San Damiano in Assisi, and had my children at St.
Francis. I just think it would help to
present a sense of peace for my children. I don't know if they would ever be
able to handle mommy dying at home.
As the bilirubin on the liver function rises, I'm told my brain
will
begin to get fuzzy. As funny as it might be to get emails from me
in
that state, I think this is the time to say goodbye.
I thank you all for you the support we've shared, for allowing the
occasional vent, for the encouragement, for the beautiful published works that
have come out of sifting ideas, and for your friendship.
Thank you, and I love you,
Carrie
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| Carrie and Francesca rough housing with my first grandchild, Elenita |
