I often write about my mother and my aunt being twins born on Christmas Day.

From my earliest memory, their dual births on a date dedicated to a child born in a manger and a jolly old elf with eight tiny reindeer made the sisters seem magical. Yet, growing up I didn’t know my Aunt Agnes very well.

She entered the convent of the Sisters of Mercy before I was born. For years I was barely aware of her existence as she was restricted from receiving visitors or seeing her family but for one day each year---ironically---on Christmas.

My strongest recall of her during my growing up years took place at a family gathering for which she had received special permission to attend (accompanied by another sister of Mercy, of course.)

I was in 7th grade and had just finished a class assignment on what I wanted to be when I grew up---or my “vocation” as the nuns liked to term it. For whatever reason, I wrote about becoming a Mercy nun!

I received an “A” on the project----a major accomplishment in my academic life. I couldn’t wait to show Aunt Agnes the vision for my future. Beaming as I handed her my written work, I waited for her words of praise to fill the space between us.

After several minutes of reading, she looked at me and concisely stated, “You could never be a nun.”

Fortunately, her painful but honest assessment of my future didn’t divide us. As I finished high school, married and gave birth to two children, Aunt Agnes became a treasured source of love and support for me and my children.

In December of 2007, I was driving back to my office following a client visit and my phone lit up with my aunt’s name. At this point, she was the last of her siblings still alive and the bond between us had strengthened both as family and as women.

In her usual and direct way, Aunt Agnes instructed me to pull over and park. She then delivered the message of her failing health diagnosis of esophageal cancer.

For the next three months, all who knew and loved my aunt supported her with prayers and caring gifts, including a beautiful handmade prayer shawl.

I had never heard of such a thing, but quickly learned that as a knitter weaves the strands of yarn together, they hold the intended recipient in prayer asking for them to know peace, strength, comfort and a sense of being loved. The ideal is that when the person wraps the shawl around themselves, they will feel surrounded by love and prayer, especially when illness or grief makes words difficult.

Following my aunt’s passing, I was honored to be given her prayer shawl. For the next fifteen years whenever I sought its refuge I could feel my aunt’s love and support.

Then in 2022, my cousin---the only daughter of aunt Agnes’ sister Catherine, was diagnosed with a list of medical challenges that left little doubt of her future.

Feeling helpless, I offered to visit my cousin, take her for rides---anything that might ease her medical journey. Ultimately, that Christmas I gave my cousin the one thing I truly believed could help her---our aunt’s prayer shawl.

Over the last four years, my cousin wrapped herself in its soft embrace in hospital rooms and care facilities. And last week as she took her final breath, it was by her side.

Yesterday, Aunt Agnes’ prayer shawl found its way back to me and I have kept it wrapped around my shoulders since. As intended, it has made me feel surrounded by love and prayers--- as I grieve and remember.
#HeartandSoulStoryteller