What Really Matters

Today I'm thinking about this unique tree in a picturesque part

of Wimberley and I'm pensive about what really matters.

It started back in April, when we lost Sister Rosanne. And now, at the two-month mark, we are tasked with going through the treasures that she left behind. We got this piece and gave it a facelift for our Wisconsin room.

We also got her beautiful Bible and its exquisite hand-carved holder.

A few family members went to her home this past weekend and took four carloads filled to the brim with donations for GoodWill, which has this question swirling around my head and my heart: What really matters?

Pretty sure that this picture can answer that fairly accurately.

It's from the 1991 yearbook at St. Leo's Catholic School, where

Sister Rosanne taught for several decades. On this particular day,

her third-grade class was getting a visit from Sgt. Joe Nelson,

a soldier who received letters from her students while he was on

active duty in Afghanistan during the first Gulf War, the hero 

with whom she would stay in touch for the next 30 years.

The man who would pretend to be her brother so that

she didn't have to be alone in her hospice room at the end.

See the young boy, quietly seated and intently watching?

That's Ashton Reed, the student from her class who would eventually become her Doctor, the young man who helped keep her healthy as she aged, then checked in on her in hospice as he walked her home, the one who insisted that we honor her wishes to donate her body to science, even though the Universities in Louisiana weren't participating in the willed-body donation program out of Covid caution, the friend who would write and then read a heartwarming eulogy at her Celebration of Life Mass as he bid farewell to and honored his favorite teacher.

So what really matters?

I'm thinking that it's encapsulated in this Keys piece that I was blessed

to read at that same Celebration Mass, written by a Priest

with whom she worked in the early 1970s.

Today we mourn Rosanne's passing and I offer this poetic memorial:

In Matthew's Gospel we read:

"I will give you the keys to the Kingdom of Heaven."

Rosanne, you opened many doors with your precious keys.

In adolescence, the keys to the convent.

And your world grew wider.

In your young womanhood, the keys to your classroom.

And there, children grew in wisdom and grace.

In middle age, they key to Crescent ministry.

And across the plains you left a trail of glory.

In old age, you were given the key to suffering.

And you endured with patience and fortitude.

But your keys to the Kingdom are light.

And they are worn thin from

unlocking hearts with kindness,

unlocking creativity with zest,

unlocking so many talents possessed by laity,

unlocking hope with your smile.

Dear Rosanne,

You have been given the keys to the Kingdom.

May they fit easily in Peter's gate

and give quick entry into life everlasting.

From your friend and co-worker, Fitz and

the grateful people of The Crescent Team

So there you have it, the keys to what really matters.

Hope. Love. Joy. Empathy. Peace.

Self-control. Creativity. Goodness. 

Gentleness. Work Ethic. Perseverance.

And the uncanny parallel to Mr. Quigley's Keys? God wink!

Let's add Faithfulness to the key behind his knee. For Rosanne.

It still messes with me a smidge, going through her stuff,

that pile of pictures from students in her Smile File,

her resumes and diplomas, old pictures and bills,

gifts she received but never opened or used,

the boxes of blank note cards ready to be written.

Things we don't want; things she no longer needs.

And for me, it's a weird wake-up call about

what really matters. And the why behind holding on to

the stuff that clutters our homes and our hearts, when

there's so much more that really matters.

In life. And in death.

And if I don't want to go through my things periodically,

to thin them out, to purge the excess, to declutter,

will those I've left behind really want that job?

Perhaps that's one of death's great lessons even as

it prepares us for our own mortality, 

that in the end, it's just stuff.

Now if you'll excuse me, I've got 

some stuff to sift through.

************

ps. If you subscribe to this blog by email,

that service will be discontinued in July.

I'm uncertain whether or not I'll find a suitable

replacement for that service; my apologies

for any inconvenience that may cause.