THE ROSARY by Gwen M. Plano
Young or old, we are all children at heart. This truth became apparent to me last December when I had neurosurgery.
Prior to the operation, a clerk handed me a stack of documents to sign—billing forms for the hospital and the doctors and several medical release forms that included a list of potential risks. My apprehension grew as I fingered through the papers and provided my signature. It was then that I wished that my mom could be with me. Like any child, I thought she could make it all better. But sadly, she had passed away nine months prior.
My mom was a person of prayer, and when I was young, she’d gather her seven children, tell us to get on our knees, and then proceed to pray. We’d follow her lead—usually protesting—and pray for family members, friends, and the unknown masses. Often, she led us in saying the rosary. Prayer was my mom’s response to any challenge or difficulty, and we had plenty of both on our farm.
Mom’s most common expression was, “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph!” While some of us might curse or yell in frustration, Mom would say this phrase instead. So, when one of my brothers sent a golf ball through the picture window, Mom called out “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph!” before scolding him. When we siblings squabbled with one another, Mom would mutter, “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph!” before sending us to our bedrooms. Without exception, we grew up knowing that when Mom said “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph,” we were in trouble.
I can’t remember a time when Mom wasn’t praying. Whether washing the dishes, hanging the wash on the clothesline, working in the garden, or driving us to a sporting event or a 4-H meeting, Mom quietly prayed. I asked her about this once, and her response left an indelible impression.
“Life is short,” she began, “and we must use every moment to the fullest. People need our prayers, and some don’t have a family to pray for them like we do.”
I didn’t understand her comment about using every moment to the fullest until I grew older. But her explanation helped me grasp why she rarely watched television and why she rushed from one room to another throughout the day.
When Mom passed at ninety-two years of age, she left a legacy of beliefs and practices that had found a place in the heart of each of her children. We may have complained about kneeling on the hard floor, but even as little tykes, prayer became part of our lives because of our mother.
At her passing, we were bereft. Mom was our strength, our compass. She was the one we called about concerns, both large and small; she was the one we talked with about our hopes and dreams. Her passing left a huge emptiness that still echoes in our memories. When we sorted through her belongings, not so surprisingly, we discovered she had a dozen or so rosaries. I received two of them.
When I checked into Cedars Sinai hospital in Los Angeles, I took my mom’s wooden rosary with me. I felt her near when I held it, and this sensation gave me comfort. I held the beads tightly and imagined Mom with me.
After the surgery, I was rolled into a room on the Pain Floor where all neurosurgery patients were housed. Next to me was an adjustable overbed table, and when I awakened, I realized that my mom’s rosary rested on it.
My nurse, Lucy, regularly came in to check on me, and each time she walked through the door, she sang a refrain which included the words, our lady of the rosary. I was surprised by this, because Cedars Sinai is a Jewish hospital. After Lucy left, an aide visited, and she explained that her sister was a nun, and my rosary reminded her of this sister. Later, the night nurse came in and told me about immigrating to the US and how she loved the rosary.
During my hospital stay, one staff person after another visited me and shared family stories and photos—all evoked by the rosary that rested on the overbed table. As I was preparing to leave, Lucy came in to say her goodbyes. She pulled a photo from her pocket.
“This is my mom,” she proudly stated. “I thought you’d like to see her.”
The image was of a petite woman, hunched over by time, smiling broadly at the camera. She stood next to her much-larger daughter, Lucy. I was stunned; she looked like my mom.
As the hospital staff came to say goodbye and wish me well, I suddenly realized that Mom had been with me the whole while. I had been loved and cared for by many at the hospital, but it was Mom who drew them near with her rosary.
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Oh, this story of Gwen’s has given me goosebumps in a good way. It is wonderful when someone can feel so close to us even after their passing. A lovely share Denise.
Thank you so much, Robbie. Good goosebumps are good for the soul. ♥
I felt the same way reading it, Robbie;)
I’m sure your mother was there with you the whole time, Gwen. Thank you for sharing. Thank you for hosting, Denise.
Thank you, Mark. I believe she was with me as well. ♥
I believe that, too Mark:)
So happy to, Mark!
Thank you, D.L. for hosting my story. I’m so appreciative! ♥
I’m happy to Gwen:) What am amazing story of love that continues. The world needs more stories told like this so we remember they are still with us. We aren’t alone. Thank you.
We are definitely not alone. ♥ Thank you, dear Denise.
A lovely lady in all regards! Gwen’s new sequel is a 5-star winner!
It sure is, Billy:)
Thank you, dear Billy Ray. You make me blush! 😀
Lovely story. Thanks for hosting, Denise!
Happy to, Linda,;)
Thank you, dear Linda. ♥
What a wonderful story. I felt chills–maybe your mom dropped in on me, too. I am becoming more spiritual with the years and it feels good.
It does feel good to become more spiritual, Jacqui. I’ve been working on the same path.
Thank you, Jacqui. I’ve definitely become more spiritual as I’ve aged. ♥
What a beautiful story, Gwen. My mother loved the rosary as well and when she passed several years ago (it seems like yesterday), one of her rosaries came to me. I will often sleep with it under my pillow as it makes me feel closer to her and Our Lord. I am so glad you had that peace while in the hospital and that your mother’s gift of prayer from childhood–and her rosary–inspired stories from others.
This is a story that is going to remain with me, Mae. I love how our loved ones linger reminding us they still care.
Thank you, dear Mae. Like you, I often sleep with mom’s rosary under my pillow. It’s a comfort for sure. ♥
Lovely story , Gwen, Thanks, Denise for sharing it today.
I was happy to John:)
Thank you, John. ♥
This is such a beautiful story, Gwen. Thank you for sharing your memories. Best wishes to you.
Thanks for being a wonderful host, Denise.
I was happy to, Beem:)
Thank you, Beem. I so appreciate your comment.
🙂
This is a beautiful post, Gwen. Your mom reminds me of my aunt, she always said the same phrase 🙂
Thank you, Jacquie. It evokes a smile just thinking of the phrase. 🙂
Thank you for dropping by Jacquie:) It was beautiful!
Gwen, the part where you say the photo looks like your mother. Did she really? You didn’t add much more to that, so could you elaborate a little more?
Thank you Denise for sharing.
Happy to, Shirley:) Thanking for coming by!
Gwen’s story touched me deeply! It is written in such a beautiful and personal way that I felt as if I was right there with her! Thanks for hosting, Denise!
It was Jan! Thanks for coming by!
I loved this story. Your mother was most definitely with you then. Thank you for hosting, Denise.
I agree with you Karen her mother was:) I was happy to!
Love this–it is so heartwarming. Reminds me of my own mother, who passed to the next life 14 years ago. I miss her! You have given me incentive to find her in the everyday. Thank you!
I hope you see all those small signs of her Julie:) Gwen did remind us of that!