Wednesday, February 28, 2018

Sweet Relief

After my third sleepless night, I decided to visit my dermatologist to have her look at my skin that is inflamed and in great pain. I did not even call to make an appointment, and she received me right away.

I am going through preventive skin cancer treatments by applying a lotion twice a day. For nine or ten days straight, I've had such a pain to bear. It was especially difficult to do during my mother's wake and funeral, but I endured. I could take it no longer this morning.

The doctor saw me and was very happy with my face. It is red, swollen, and unsightly, but she and my mother would probably find it beautiful. I said, "I need relief or I have to discontinue this."

Ah, she prescribed an ointment that delivers almost instantaneous result. What a relief. It still painful but the burning edge is taken off. With this medication, I can endure the next eleven days. I feel like part of my self has been given back to me.

Monday, February 26, 2018

Mom's Funeral Homily

You can tell that it is a good sign when the funeral readings for a full-blooded Italian begins with a celebration of rich juicy foods and choice fine wines. My siblings did well in selecting today’s readings and thereby honoring my mother’s Italian heritage. I’m sure there are loads pepperoni, capicola, salami, pizzelles, but not pasta fagiola. She could never understand combining beans with pasta. And she is certainly enjoying a heavenly banquet with her Ma and Pa, with her firstborn, Dawn Mari, and her sister, Betty, and many other loved ones, and this time she does not have to do any of the cooking.
            But the more important part of the readings is that Connie is with the One who wipes away all tears, the One who destroys the pain of death. She is with Our God who sets all things aright. And Connie waited for him, He sought her ought and she responded openly, Connie came to know him well, She came to know his rich, juicy, overflowing mercy and love, and she accepted the salvation God extended to her. And the Lord settled her soul as she knew she was one of his cherished, beloved ones.
            She beheld in life the mystery that St. Paul talks about in First Corinthians. We will not all die, but we will be changed. The Lord changed her so beautifully, gently, as they grew closer together in her last years, and she came to know how precious she was to the Lord, who validated her, affirmed her, and thanked her for all the good she did in her life.
            We siblings have always accounted our mother’s greatest sacrificial act in life was caring for her first-born, Dawn Mari, who was a special needs child. While Connie always measured out her parental love for each of us without partiality, Dawn Mari always needed the most specialized care a mother could provide. Dawn Mari was simply lovable and brought us all joy, even amidst the hardships, but my mother’s love for her was the type of unconditional love that we know God gives us. God will never be separated from us. We will never be out of God’s sight. God will always be extending a gentle hand to us  and hoping that we reach back for it in our time of need. Our mother cared for our sister similarly to the way God cares for us – with an unbroken bond of admiration and wonder, always joyful that we turn back to the one who loves us and smiles in gratitude.
            Dawn Mari, was a large part, but was not the complete story of Connie’s life, and I know she is happy with the Gospel selected, mainly because there is finally a large house with many dwelling places. No more will two parents, eight children, three dogs, five cats, and many other pets have to be squished into a tiny abode. Just as there were many rooms in her house during her life, there’s a special place for each of us in God’s house. She will continue to make certain that we are provided for uniquely and with her customary special attention, but most importantly, she will have her own space where she can rest and be cared for by the Lord. As children, we seldom saw her eat, we almost never saw her sleep, we never saw her take rest, and she was always providing for her family that sometimes placed great demands on her. God will repay her for her tireless, selfless, sacrifice of her life for her children and their loved ones. This moment is her time to be fully embraced by the Lord. It is her time to receive the care she lavished upon her loved ones.
            We have many stories we want to share about our mother, and we hope to share with you these essential parts of our lives in due time. In her later years, we learned so much about her parents, her friendship with her sisters and the Italian side of our family, her pride in serving in the Air Force, the toils and strains of her working life, the fears and regrets she made as a parent, the movies and songs that inspired her, and the fond memories that made her feel honored, but today is about her story of faith, and about what God is doing with her and for her. As the readings tell us, we cannot linger in sadness, we cannot live in grief. Mom does not want us to do so; God will lead us towards rejoicing.
            The Isaiah reading says: “The Lord will wipe away the tears for all faces.” This God has come for Connie, and God is tenderly embracing her and saying, “Welcome home, my dear one, the one with the most beautiful face. Thank you for sharing so much of your love on earth.” St. Paul says, “Death has no sting. Death has been broken and God’s love has the power to bind us together even through mortal death – because those who have died are alive to God and are alive to us. Everything is changed. Therefore, let us rejoice in this victory.” Thanks be to God through Jesus Christ. And the Gospel from John reassures us: “Do not let your hearts be troubled. Just Believe and everything will be O.K. You are welcome in this house. You are welcome to this feast that has rich, juicy food and choice wines. This is a time of celebration for our God has come for us.”
            Dara, Rich, Dave, Diane, Sharon, Erica. Mom does not want you to be sad for her. She will continue to care for you more nearly, more perfectly, than you can imagine.
            Sometimes, we question and doubt, just as Connie did, just as Thomas and the other disciples did when they asked, “Where are you going? We do not know the way.” Jesus says to us: Don’t worry about the destination, just get on the train and take a seat. Connie was able to do that. During this past year, she talked about being afraid because she was on a train and she did not have a ticket or know the destination. The train was moving steadily and she felt alone and she was afraid the conductor would come to ask for her ticket. She had no money for one. I simply reassured her that I knew the train conductor well and I trusted him completely. He already paid for her ticket, and she could buy any snack, any food, anything she wanted on that train, and he would stay close to her and look after her. He would come by for short conversations to remove her fear and he would let her know when it was time to get off the train. He was the One who knew the way. He was the one to give life and to speak the truth. Connie learned to trust him. She learned Christ was the conductor, and he kept feeding her and healing her and leading her home. On Thursday, the train arrived at her destination and she is led by Christ to his Father’s mansion where Dawn Mari eagerly awaits, where her Ma and Pa kiss her all over, where all her loved ones say, “Welcome home, dear friend. You did well. Come live in the happiness long promised for you.”

