At approximately 2 a.m. on August 10th, 1997, with my Dad, my Mom, my brother, Bill, Ruthie, our daughters Meg, and Beth, and her good friend, Bob Conlin, my sister, Mary Ruth died from Chron’s disease. She had been battling Crohns long before it had a name. As an occupational therapist and having a brilliant mind, Mary knew more about her illness than her internist. Hours earlier, with only me keeping vigil by her side, Mary briefly came out of her coma and requested a sip of 7-Up and some ice chips. She looked at me and said, “You know this really sucks, don’t you?” I replied, “I do, Mary.” Affirmed, she slipped back into a coma she would not come out of again.
We stopped briefly at a Holiday Station in Burnsville on the way home did get some pop to drink the remaining 35 minutes to our house. I think Ruthie and I went to bed around 3:30 am, woke at 9 am and drove back up to Roseville. We stopped off at a Bridgeman’s to have something to eat and met Mom and Dad at the funeral home to make funeral arrangements for Mary. Funeral plans were made with the parish of St Rose of Lima in Roseville. On my birthday, August 12th, I led the vigil prayers at Mary’s wake, and composed the homily for her funeral Mass. On August 13th, we had Mary’s funeral. I assisted the pastor at Mass, preached at her funeral, and then did all the graveside prayers at the cemetery.
About 6 months later, my Mom told me about a very vivid dream she had about Mary. Mom described this dream as being very real. She said that she came to the door of a lovely house, knocked and a beautiful woman with long hair opened the door and invited her in. She was led to a room that had a two way mirror like window, like you might find in a police station. As she peered through the window, she saw my sister, Mary Ruth, on the floor playing with little children. All the ravages of Chrohn’s disease were gone, her face full and lovely, Mary’s body was no longer emaciated from the disease, but looked healthy and well. There was a bearded young man in the room with Mary who looked upon the scene with a gentle, pleasant smile. The beautiful woman led my mother to a waiting room where mom took a seat. The young bearded man led my sister into the waiting room, at which point my sister hugged my mother and said to her, “You no longer have to worry about me, Mom. I am very happy.” My sister kissed my mother on the cheek and left the room, with the young man. Mom said the beautiful woman led her to the door, and Mom left the house. At this point, Mom said to me, “I am so at peace knowing Mary is so very healthy. You know, I think that beautiful woman was the Blessed Mother, and the young bearded man was Jesus.” From that point onward, Mom no longer grieved my sister’s death, confident that the child she loved so much was so infinitely happy and at peace. My dad, who was so very close to my sister through all her health crises never had a similar experience, or, at least he never said anything about having one to me or my mom.
About 20 years later, I took sketches of a song I had dedicated to my sister, and formed them into this musical prayer for my sister, Mary. I have submitted this more than once. On this feast day marking her birth into heaven, I submit it again.
