I remember the loneliness after my stroke 40 years ago — it was an aching knot in my stomach. I was 21 and had been professed as a Daughter of St Paul for only a year.
After what was supposed to have been a simple outpatient operation, my doctor explained to me that I had suffered a stroke, and I was wheeled from my hospital room down a long, bright hallway, toward a different building. I felt so alone and wondered if my Sisters would know where to find me. Looking up, at the end of the corridor stood Sister Concetta, ice cream in hand, with the quiet assurance that I would be okay; Sister Margaret Edward was already waiting for me in my new room.
From that moment, I learned that community would meet me at every turn: not to fix everything, but to be with me through it. Long dark hallways have come and gone throughout the years—life happens. And each time someone from the community has been there, simply staying with me through it and reminding me that I will never be alone. My other strong community moment is from my Silver Jubilee. As I was processing into the chapel for the Jubilee Mass, I was surprised by tears. Lots of them. I was just so grateful for my Sisters and for my community. And still am.
