Marian Helper Winter 2015-2016

M arian H elper • W inter 2015-16 •  marian.org 15 “P ray for him.” When I was a child, these were the three words my mother, Christine, always spoke whenever my four siblings and I asked what had happened to my father. Before their separation, both of my parents were devout Catholics. They brought us to Church, had all five of us baptized, were active in prayer groups and the Church community, donated time and money, and often prayed the Rosary. But just before I started kindergarten at Sacred Heart School in Pittsfield, Massachusetts, my father’s unchecked anger and lifestyle metamorphosed him into a highly unpredictable stranger, to say the least. Friends and family members encouraged him to seek help, but he refused. His refusals were often followed by heightened cruelty towards my mother, so people stopped interfering. We were isolated. My mother, afraid his violence would metastasize and infect us all, asked her parish priest what she should do. Worried that their marriage was at stake and not fully understanding my father’s illness, the priest told her to “go home, and be a good wife.” He later apologized. But by the time my mother summoned the courage to leave, we’d lost our house, two cars, and my parents’ savings. We went from a “model” middle-class family to one that was splintered and borderline-destitute. Now alone with five children in an unfamiliar neigh- borhood, my mother made it a priority that we continue our Catholic faith and education. There were several obstacles to this goal: We’d lost the cars; how would we get to Mass? We’d lost our savings; how would we pay for Catholic schooling, uniforms, and sacraments? In the beginning, it was difficult, but my mother made it work. To get to Mass at St. Mary the Morning Star, she would gently tuck her three smaller children inside of a little red wagon, myself included, and pull the wagon behind her while my two older siblings fol- lowed closely behind. She also taught catechism so that her children would have Catholic school scholarships. And when a little red wagon and scholarships weren’t enough, she relied on the kindness of friends she had met through the Church and strangers who stocked the food pantry. Though she struggled, she made prayer a vital part of our lives. Before each meal, we said Grace, even on nights she refused to eat until all of us were fed. There was never a morning she didn’t bless us before we got on the school bus or a night she didn’t kiss each forehead and say, “St. Michael be in your dreams.” She instilled the belief that if we asked for God’s love, we would receive it. And she was an endless reminder of it. And, despite her pain at both his abuse and absence, she has told us each day to pray f or my father. She forgave him, because she understood the best way to teach is to lead, and the best way to heal is to love. She wanted us all to understand that forgiveness, though difficult at times, is a necessary leap of faith, and that faith, love, hope, and forgiveness are all interchange- able words. Eventually, my mother met worshippers while at a Healing Mass a t the National Shrine of The Divine Mercy w ho reached out to my family, provided us with a used car, and helped us find a better home. If it hadn’t been for their help in my youth, my life could have been consumed by violence and addiction, and, like my father, I could be absent from my loved ones’ lives. Today, my mother watches as her grandchildren, my nieces and nephew, pull each other around in the little red wagon in her backyard. She blesses their fore- heads before they leave, and, if they spend the night at Nana’s, kisses their foreheads, saying, “St. Michael be in your dreams” at night. She still prays for my father, though she forgave him long ago. She does this so he can forgive himself, because, when you love someone, you don’t give up on that. Breanne Reilly is a staff writer at the Marian Helpers Center in Stockbridge, Massachusetts. THREE LITTLE WORDS By Breanne Reilly F amily matters — the story of a daughter MH