Eulogy for a Nun

Tonight I write to honor my aunt, Anna Marie Petocchi, also known as Sister Mary Dominica, who died on Saturday at the age of 92. And I know I want (need) to write about her, but oddly I can't seem to find right words to express who she was and all the reasons she will be missed. It all seems like snippets in my mind.

• Every special occasion I would receive a card. It might be a birthday, a holiday, you name it, but about one to two weeks before the date, a card would arrive. It was often a computer-generated, dot-matrix printed card, always signed with "Pray for, your Aunt Anna" and invariably contained money -- not a lot, sometimes a few ones or a five, but always money. When I was in college and working several jobs to make ends meet, this would often fund my groceries. But it continues to this day, even as I'm married and working and making a comfortable living. No matter how old I was or what I was doing, I was never too old to be loved and taken care of.
• Each Christmas and gift-giving holiday, I would have the same conversation with Aunt Anna. She would say, "I need nothing, do you hear? Nothing. I need nothing." I would still get her something. However, Anna took her vows of poverty and charity very seriously, and one always knew that whatever was given her would instantly be regiven to someone else. We always joked, with love, when we picked out a gift for Aunt Anna, "So, do you think Cousin is going to like this?" And if she ever asked for anything (postage stamps, a phone card, a woolen winter hat) you'd better believe we got it for her! How amazing to want so little, to give so much, and to take such joy in the small things of every day life.
• Every birthday without fail I would pick up the phone or check voice mail only to hear a creaky little voice singing happy birthday. Followed by the words, said slowly and clearly, "Hello, Colleen and James. This is your aunt, Anna." As if we didn't know the one person who never, ever forgot.
• When she introduced me, she would say "This is my niece. She has a big job over at NC, you know. A big job. " Even the last night I had a full conversation with her, the night she was annointed, I was introducing myself to another nun at her bedside and Aunt Anna (who had been dozing quietly) suddenly piped up from next to us with "Big job at Nazareth" before going back to sleep. It's not a "big job," by the by, but her pride in us was amazing, and humbling. She took nothing for granted, and celebrated all steps, big and small.
• Anna had such immense faith, and she believed so deeply. She was always praying for one or another of us -- often all of us! -- and we knew that, if Aunt Anna was praying, things would start happening. I can't tell you how many people have told me they know my name from the prayers Aunt Anna offered up for us on the prayer list! How astounding to have such care and faith that, if it is asked, it will be answered.

There are so many other stories to tell: her hot water with dinner, playing cards with my grandmother (her sister and an unabashed cheater, which made Anna crazy!), sitting on the porch with her and Aunt Addie, picking her up from the Motherhouse with her eight million gift bags for other people, her exclamation of "Laws!" (never "Lord!" -- never to take His name in vain), fond recollections of her many years of teaching. I think that it speaks to what kind of person she was that so many of her nieces and nephews -- Peggy & Bob, Nancy & John, Susie & Freddie, Derrick, Bob, JoAnn, me & J, more -- came to her bedside immediately when she was in need and continued to be by her side until the end. Even more people -- cousins and former students and nurses and even the mail delivery person! -- came to the calling hours to pay respects. Not only that, but so many sisters came, touched her arm, held her hand, comforted her in some dark moments. What a person to inspire such love and devotion!

And so I realize that tonight, even through her death, Aunt Anna has continued give us the gifts we all need. I am so very thankful I was able to sit with her these weeks, spending last days and hours with her; it has been a gift beyond measure. I believe I can now say I know a little more about living and dying than I used to. In watching the other sisters as they held and comforted Aunt Anna, I am beginning to grasp the concept of grace. In observing the caretakers meet Aunt Anna's needs with love and compassion, I appreciate the value of service toward others. In time spent in communion with Aunt Anna and the other nuns, I have relearned a bit about faith and trust. And tonight, as I sat with my many aunts, uncles and cousins, and met some cousins for the first time, and saw with joy and humility my own dear friends come to share and support (Kim and Steve, I'm looking at you), I was reminded anew of the value of holding friends and family close, and the unbreakable strength that comes from that.

That was my aunt, teaching and loving even in her last moments, her last breaths. I am grateful for having known her, and I will miss her every day. That is all.