“It’s been over two months now. I thought the same about Nick, maybe he didn’t really go into work that day; maybe he was playing hooky or something. But I called Bettina a couple times since; I’m sorry I didn’t ask permission, I was presuming on the general permission Mother gave that we could call people.”
“Yes, that was for the day and a couple of days afterwards, but don’t worry about it; you were dealing with your grief in your own way. Have you been able to pray? You’ve been very good about the Office and rosary; you never miss.”
“Thank you, Sister, yes, I’m praying again. I know God doesn’t do evil or cause it, and even if I can’t understand it all, I needed to pray for Nick, and for all the others. I wanted to pray for Bettina too; she was his girlfriend.”
“That’s very thoughtful of you.”
“I invited her to come visit me, when I’m allowed to have visitors. I told her I was just a postulant, and she didn’t know what that was, but said she would love to come visit. She’s gone back to church, she said, since 9/11. I guess she’s letting God fill in the blank now, too.”
We pushed back again; or rather Sr. Grace pushed back; and we sat in silence, thinking, enjoying the slow back and forth movement of the swing. The air seemed suddenly colder than before, and I got a slight chill.
“Why don’t we go in and you can help me make tea for the Sisters in the infirmary.” Sr. Grace was up and off the swing while I was skooching my full figured body in a medieval habit off the seat. “Full figured ain’t all it’s made out to be.” And Sr. Grace got a fit of laughter, helping me get back my balance. (I put on a little imbalance just for her sake; it was so good to hear her full-bodied laughter!) We giggled our way to the side entrance of the monastery near the infirmary; hung up those grungy parkas and headed for the infirmary kitchenette.
Sr. Grace was boiling the water and getting the cups prepared while I scrounged around for something the Sisters would like to nosh on. “You know it’s time for you to petition the chapter if you want to go on to the novitiate. If you and Sr. Brenda both petition now, the November Chapter will vote, and you would receive the habit in December during Advent. Wouldn’t that be nice?” I was very nonchalant and informal about it on purpose. I wasn’t sure if Sr. Grace herself was ready. Several weeks ago, I would have said definitely not. I wouldn’t have been surprised if she had decided to leave.
“Oh, yes, I was hoping it would be before Christmas.”
And so it happened. They both received the habit and their new names on the Third Sunday of Advent, which was unusual for us, but Mother Rosaria was wise. It lifted up the spirits of the whole community which was still hurting from 9/11, and brought us into the Christmas season with renewed joy.
Grace Darlene White became Sr. Leah Marie of the Immaculate Conception. Leah, of course, for her friend Leah Levinson who first brought her here, and Mary, the Immaculate Conception whose interior design was pure from the beginning.
Chapter Twenty-two
New Year 2004
It took two years for Sally and Mitzie to move. They had a business going which had to be closed or sold to others. It also took two years for all the legal red tape to be ironed out. David’s duplex was secure with Olivia who sublet the place with a three year contract and when Sharbel would come of age, it would legally be his. Sally would come and go over the two years, always staying at our apartment on West 79th Street. She didn’t want to sublet it at all. She couldn’t abide the thought of a stranger living in “our apartment.” The “our” meaning hers and mine. I would never see the place again, but I was supportive of her not wanting to sublet it. Between Mama and David she had a sizeable inheritance. She could put down the dog clippers forever, but they both needed something to occupy their time. Travel would be a part of their lives once all the financial stuff got settled.
It wasn’t till after the first anniversary of 9/11 that Sally called to tell me that she and Mitzie would be in town in October and would come together to see me. I don’t know why I got nervous over the prospect of meeting Mitzie. I certainly heard enough about her for years and had no reason to be worried. Only with Mama did I express my concern for their relationship, and that was in the context of their eternal salvation; but I could only take baby steps in that direction with Mama. Gwendolyn was more of a free spirit and told me not to worry. “You don’t have to condone the relationship; you don’t have to even talk about it; and for all you know, M.B., they may be living a chaste life together.” Those were Gwendolyn’s exact words. I hoped she was right and made it one of my regular secret petitions at the rosary.
