by Sr. Prisca Ovat, MMM 05/10/2021
Returning to my first mission, I found myself taking up the responsibility for the palliative clinic. This was a new adventure, and with so much energy, I plunged into work head-on. I never saw what awaited. At first, the activities went on smoothly. Then, the apostolate began to manifest itself through a series of deaths. I witnessed the departure of three patients within one week. As I struggled to come to terms with this painful reality, a young lady in her early forties, who dropped out of school due to her illness, was diagnosed with stage IV breast cancer. At this point, I lost it. My first reaction was to quit the job.
By Sr. Noeleen Mooney, MMM, Friday 3rd September 2021
Walking through any town in Ireland I am struck by the overflowing litter bins, the sticky chewing gum on the cement, not to mention the various hues of plastic bags which still festoon the hedges and ditches in the surrounding countryside.
Sr Sheila Campbell MMM, 3rd September 2021
It was quite a narrow bridge. It spanned a deep crevice where a fast-flowing stream jumped and burbled over rocky stones. No room for a car here or any other form of outer shell to protect me. I had to cross on foot, and alone.
By Sr. Noeleen Mooney, MMM, Friday 3rd September 2021
Walking through any town in Ireland I am struck by the overflowing litter bins, the sticky chewing gum on the cement, not to mention the various hues of plastic bags which still festoon the hedges and ditches in the surrounding countryside.
I have a longing for the semi-desert in Tanzania where I lived for many years. The throwaway age hasn’t reached there yet. Nothing is disposable, it is almost always reusable. An empty bottle, or plastic container (especially if it has a lid) is a priceless treasure. It is used for carrying water, milk, kerosene or cooking oil.
I marvel at small children who balance such containers on their heads, leaving their hands free for other purposes – like holding long sticks of sugar cane, which they chew with relish.
Small boys spend the years before going to school as shepherds. They take their flocks of cows, sheep and goats from place to place in search of pasture. They can often be seen constructing the most marvelous toys from bottle tops, pieces of tin cans, nails, sticks and the occasional piece of car tyre. I have even seen model airplanes, as there is an airstrip nearby, used by the flying doctor service. The boys certainly have great powers of observation and great manual dexterity for creating toys out of things that you or I would certainly throw away.
It affects my way of looking at things here in Ireland. It is always a struggle to throw away something that I know would have other possible uses. But then I cannot send such things to Tanzania. Travel baggage restrictions take care of that. I do have this secret desire to line the bottom of a suitcase with as many plastic bags as possible, to share and help to carry at least some of the loads of my friends.
OBS: This was an audio recording for RTE Radio 1: A Living Word.
Sr Sheila Campbell MMM, 3rd September 2021
It was quite a narrow bridge. It spanned a deep crevice where a fast-flowing stream jumped and burbled over rocky stones. No room for a car here or any other form of outer shell to protect me. I had to cross on foot, and alone.
The day seemed pleasant enough. The sun was shining and a warm breeze caressed my cheeks. And yet I could not get rid of that sense of foreboding. There was danger ahead, just around the bend in the path. I panicked. “I can’t do this!”, I whispered to myself. “Yes, you can”, a more sensible voice prevailed. And so, I stepped forward, one step at a time, relying on God knows what to protect me.
This bridge is the Bridge of Death that awaits me. I don’t even want to write about it! It is something I will face alone and it is just ahead of me on life’s journey. I can’t escape it. It is there. Can I listen to the more sensible voice that reassures me? As time slips by, closer and closer to the date, I am forced to look ahead and face my fears.
Sometimes religious platitudes fail. “May he/she rest in peace” gets me nowhere. The clinging to God is more primal, a stretching of my whole body and spirit to the Unknown who knows me through and through – and who loves me. Yes, this I can trust. I walk towards the future, panicking yes, but deeper than that, hopeful and even with a strange sense of joy in my heart.