Commended to God

My mother has been commended to God.

Her funeral mass was held this morning at St. Denis Church, in East Douglas. The church as a Jesuit connection because it is named after the church where the original Jesuit Friends in the Lord committed themselves together through simple vows at the church of St. Denis on Montmarte outside of Paris, France.

For me, it was somewhat of a homecoming. It was the only Catholic church in our hometown of Douglas, and its current pastor is my mother's cousin.

At a priest's ordination, his hands are oiled with Sacred Chrism, which is reserved for holy orders. Immediately afterwards, the purificator that is used to wipe the excess oils from his hands is given to his mother to be presented to Peter at her moment of death. Peter, reportedly, gives the mother of a priest entrance through the Pearly Gates without any questions asked. My mother died on the Feast of the Chair of Peter, forming a nice bond with heaven.

The calling hours were a time of consolation. Many people from all ages of our family's life came together to honor our mother. It was quite amazing to see the number of people who showed up for her and for us. It was truly an honor that so many people showed up to give condolences. The cards, notes, emails, Facebook posts, have been very consoling.

As we try to manage our time and make decisions about the funeral and wake, it has been a challenge to reply to any messages. That will come in due time.

The funeral was consoling as well. The rite gave my mother great dignity. Friends who are professional singers gave us a nice gift in their service. The choir formed a nice schola.

Six members of the Jesuit community at Boston College concelebrated the liturgy with me. It was a nice tribute for them to honor our fraternal bonds of affection.

Friends from all over came to the wake or the funeral. Cousins and relatives showed us great care. The parishioners of St. Denis provided nice snacks and hospitality desserts for our enjoyment. At the reception, people stayed for a nice lunch and fellowship.

Mom was well honored, and it was an honor for me to commend her to the Lord for eternal life. Rest in peace, Mom.

Wednesday, February 21, 2018

She Persists

God love her, but my mother continues to hang onto dear life. She is severely weakened, but resting very comfortably. She looks serene and free of pain as we continue to sit vigil with her. She opened her eyes once during the day for a few seconds, but otherwise, she rests with a contented countenance.

I had the privilege of sitting with her for hours on end, just whispering consoling words into her ear. Later in the day, more family members showed up. Our cousin, Ellen, came to visit, and my brother's wife and daughter from California made their way back east. My sister from Maine and her family has been down often. My brothers and niece and their families showed up, and of course, my sister, who is the primary caretaker, has been very attentive with her entire family. My sister in California is with us in spirit and by social media, and our sister in heaven is no doubt urging my mother forward.

Our cousin brought us low-fat muffins to fortify us; my brother's good friend fed us with pizza and salad, the nursing home gave us a comfort cart at lunchtime and dinner.