We had our prioress’s election in March, the week after Mother’s first term was up. It almost seemed an imposition to have the bishop come to preside at the election as Mother Rosaria was reelected on the first ballot. But we did have an excellent recreation with His Excellency. He was very open, it seemed to many of us, about the burdens he’s carrying and said he depended on our prayers. The sexual scandal fell on the Church in America like another 9/11. Again, he begged our prayers for both the victims of abuse, the priests who were involved, and for the priests who were very faithful to their vows and carried a new stigma of mistrust. And he asked us to pray really hard for the bishops who are shepherding a very dysfunctional flock at times. He spoke in general about the closing of parishes, the lack of vocations in the priesthood, and the crisis among women religious, not just in New York, but throughout the country.
He shared a little of his ad limina visit to Rome with his fellow bishops and their meeting with Pope John Paul II. They are all inspired and humbled by the example he gives in his old age and all the effects of his Parkinson disease. He told us that’s what it was; it didn’t come out officially in the news till May.
It’s good to be reminded that our life, while hidden and enclosed, is part of the whole Mystical Body. We are, he reminded us, to be love in the heart of our mother, the Church. We all smiled at him, knowing that he was quoting St. Thérèse, the Little Flower.
I do hope the Communion of Saints are interceding for all of us. Our two white veiled novices are persevering and well into their second year. We had only one new postulant at the beginning of the year, Kim. She was Korean, but born and raised in New York. Her family ran a little Korean Deli in Queens. Kim was a concert pianist, having studied piano at Juilliard. She was very frail looking (to me), and I couldn’t imagine her playing a grand piano. We don’t have a grand piano, unfortunately, but we have several upright pianos which are probably all out of tune, but Kim sat down at the one in the novitiate common room, and – unbelievable! Her hands ran up and down those keys so fast I don’t know how she could do it.
She would run up and down the cloister as well, which had to be curbed very quickly. It made me think of Sr. Catherine Agnes (SCAR). In my day that would have given her a coronary right on the spot. Kim also had to be told not to hum or whistle in the cloister. Furthermore, our dish detergent was not going to do damage to her hands; she had insisted on being excused from washing dishes. Such problems I had to deal with as Novice Mistress? I thought I would be shepherding novices through the dark nights of the soul, not explaining that washing dishes was expected of all the novices. She could wear rubber gloves but those Juilliard trained fingers were gonna meet the suds. I didn’t quite put it like that to her; these were scenarios that would run through my head during the rosary.
She also wanted to practice the piano every evening after Compline and during the morning Lectio time. She didn’t take correction well or refusals to her requests. There was a little stubborn streak in her which she hid with a pleasant little smile. She always said “yes” if I asked her to do something, but it never quite got done. Giving up something, like practice time, was a major difficulty.
She left before we asked her to leave, which is always so much better. The last I heard she was waiting to hear from different symphony orchestras; but in the meantime she was working at her parents’ deli. Hopefully with cl
ean hands…
Several young women got as far as repeat visits. One, Evelyn, did a two week aspirancy inside with us. It was her vacation time. She was very devout and a great hopeful, till we discovered she had been married and the marriage was never annulled. The sad thing was that she lied about it. Maybe she will come back in a few years if she can get all that straightened out – and if we don’t hold that lie against her.
Stephanie was a young family attorney with a law firm in Manhattan and an office in Brooklyn Heights, which is how she discovered us. She was older than our age limit, but there are always exceptions. Canonically she was fine. But she couldn’t quite make the adjustment from a law office to a monastery. She also wound up “monastery shopping” and found it difficult to settle on any one place. She had a “flow chart” of sorts with all her criteria necessary which she would check off and grade by percentages according to a scale of acceptable or nonacceptable. When I met with her in the parlor for the first time, I felt like I was being interviewed for a job, or as a witness for the prosecution. When the law firm wanted to move her to Atlanta, she went. And that was that.
The sisters in the infirmary continued their weekly rosary for vocations. All of them were holding on quite well themselves. Sr. Gerard had calmed down after a year, when the chastisement didn’t happen, although she “knew” it was coming. We were on high alert, usually around First Fridays.
