GRACIOSA 1959

"But behind all your stories is always your mother's story, because hers is where yours begins." - Mitch Albom

My mother, Eva. She must have been fifteen here.

After college in the 1960s, she entered the convent of the Sisters Servants of the Holy Spirit — the SSpS — and stayed as a novice for six months. It was not the life meant for her.

This was one part of her story I knew very little about. I discovered recently, however, that several of her convent batchmates who continued in the religious life are still alive.

I went to visit them one day, and I was so moved by the sight of these nuns — so faithful, so joyful, so content living their vocation. Many of them are now in their eighties. The anecdotes about my mother were hilarious. She was so loved by them.

When I first met them, their touch was so warm and urgent. Almost gripping me. Almost unbelieving that I was Eva's daughter. I was some kind of a figment of Eva — not a ghost, but a real surprise of a part of Eva come alive. They scrutinized my face for the parts that resembled her most. The warmth of their embrace, the touch of their hands to mine — I felt they were looking for her and loving the connection back to Eva. After more than fifty-five years, they saw her again in me.

When I stay with them, they usually have me in the guest room next to a tiny prayer room which holds the Tabernacle. In the quiet of those nights, I was always in awe of the links my mother made for me. The choices she made in life are still reaching out above like a protective tree.

My mother's story has not ended yet.

It is only beginning to be told.