Today, we began to look at possible funeral readings, and our review of them brought consolation to the family. I suspect we will have some decisions made tomorrow.

If my mother makes it through the night, then tomorrow will be her last day. Her body just cannot last.

Thanks for all your prayers. Thanks for understanding our need to concentrate on our mother's care and our attention to one another. We appreciate the prayers and we are remembering your kindness, and our energies are now focused on our vigil.

Gentle woman, do let go. Your heart and will are strong, and the place where you are going is a place of great happiness.

Tuesday, February 20, 2018

It is O.K. Let go

The hospice nurse called us this morning to let us know that my mother has hours left on this earth because she has been unresponsive and has not been hydrating. Her breathing is slow and her body is giving out. That is clear. We spent time with her all day to hold vigil.

I arrived to meet the social worker and the Sister of Mercy, who had been attending to my mother's needs. They were very kind and they showed concern for our family and our mother. They have done well in comforting my mother.

I told my mother that it is very fine for her to let go and to transition into the next world, where there would be no weeping and no tears. It is a place where fear no longer exists and God's mercy takes care of every concern of hers. God would see to it that she would go gently into the next world and she would have the freedom that she always wanted. So many arms would be there to welcome her and to embrace her warmly and the only tears she would have would be the ones she shed when she realized how beloved she was and is to very many people. She would be reunited and restored to her most loving relationships and that God would offer her the type of perfect love that we seek on earth, but is only achieved in the life to come.

I said the usual goodbyes that I have uttered so often, but it always seems like they are fresh word: I love you. I'm sorry for the ways I hurt you and I ask for your forgiveness. You also are forgiven and our relationship is completely reconciled through God's mercy. And thank you. Thank you for being my mother, my sister in the faith, a daughter of God, a friend as well. 

Months ago, she talked about the train conductor coming to take her for a trip on the train. I told her that Christ is the conductor and he paid for her ticket and he knows where he is taking her. He will never let her slip from her grasp and he will never let go of her hand. He is excited because he wants to show her to the people he has gathered in heaven. The train is moving into the light and the darkness has passed. 

Just then, Sr. Pat stood closer and we were bemused because on the music channel, "Climb Every Mountain" played in the background. One more hill to go, Mom, and then you'll arrive in the place reserved for you.

My family started to arrive and we began lots of different conversations. We played songs for her. We sang. We told stories. We held her hand. Hours passed.

I excused myself so I could attend the wake of a colleague's brother in Newport, Rhode Island. It was a long ride but we just show up for one another. I returned back to the nursing home three hours later and more family members arrived.

I must look like quite a sight. I'm applying chemotherapy lotion for precancerous skin blemishes that many Northern Europeans get. My face is blotchy and tight and my face, head, neck, and arms are on fire. It is painful to shave, and it is worse if I do not shave. This too shall pass. 

As most of the family gathered, we prayed the church's commendation for the dying. My brother said he would return, but as we were not sure when, we went ahead with service. Everyone enjoyed the fragrant oil that I picked up in Jerusalem. Even the nurse joined us in prayer, and even the young ones participating in the prayer of saying goodbye.

After an exhausting day, we retired late at night with the assurance that the nursing staff would keep us posted throughout the night watch. 

Rest well, dear woman. You are free to go. 

The Vigil Begins

My mother's heart rate and breathing has slowed. Her pulse of oxygen is low and she is no longer responsive except for some facial movements. She still responds to our voices. The signs are fairly clear.

I am now heading out to see her where we will wait in vigil.

I'm grateful for your prayers for Connie Costantini Predmore. May she pass peacefully and be at rest soon.

Sunday, February 18, 2018

Family Time

Family is visiting. Yesterday, my mother had a number of visitors during the day. My sister from Maine, two of her sons, and a grandson showed up around 2 p.m. My brother from Los Angeles came to visit with my sister, her husband, and their daughter. Mostly, my mother slept comfortable and soundly. Occasionally, she would awaken, and would fall back asleep mere seconds later. The morphine is keeping her comfortable.

We spoke to her, rubbed her hair, sang a few songs, and we ate a few freshly baked cookies I brought them. The nursing staff is incredibly compassionate to her and they offer us much consolation. They know the time is near, and they are concerned for our good health and self care.

