BishopGumbleton.org

This website is maintained by friends, supporters, and former parishioners of Bishop Thomas J. Gumbleton. It is our wish that Tom's words and his example, which have served for years to amplify the gospel message of the compassionate, non-violent Jesus, might be available to everyone who seeks guidance on the Christian path of peace, justice and service to the poor and suffering. This site provides information about the Bishop's ongoing efforts to call attention to areas of great suffering and oppression throughout the world and provides readers with ways to support those projects that help people whose lives are affected by war, poverty and injustice.

Mother’s Day can be the saddest day of the year for many of us, yet there is no Hallmark card to acknowledge our grief. Who can fathom the depth of a grieving mother, daughter or son’s heart on Mother’s Day? Just a few hours after the death of my beloved friend, Sr. Rita Mary Olszewski RSM, on the night of March 21, 2009 I was lying in bed with her grief-stricken mother. For this death-night and for the nights before and after Rita Mary’s funeral and burial I had the honor of lying in that sacred space during the most agonizing moments of her mother’s life. Lying beside her, evoked memories of the death of my own mother three short years before, when my heart broke into a million pieces. My best friend, my soul-sister, my mother had died and that heart-break prepared me as no other could to feel some of the depth of Rita Mary’s mother’s heart-break. I never loved anyone more than I loved my mother, Mona, and I knew that Rita Mary never loved anyone more than she loved her mother, Helen. We often said to each other that it was our special love for our mothers that bonded our friendship so deeply. Rita Mary was the last of my friends to visit my mother before she died and she was the friend who reached out the most to me in my grief. I could share my crying and wailing and she seemed to understand at heart-depth even though she still had her mother to embrace. At that time we never could have imagined how soon Rita Mary would be leaving her mother’s embrace. Both of our mothers were that selfless kind who would never be written up in documentaries but would go down in the silent history of Mother Saints. I could write an endless litany of the virtues of our mothers but let it suffice to say they were both the personification of what everyone hopes and dreams of in a mother. Her mother had lost her husband, Ted, less than 2 years ago; how could she withstand this compounded grief of losing her 60 year old daughter-friend? As I looked over at her mother lying beside me I felt the presence of both our mothers in her vulnerable aging body, wisdom-wrinkled face and tear-filled eyes. I could feel Rita Mary and my mother between us, beside us, within us, everywhere yet nowhere. In the dark of the night Helen kept whispering to me: “I cannot believe she is gone.” And I whispered back with the same utter disbelief. She had been close enough to hear Rita Mary’s first breath at birth and sadly tonight her last breath at death. Now I was close enough to hear her mother’s heart-wrenching-grief-breath. From the depth of our anguish during that unbearably empty, lonely, dark and desolate night how could we possibly be comfort for one another? I whispered to Helen that Rita Mary had told me many times in the past year, since she was diagnosed with cancer, that she was begging God to let her outlive her mother in order to spare her this mourning-night. Her mother whispered back with unshakeable faith that God must have wanted Rita Mary in heaven. However, I felt God could have waited. Yes, we do believe in resurrection but for now death overwhelms us. This Mother’s Day will be the saddest Mother’s Day in Rita Mary’s mother’s life and in the lives of many of us who weep over the great lost Mother-Daughter Mother-Son Loves of our lives.

Maureen Sinnott is a Franciscan Nun and Clinical Psychologist who resides near San Francisco and periodically in Tanzania. She can be reached at reensinnott@gmail.com.