Saint Patrick\u2019s Day had been my mother\u2019s favorite holiday. It meant more than parades and parties; it was a celebration of her heritage. Like any Irish mother, she was fiercely proud of her roots. She kept a neat home, a beautiful garden, and took care of the birds in her yard. Her death a year earlier, though not unexpected, had left me grief-stricken, and I dreaded my first March 17 without her.<\/p>\n
One day in early February I was in a lawyer\u2019s office, where my sister, Maureen, and I were finalizing my mother\u2019s estate. I barely heard what the lawyer was saying, though. My thoughts were on Mother. I missed her so. The sound of papers rustling jolted me. \u201cI just have to make some copies,\u201d the lawyer told us. \u201cThen we\u2019re done here.\u201d<\/p>\n
After he left I turned to Maureen. \u201cI can\u2019t believe it\u2019s been a year,\u201d I said. Maureen was quiet. I quickly added, \u201cBut knowing her, she\u2019s probably flitting around up in heaven, cleaning, working in the garden, looking after the birds.\u201d Maureen grasped my hand. The lawyer came back. Maureen and I signed the final papers, hugged and said goodbye. \u201cTry to have a good Saint Paddy\u2019s, Kathy,\u201d Maureen said. \u201cShe probably misses us too, but you know she\u2019s with God.\u201d<\/p>\n
Yes<\/em>, I thought on the way home, Mother\u2019s at peace with the Lord<\/em>. If only I could feel at peace. I picked up the mail and pulled up the driveway. On top of the pile of envelopes was one addressed to me, from the Carmelite Friars. I opened it up and saw it was a Saint Patrick\u2019s Day card. In February?<\/em> I wondered. That\u2019s a little early.<\/em><\/p>\n I stared at the card before completely taking in the scene. A tall tree and flowers along a road, a wooden fence, a tiny cottage with birds on the window boxes. And as I read the words of the old Irish blessing, I could almost see Mother in that cottage, and hear her speak the words to me: \u201cMay the sun shine warm upon your face, the rains fall soft upon your fields and, until we meet again, may God hold you in the palm of his hand.\u201d<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" Saint Patrick\u2019s Day had been my mother\u2019s favorite holiday. It meant more than parades and parties; it was a celebration of her heritage. Like any Irish mother, she was fiercely proud of her roots. She kept a neat home, a beautiful garden, and took care of the birds in her yard. Her death a year […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":2,"featured_media":29226,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_acf_changed":false,"ep_exclude_from_search":false,"footnotes":""},"categories":[376],"tags":[156,58,51,70,49,72],"ppma_author":[1181],"class_list":["post-21136","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-managing-life-changes","tag-death","tag-guideposts","tag-inspirational-stories","tag-mother","tag-peace","tag-stories-of-faith"],"acf":[],"yoast_head":"\n