All Is Grace_ A Ragamuffin Memoir - Brennan Manning [41]
I hold a memory of Ma during the time I was speaking at St. Denis Catholic Church on the west side of Chicago. We were having a five-day meeting starting on Sunday morning and concluding on Thursday evening. Finding a sitter for Edward was difficult, but Ma came to several services, something that meant the world to me. My message on Tuesday was a challenge to be more kind and compassionate and loving to your neighbor.
Later that day, I was visiting with Ma in her home and she said, “Richie [she always called me Richie], I’ve gotta have more of that kindness toward people. Please pray for me.” Just then the telephone rang. Ma answered it and talked into the receiver with cupped hands.
When she hung up the phone, I asked, “Who was that?”
I will never forget her response: “That was my niece; she’s such a pain in the ass. See what I mean, Richie, you gotta pray for me!”
“You bet, Ma!”
Mom, Dad, Frances “Ma” Brennan, me, and Geraldine
One evening I had been speaking in Baton Rouge, Louisiana, and returned home to New Orleans exhausted around 10:00 p.m. As I walked in the door, I saw the red light on the answering machine blinking. The recorded voice was soft but tense: “Mrs. Brennan is dying. Her one request is to see you.” I couldn’t get a flight out that night, so I caught the first to Chicago the next morning. A taxi took me farther into San Pierre, Indiana, to the Little Sisters of Mary nursing home.
Ma had suffered a dizzy spell one day and fell and broke her hip. That day was the end of her in-home care of Edward. It was imperative to find a place for him while she recovered. With the help of some friends, I discovered a nursing facility run by the Little Sisters of Mary. As a gift to all of us, they were gracious enough to take Edward in as well. Edward required almost around-the-clock attention. At the conclusion of her therapy, Ma decided to sell the house she’d known for years and stay with Edward and the Little Sisters for good. If Edward’s care was beyond her reach, at least his body could be close by.
I finally arrived at the nursing home around 9:00 p.m. As I entered her room, a nun was sitting beside the bed, praying for my ninety-one-year-old second mother. Ma weighed maybe sixty pounds by that point. “She’s been asking for you, waiting for you.” Ma didn’t just love me; she liked me, enough, I believe, to wait until I arrived to say good-bye. I moved toward her bed, and she pointed to her lips. I sensed her request. I leaned in and kissed Ma on the lips. She whispered, “More.” I kissed her a second time, and again she smiled and said, “More.”
I kissed my feisty hetaira woman three times, probably to the shock of the nun nearby. I didn’t care. I don’t know what all a kiss holds, but that night I hoped ours held grace sufficient for the next step in Ma’s journey. For the next hour and a half I sat and watched the faint rise and fall of her chest, and then she was finished. I do not believe death gained a victory in that moment; I believe Ma was fully and finally home. But I did feel death’s sting on this side of life. I believed I would see Ma again, but until then I had lost a mother and a friend.
I’ve often wondered about those three kisses in Ma’s last moments. I choose to view them much like Jesus’ repeated question to Peter—“Do you love me?” If that’s what Ma Brennan was asking, then I trust my lips provided the answer—“You bet, Ma!”
Edward didn’t live long after Ma died. Her voice was no longer in his room but rather in another place,