Sr. Benedict was crippled with arthritis and couldn’t really do jigsaw puzzles anymore. It was difficult to do lots of things when you didn’t have use of your hands: like eat, brush your teeth, or put on your veil. She had lots of help, of course, and gave the younger sisters a great example of humility and abandonment. She never complained, unlike Sr. Bertrand who couldn’t find a lot of positive things to say about anything.
Sr. Bertrand was also rapidly losing her memory and would repeat herself half a dozen times in the same conversation. Sr. Amata – the queen of patience – would sit and listen to Sr. Bertrand and let her go on her various rampages. They were young sisters together and could talk about the old days.
Sr. Bruna was confined to bed by the end of 2003. There was talk of sending her to a nursing home – which is something we’ve never done but were learning other monasteries have begun to do. She was an avid reader; I remember that even from my librarian days. She was content to sit up in bed and read all day. But she didn’t retain anything she read, so she soon gave it up.
And Sr. Gertrude, who turned eighty-seven in the fall of 2003, was still sharp as a tack. Her hearing was beginning to go, which we all prayed would not get worse as she enjoyed listening to music more than any other recreation. She got indigestion a lot too, didn’t eat much, and was losing weight. But not her voice!
Sr. Agnes Mary had several stays in the infirmary and would joke that pharmaceuticals were keeping her alive. This was probably true for more than a few of us.
The end of 2003 found me in the infirmary too for only four days. I passed out one morning in the refectory, of all places, and scared poor Sr. Leah Marie half to death. Sr. Leah could never be accused of running in the cloister, but she took off and flew down the cloister to Mother’s office and banged on the door.
“Enter, enter…whatever is the matter?” Mother anxiously exclaimed.
“Sister Baruch fainted or something in the refectory; she’s lying on the floor by her table.”
When Mother arrived at the refectory, I was kind of sitting up and leaning onto Sr. Elijah Rose who was sitting on the floor next to me. She was taking my pulse and looking very concerned. My pulse was something like 35.
Sr. Elijah Rose was just coming into the refectory when she saw Sr. Leah Marie flying down the cloister and knew something was wrong. Mother and she exchanged words which I don’t remember, and Mother left immediately, and the next thing I recall was being hoisted onto a gurney by two very able bodied young men. Mother and Sr. Elijah Rose followed behind the ambulance to Brooklyn Hospital Center.
I think I got attended to more quickly because I came in by ambulance. They let the Sisters assist in moving my habit around to take blood pressure, and then, to help me undress behind one of those cubicle curtains, where I had an electrocardiogram. The whole thing felt very weird. After that, I was feeling much better and wanted to leave, but they insisted I wait till the ER doctor spoke to me. My pulse was back to the mid-fifties. Sr. Elijah Rose was very attentive and easily fell back into ER nurse mode till a real ER nurse told her to sit down.
“I’ll sit down when I know you’re takin care of this one here; no one’s been in here for over a half hour. How about a little water or something. Where is the cooler, I’ll get it myself.”
“Sit down, Sister. Someone will be with you shortly.”
“Yeah, I know what that means…three hours later,” Sr. Elijah Rose was spouting off to me, hoping I could get dressed and out of here.
“Calm down, Sister, I’m the one having the heart attack! In fact you can forget the water and bring me a bagel with a smear.” That was just what Sister needed to hear to make her laugh and calm her down. Mother sat silently on a folding chair in the cubicle, her eyes closed, fingering her rosary.
Well, I didn’t have a heart attack. Probably anemia or just really low blood pressure. The electrocardiogram didn’t show anything unusual. But I was told to take it easy for a few days, get plenty to drink, and check with my regular doctor if I got dizzy or passed out again.
I was so glad to get home after four hours in the Emergency Room. Mother insisted that I go to the infirmary for a few days. When I objected, she simply said: “I’m not suggesting this; Sister, I’m telling you.”
