Carpe Diem - St. Pius X Catholic High School

know that if I had been in the middle of that much
condescension, I would have been more than a little
prickly. I realize that she knew how worried we had
all been about her and that at that moment people
surrounding her needed to be comforted. This
was her third lesson to me: in a trying situation,
be humble, patient, and above all compassionate,
because you never know what the other party is
going through at the time.
When the day of the pageant rolls around, I
find myself standing in her tiny office, dressed as
St. Marguerite D’Youville. Even though I have been
to countless rehearsals and spent many evenings
fixing the words of the speech in my mind, my
hands are shaking from nervousness. Rita looks at
me, carefully adjusting my veil, and I wonder
why on Earth she picked me to be her
Marguerite. I am so afraid
that I will disappoint
her. Her warm
hands enclose
mine, steadying
the, she gives
me her ever ready
smile. Then, silently,
she unclasps her
silver cross from
around her neck and
fastens it around mine.
Reverently, I touch the
cross, and then I throw my
arms around her neck. She
laughs a little and hugs me
back, and I realize that I am
no longer afraid.
Lesson number four: fear
can only truly
be conquered by love.
I am standing in my high school’s chapel,
between Sr. Rita and my old grade school principal,
Sr. Dawn. We are posing for pictures after a Mass
of Thanksgiving offered for the Grey Nuns in
Atlanta. I haven’t spoken to Rita in person for at
least two years, and I am anxious as to what she
will think of me. Dawn half-jokes: “The retired sister,
the active sister, and the sister to be. Aren’t we a
sight?”
I glance at Rita, wondering what her reaction
will be to this statement. “Now, Dawny,” Rita says
with a smile, “Don’t pressure her. That’s the Holy
Spirit’s job.” I smile with relief.
Hidden in those lines is Rita’s fifth bit of
wisdom: never attempt to take on any of God’s
responsibilities.
A breeze wafts through the trees on a calm
evening in the summer of 2004. Taking a deep
breath, I walk through the doors of the church.
There are many familiar faces in the tiny crowded
vestibule. My eyes fall on Dawn, standing to the
side with a line of
people winding
around her.
Her eyes are red
from crying. I blink
hard. The news
of Rita’s death
had come very
suddenly and
harshly to
me because
I had been
unaware
of the
A Loving Mother’s Touch
Lauren Elliott
severity of
her illness and I heard
of her passing weeks after the
funeral through a newspaper article. The
church chosen for her memorial Mass in Atlanta
is of a moderately large size, but I know that her
friends will fill every pew.
I wait in Dawn’s line, wondering what I will say
to her when it is my turn. The tidal wave of grief
threatening to overwhelm me must be nothing like
what is filling Dawn’s heart. Then I am standing in
front of Dawn, who is vigorously wiping her eyes.
When Dawn sees me, she exclaims, “Here’s one that
Rita loved!” and embraces me. For a moment, we
stand there crying together, and then she breaks
away to talk with the next person in line.
Rita’s final lesson: love is eternal.
Carpe Diem 2005
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