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Folding a Fitted Sheet
When I was about 13, I met a most remarkable family. They were camping at my father’s campground and would become a crucial part of my world for the next 50 years.
Their older son — The Irishman — and I shared a friendship until he died from complications of COVID in December of 2020. Their older daughter became one of my closest friends and we elevated each other to sisters-of-the-heart status decades ago. And their mom took me — the motherless child — under her wing time after time.
Why am I telling you all this? Because last week I traveled back to New Jersey to pay my last respects to this wonderful woman who cared about me when I felt alone and adrift.
Motherless. This lost connection between we who exist and the Human who grew us from scratch and birthed us into that existence can rarely be soothed. Is there any other word that encompasses such a deep void in our soul?
I remember watching in awe as this magical woman selflessly cared for her family. She cooked delicious meals for them — I still have her recipe for Beef Stroganoff made from Campbell’s tomato bisque soup. She was a devout Catholic but even more than that — she embodied the compassion and love so many Christians strive for but fail at. She was tough love if she had to be — but the love was always…
