Only One Regret

Shared from “To Be Continued.”

Sister Peter Claver, administrator of Providence Sacred Heart Medical Center for 30 years
Sister Peter Claver, administrator of Providence Sacred Heart Medical Center for 30 years

Every now and again, those quizzes circulate social media, asking us to identify silly things like our greatest fear or biggest regret.  The answers are easy for me: fear itself, and no regrets.  (Okay, full disclosure, I waffle between my fears being the clichéd “fear itself” and “the unknown.”)

As for regrets, I have to recognize one constant: not having known certain individuals, a few blessed souls who have left only positive lessons, only loving marks, in their tracks.

I worked for 15 years at a hospital founded and sponsored by the Sisters of Providence.  So many Sisters had profound effects on all who knew them, and on many more whom they’d never met.  Sister Peter Claver, who died in 1991, is still recalled with great fondness and respect in Spokane’s leadership circles.  I never tired of hearing tales about her grace, wit and fortitude.  Even the gentleman driving the courtesy shuttle for a car dealership recounted for me the times his mother had been a patient and the impression made by Sister Peter Claver, who, as the top administrator, took time to visit patient rooms. (She also carried tools in the deep pockets of her habit and would tighten door hinges on her way through the hospital.)  Other Sisters of Providence—and the Dominican Sisters I eventually came to know—were such strong forces, often the only women calling the shots in a business world usually reserved for men.  They were innovative and fiercely protective of the causes they served.  Getting to know these dynamic women and their collective history ultimately led to naming my daughter after Emilie Gamelin, who founded the Sisters of Providence after suffering the loss of her husband and all her children to illnesses.

Now in the folds of the Jesuit heritage of Gonzaga University, I’m discovering more saintly souls who I regret not having had the chance to know.  Father Tony Lehmann, for example.  When my colleague wrote a piece on Father Tony to explain why we chose “To Be Continued” as the name of our new blog, I quickly learned how deep and far and wide Zag love runs for this beloved priest.  People trolling their Facebook feeds stopped in their tracks at seeing Father Tony’s face.  They “liked,” they shared, they posted.  Not in that usual Facebook style, but with intention and heart.  What I wouldn’t give to have known him myself and have my own story to recall.

It’s questionable to regret something I couldn’t have controlled—I didn’t choose when or where I was born and raised.  But I’m positive there have been other great people in my midst who I did ignore or pass by too quickly.  What might I have learned or gained if I’d taken a moment (or more) to visit?

That is my one regret.

Grace for the Sparrow

2 Girls & a birdIt was like a Windex commercial, except without the laughing crows.  The small sparrow on its morning trek was blissfully unaware that the scene ahead was framed by brick and encased in glass.   The legal assistant inside the office building turned in her swivel chair when she heard the thud, just in time to see the frail bird fall to the ground.

She had dozens of phone messages to return, and a pile of papers stacking up at the fax machine, all of which would result in hours of paperwork to prepare for her anxious attorney.  But for Shirley, the last moments of that bird’s life were more important.

Dressed to the nines and sporting her new five-inch red stilettos, Shirley dashed outdoors and knelt down next to the window.  The bird was gasping for air, and seemingly crying out for comfort.

Shirley scooped it up in her hands and wept over it.  “No one should die alone,” she whispered, “I’m here for you.”

Hers was a heart that was wrenched daily by clients suing neighbors, doctors, family members; criminals avoiding due punishment for heinous acts; couples ending marriage in nasty court battles.  She read and filed and recorded countless stories of child abuse and saw failed cases where justice was not found.  A thankless job like this would harden the softest soul.  But for Shirley, it made her that much more tender and resilient and compassionate.

The bird witnessed this truth.  As did many a scorned teenager.  And plaintiffs wrongly accused.  Even her ex-husband.

As the bird closed its eyes and took its last breath in the comfort of Shirley’s hands, she was transported back in time to her youth, when she and her sister would feed the squirrels and birds, rabbits and geese that wandered freely through their Pennsylvania property.  Inevitably, the two girls could charm a feathered or furry guest to come and be stroked or even held.  In those moments, nothing else in the world mattered.  At those times, being so deeply trusted by another was as fulfilling as life could be.

Shirley dug a small hole in the ground by the window, clumps of earth collecting beneath her manicured nails.  She laid the bird in his final resting place, wiped the dirt from her hands and the tears from her cheeks and returned to court documents awaiting her attention.

If justice couldn’t be guaranteed for each client who came through her office, at least there was grace for the sparrow in its time of need.

*Editor’s Note: This photo was among hundreds in a box at an antiques store in Philadelphia’s historic district.  It was begging for a story, so I bought it, for $1 and gave it “Grace for the Sparrow.”  I have no idea who these girls really are—and if some soul out there recognizes them as part of a lost family history, then please reach out. While their identity is unknown, “Shirley,” is indeed based on the life of a real woman, a real legal assistant with a real heart for those who suffer. — kv