“Yes, Mother, I’m sorry. I’m truly grateful to be home and not in the hospital. I’ll go to the infirmary right away.” And that’s how it happened. I guess I really needed the rest, as I slept most of that day and the next day as well. I didn’t lose my appetite, however, so I knew I was just fine. My pulse was good, but always a little low in the early mornings. By the third day, I was ready to go back to my cell, but Mother insisted on one more day. So I stayed, but the novices came in the morning and we had our class there. After that the regular residents of the infirmary were in and out of my room like Grand Central Station. I joined them for their afternoon rosary, which was a first, actually; I always let them have that to themselves.
On the fourth day, I was able to leave and resume life as usual. Mother had already arranged for an appointment for me with Dr. Hirsch who was kind of the community doctor, now called a primary care physician. He recommended a cardiologist, Dr. Whitman, whom I hoped was named Walt, but it was George. And he scheduled me for a nuclear stress test – the following week, no less! I told him I didn’t need a stress test, let alone anything nuclear. But he assured me it was not painful, and I would not be radioactive; it was the first step to check for any blockages in the arteries around my heart.
“Do you experience any chest pains after exerting yourself?”
“No, Doctor, not at all.”(I try not to exert myself. Of course, if I’m close to being late for the Office, I may walk faster than usual, and I may be a little out of breath, but I didn’t really exert myself. It’s not our way! )
“Do you get pains in your legs at all? Or cramps? Or muscle spasms?”
“Well, I get cramps in the middle of the night sometimes, usually just in my right leg which is my genuflecting leg, you know.
“Your what?”
“My genuflecting leg; who know when we go in and out of the chapel we genuflect. But Sr. Joseph, our infirmarian, says it’s a lack of potassium, so I eat a banana, if we have them. “
“Yes, ah, well, I don’t think it’s from your genera-flexing.”
“Genuflecting.” (Oy, he’s got a doctorate in cardiology, and he doesn’t know what genuflecting is.)
“Yes, genu-flecting. We’d like to have blood work done a couple days before. See the receptionist out front for an appointment. And I’ll see you next week. In the
meantime, take it easy – and any severe chest pains, get to the Emergency Room.”
Dr. Whitman’s bedside manner was not going to win him any awards. And his receptionist was a charming young woman who seemed new on the job and struggled with English, and very confused that my name was not Mary Baruch, but Rebecca Feinstein. Everyone calls me Mary Baruch except BlueCross BlueShield. I left the office with more stress then when I went in, but I offered it all up, especially when I read the instructions for the stress test.
Sister Elijah Rose assured me I did not have to wear sweat pants or remove anything more than my scapular and long sleeves underneath my tunic. If I wanted to wear a night veil in place of the coiffure that would be permissible too. Sr. Paula would drive me to the doctor’s office where the procedure would take place, and would stay with me, so nothing to worry about.
That night at Vespers I realized that I had not been hospitalized since I had my tonsils removed over fifty years ago. I’ve been pretty healthy my whole life through, and so what’s a little stress test? It will make me schvitz probably, but I’ve lived thirty-three summers in a full veil and haven’t died of heat exhaustion…yet. Two years ago I lost my mother and brother on 9/11 and I live in a house with twenty-some other women – I shouldn’t have a little stress once in a while?
I must’ve looked out of sorts, as I made my way to the refectory after our meditation time, as Sr. Elijah Rose came up beside me, took my arm and whispered: “Everything’s gonna be just fine.”
I couldn’t reprimand her for speaking in the cloister as I was struck by her words. That’s the expression Eli would give in my dreams. Please, Lord, I don’t want any Seder plates crashing on the floor of the doctor’s office. Blessed be God.
D-Day arrived (Doctor-Day). I showed up twenty minutes early, having to show all the insurance information again, and assure them that my address and phone number hadn’t changed since last week, and I still had the same birthday. A nurse (I presume) came to get me. Sr. Paula went with me. I changed into a night veil, and removed my scapular and rolled my habit sleeves all the way up. I was given an IV in my arm which didn’t hurt, too much. I realized I’m still a big baby when it comes to things like this. My blood pressure was a little high, and I was settled in a kind of lounge chair, while someone took “pictures” of my heart.
The Middle Ages of Sister Mary Baruch (Sister Mary Baruch, O.P. Book 2) Page 23