After visiting her for a while, we decided to go to Worcester to have a cup of hot chocolate. My niece loves hot chocolate so we went to the Birchtree Bread Bakery in Kelly Square. It was a good atmosphere, very festive, and we had good laughs. My niece didn't want hot chocolate after all. Since it was only 4 p.m., I just ordered a cup of coffee for it was too early for my evening meal. Everyone else ordered a hot drink as well, but as we were leaving, everyone grumbled, "We are so hungry. Next time we'll have to eat here." Argh! "Well, if you were hungry, why didn't you order something to eat?" I felt so bad.

My sister and her entourage headed back to Maine, while I took the others out to a new Ramen take-out restaurant in Worcester, called Stix. They opened on Monday and the owner was urging us to try certain dishes. I ordered the Vegetarian Itame, while we also bought Soba noodles, Mongolian Beef, and two Ramen Dishes. Actually, the owner threw in an extra ramen, which was so wise because all the food was consumed quickly.

On Sunday, I went back to see my mother. She was even more restful than the day before. She received a new batch of medication only twenty minutes before we arrived. She did not open her eyes once during our visit, but her eyelids would move slightly as if they were trying to speak to us. 

After eating a few more cookies, we set off to visit the Worcester Art Museum. I wanted to bring them to the Tower Hill Botanic Gardens, but they get sold out in the afternoon. After the Museum visit, we had a coffee at the Bean Counter on Highland Avenue. I am giving my siblings a culinary tour of Worcester like they've never had before.

We drove back to the nursing home and I did not go in to see my mother because I needed to get home and do a few tasks before retiring for the night. It has been an incredible week for deaths and tragedies. One friend's older brother died this week. As he was waiting for his younger brother to join him to go to their brother's wake, we received the news that his younger brother suddenly died.

A colleague's brother died after a battle with a lengthy illness; a friend's father died and was buried on Saturday; that poor young boy died earlier in the week. His wake was so sad. It was amazing to listen to the Vietnamese chanting during the wake. They do take care of each other well. And, of course, seventeen of our children died horrifically in a Florida school. Lent has begun. 

Thursday, February 15, 2018

A Beautiful Soul

My mother was restful today largely because of the morphine she is being administered. While she has always been cold and needed to be covered by many blankets, todays she was covered only by a thin bed linen. The nurses covered her and she threw the blanket off of her. The medication is largely having a positive effect.

We talked for a while and she held my hand. She uttered many words but they often were inaudible and were incoherent. I just soothed her, held her hands, and ran my hands through her hair. She becomes a bit agitated if she takes off the oxygen tube from her nose. As soon as it is placed back on, she begins to calm down. The nurses and the hospice staff are doing a terrific job to make her feel comfortable.  They are very tender to her.

We prayed the Lord's Prayer together and added in a few Hail Mary's and Glory Be's. I sang to her "You are my sunshine" because she sang it to me as a boy and she sang it to my sister for her death in 1999. My sister hung a poster on her bedroom wall that reads the title of the song. We just hummed it together as a lullaby.

It is striking how she seems like a newborn. She rests and sleeps and needs to be fed. She drank a bottle of Ensure from a straw. She was very thirsty and had some difficulty with the straw, but she found a way to drink 7/8's of the bottle. I think she could have taken more. After she drank it, she said, "I have to burp." "OK. You do that." I was afraid to rub her back because any touch on her body gives her pain, but I felt proud that she had most of her meal, just the way a parent is satisfied when a baby eats the entire jar of pureed carrots. It is satisfying to know that you meet the needs of the one who is vulnerable. 

Just like a newborn, we are attentive to every movement she makes. We try to take care of her needs and we ask if she has pain. Fortunately, it was time for her to receive another dose of medication. After she received it, she was much more relaxed. She grasped my hand and nodded off. 

Like an infant, she rests and sleeps. When she awakes, we are there to smile and to catch her eye. If she makes any movement, we are there to respond to her. Suddenly, my mother ceased to be my parent, but she became a beautiful soul on her ascent to God. She became a person on the last stage of her journey - a beautiful soul moving along the trajectory of life, and human life is a miracle. 

Adults around newborns will make promises for the future life ahead of them. They realize how much they are gifts from God to a world in need of love, compassion, and kindness. At this stage of life, the same feelings of promise welled up within me, but it was not for the life that she lived, it was for the beauty and gratitude for her life and her life's strivings, and yet the promise was for the wonderful new life that is to come for her. 

Just as parents of newborns soak the child with love that cannot be returned, this is a time to return the same type of love they once gave us. Parents of newborns gaze upon their child with wonder and admiration, just the way God gazes upon us in astonishment. It is like God is saying, "Look at you. You don't have to do anything or be anyone but yourself. Let me just gaze upon you and see your beautiful face. You have the most beautiful face and all I want to do all day long is to gaze upon you. You are a beautiful soul and you are mine." I wish many of us realized how much we are beloved by God.

Soon, Connie Costantini Predmore will return to the God who loves her deeply. God will take the beautiful soul that God gazes upon each day and will welcome her into his arms and will cherish her deeply. God will surely sing a lullaby and will say, "Welcome home, my daughter. I'm glad you are with me again."

Tuesday, February 13, 2018

A Quickening

Today was a difficult day. A junior at the high school tragically died. A colleague and friend announced her father died. A colleague and friend shared some difficult news. My brother texted me to let me know we would be flying into Boston to visit my mother in her last days and weeks. And my schedule was full and needed to be readjusted.

We had a conference call update on my mother's situation with hospice. He is finally off all unnecessary and legacy medication. They are increasing the dosage of pain medication carefully as she had reactions to some common pain medicine a few years ago. 

Hospice makes a visit each day and provides music therapy, socialization, and consolation. Today, a religious sister was playing the guitar and singing with her. They will also do some Reiki energy programs with her. They joke around with her and she is mostly pleasant.

To us, she often jokes around or talks in Italian, even though she never learned Italian. She gets the cadence right and sings some phrases. It is very cute. 

Her body is in great pain. As she weighs 66 pounds, even the slightest touch to her legs or any part of her body causes great pain. We are instructed simply to hold her hands or massage her forehead. We are waiting for an increase of pain medication, but hospice and the doctors are on top of it. 

In many ways, my mother looks like a newborn infant. We watch her sleep and when she twitches, we ask what she needs. She mostly sleeps but at times opens her eyes. We make a big deal of it just as parents of newborn do so with their children. She is cute. It is amazing to think of one's mother, the one who conceived and carried us children to birth, is now in her own birthing process. The events of her life feels like a quickening -- the quickening that happens to a woman right before birth. My mother's birth, however, will be into eternal life. I realize the Lord is there to receive her on the other end and he is there to make the passing very gentle. Soon, she will slip from this earth's womb into another sphere of life.

I mentioned to her that tomorrow is her sister, Betty's birthday. She was agasp as she did not get her a present or a card. I also said it was Valentine's Day, a day of love. She relaxed and smiled.

Then we sang some songs to her. She liked "You are my sunshine," and several other tracks from the Jersey Boys, Barry Manilow, and some Christmas selections. My brother spent time with her and my sister and her husband arrived.

The family has been arriving and paying respects. My sister has done much work in keeping my mother's care at the best levels, and my older brother holds down the fort for the night watch. My mother has received the loving attention any parent would want to receive.

We decided that we would pray the Prayer of the Church for the Sick. After we concluded that, we also prayed the Prayer for the Commendation of the Dying. Through it all, my mother was restful and relaxed. We used the Oil of the Sick, but I also picked up some fragrant nard from Jerusalem, the type of nard that was used by the woman in Luke 7 who washed the feet of Jesus before his death. My sister recognized the fragrance. Everyone liked how a tiny drop of the fragrance filled the whole room. 

We are getting to the point when I may be able to post updates, but I will be unable to acknowledge them or respond to them. I will not be able to return texts, make comments, or answer phone calls. I appreciate the good sentiments, but we are entering a new phase. My grief work will soon begin too, and I'll need time and space, and the best way for that to happen is for me to manage the information I let into my world. It coincides with lent. 

With death all around us, choose to live well and fully. There's no time to waste. 

Sunday, February 11, 2018

Lessen that pain!

After saying the Spanish mass this morning, the one thing I wanted to do was to go home to take a nap and then go to the Seraphim concert this afternoon, but I knew that would not happen. First, I wanted to go visit Fr. O'Neil, a 96-year old Jesuit, and Fr. Bennett, who is only 90, at Campion Center.

I enjoyed my Campion Center visit. The Center is a retreat center, housing for Jesuits, and a retirement center and infirmary. I spent about half an hour with Fr. O'Neil and then some time with Fr. Bennett before I went to lunch with the other brethren. It is really good to visit these great men.

I headed out to see my mother as this rainy dreary, but warm, day. I know the inside of my car too well.

My mother was peaceful again. I sat down gently on the bed and she screamed. I sat near her hand, which made me realize she was in a contorted state. She was leaning to her left again, but my sister told me she was positioned on her right side for a spell so she does not develop bed sores.

My mother's lower back was hurting her and she asked me to massage it a bit. It felt better, but it still caused her pain. My sister and I were talking about her pain levels and we decided to notify the staff and ask them to increase the pain medication.

Hospice is changing her medication slowly but we do not always know the plan so we have to ask them to communicate with us more. My mother has some allergies to pain medication and selecting the right one is important and complicated, but they still need to reduce the pain soon. I'm sure we will get there, but seeing someone in pain, even if it is modest pain, makes us impatient.

With all things, we have to be vigilant. My mother is mostly comfortable, but we want her to feel no pain at all. Otherwise, she is hydrating well and looking peaceful as she sleeps.

We have to keep calm and carry on.

Saturday, February 10, 2018

Some family visits

My mother's health is declining steadily, but she remains in good spirits. Last night, I visited her after bringing my niece on a college visit, and I was pleasantly surprised to see two nephews from Maine visiting her. They brought good news about their family, and they came to wish their grandmother a peaceful goodbye.

She was comfortable enough but there was a lot of activity around her. Some of her sentences were inaudible and incoherent, but you could tell that she was pleased to be surrounded by so many people. My nephews showed Facetime conversations with their children, and my mother loved speaking to the young kids.

My mother was picking away at some piece of her blanket, which is a sign of her deterioration. She might fixate on a routine that she repeats. She is trying to make sense of her loss of control and she is working out her preparations.

She nibbles on food and drinks sufficient Ensure. As long as she stays hydrated, she can carry on for weeks.

She is in discomfort. She complains that her legs and butt give her pain and she tends to move into a fetal position on her left side. The staff will adjust her and she reverts immediately to her left coil. If they shift her over to the right side so she does not get bed sores, she finds a way to get more comfortable going immediately back to her left side.

She brings her legs up to chest level and the mere touch of her legs sends her howling. You don't have to move them. Just a gentle touch and she will howl. The nursing staff does monitor her pain levels and they adjust as needed.

On my way to see her today, I stopped for half an hour at Tower Hill Botanical and took some photos. I needed a bright spot to the day. Gloriously, the sun emerged for fifteen minutes, but it was sustaining. The floral arrangements at Tower Hill were inspiring. I'll post them on my blog.

When I parked my car, I saw my sister from Maine. She and her boyfriend were visiting from Pennsylvania en route to Maine. She shared with me her amazingly good news. I was so happy to hear of two personal successes she had. I'm sure my mother is so relieved and happy for this news.

When I visited her today, she was very peaceful. She smiled a lot and we had a nice conversation. Early on, I say, "I love you." She smiled and nodded. Then I said, "I'm sorry," and she smiled and nodded. Then I said "Thank you," and she smiled and nodded and fell asleep with the smile on her face. She looked angelic.

I asked if she wanted communion and she was very enthusiastic. I gave her a small piece of the host and she chanted the Our Father. We prayed it together, and they she said it twice separately. Then I prayed Psalm 27 with her to give her comforting words, and she nodded.

My youngest sister arrived and we talked with our Mom for a bit. We also talked about my sister's daughter's college visits yesterday and the intricacies of financial aid applications.

We took photos of my mom as she was wearing a flower in her hair. I suppose my sister put it in her hair. Someone also painted my mother's fingernails.

My mother talked so softly that we could not hear her. She talked nonsensical things too, but we simply agreed with her, and she was content. She kept nodded off and waking up and nodding off. She just held our hands and kept adjusting the blankets over her. She was warmer than she had been. Part of these last days is alterations in body temperatures and some agitated movements. Everyone wants to help, but the best thing is simply being with her and giving her the space she needs to do her internal work.

Many in the family are coming to say goodbye. This is the time to do so. Everyone will say goodbye in her or his own way. Mostly, prayer from any distance is what is needed. God will take her soon, and she is doing so well in getting ready for that day. She is at peace and is fairly happy.

Winter Floral Arrangements

To see photos of floral arrangements at Tower Hill near Worcester, click on the link below: