I needed a kind word more than bread

Luky;
There are two women in my life whom I remember with love and gratitude, though they barely know me. The year before I first expected my second daughter I had a miscarriage, then no sooner did my second daughter announce her impending arrival than the entire list of symptoms I had experienced with the miscarriage began to recur. This time I was more clever. I telephoned the doctor and went to bed. He told my family to put bricks under the foot of the bed and ordered me to stay there until forty-eight hours after the last cramp.


In bed for a full five weeks
I stayed in bed for a full five weeks, and each time the symptoms recurred I'd repair to bed again. I felt so terrible that when I got up to peel the potatoes for dinner, I'd crawl back into bed, out for the count until suppertime. I read so many books that for the first and only time in my life I grew tired of reading. One day, a month before my daughter was born, I dragged myself to a cafe and asked for a cold drink, feeling that I'd faint if I didn't get one on the double. The shop woman took one look at me, sat me down, opened a cold drink, produced a glass and a straw and let me have it there.


I remember cold drinks cost seventeen cents at the time. When I went to pay, the woman gave me a radiant smile and said: "That one was on the house!" She has forgotten about the incident, I'm sure, but I haven't. Eleven years later it had a beautiful sequel. I went to Mass one evening when who should be called up to be received into the Church but that woman. I had prayed for her often since the day she gave me the drink, and I felt sure that it was her charity to me that day and other incidents like it which only God may know about which eventually led her to the beauty of the worship in the Church.


The local library
The second woman did not believe in God at all, having come from an intellectual family where philosophers had replaced him. Her little gesture towards me occurred the following year. My husband Sean had suffered a coronary thrombosis, and I immediately got a job after some eleven years of blissful unemployment. I worked at the local library and our children were small, ranging in ages from eleven years down to ten months, all five of them. 


One of my sons used to scream and throw himself on the ground each time I went out to work. Sean was getting weaker by the day and had to be taken to the bathroom in a wheelchair. I used to stand there, stamping those books and wondering if he'd be alive when I'd get home. Each time I looked into the mirror I saw a new wrinkle.


Golden glow
Then that woman who did not believe in God came into the library. She only knew me through a mutual friend, but she took one look at me and said: "From now on I want you to bring all those children to me every day. I'll look after them for you. You cannot run a home and young family and a job at the same time." 
I didn't take her up on the offer but her words and the look of concern in her eye cast a golden glow over my afternoon.


A kind word more than bread
She came to the funeral of a friend and sat behind me in Church. How I prayed for her. People have done me bigger favours than those two women did, but these two were there when I had been brought low and when I needed a kind word more than bread. Thanks to them I discovered why Christ said that a glass of water given in His Name was worth much.

Catherine Nicolette
I was the eleven year old at that time. I remember the time as a confusing and difficult one. Mom went out to work, and we children at home felt rudderless. The children started to look to me as I was the eldest, and I hid all the fears and tears which seemed to continually quiver behind my eyes. While Mom was at work, I remember helping to feed Dad who lay helpless and weak in his bed. Then I would feed the baby in her cot. After that I would make sure my siblings got the care they needed, and try to clean the house as best I could. 


One day I went in to the room to see the sweetest sight; my dear Dad, so ill, was lying sleeping with his face turned towards the baby's cot. My little sister was sleeping with her face turned towards him. Her tiny fingers were entwined in Dad's large hand which was gaunt after his weight loss and suffering. They both slept deeply and trustfully. I smiled at them and went back to trying to set the house to rights as best my little eleven year hands could before Mom came home.


My dear sister and Dad always had a special bond and understanding of each other. I could well understand it. When Dad so nearly died that time, she would cry until I would lay her in her cot so she could hold the hand of our hero. I often believe that our family's love helped Dad to heal, and Mom to manage the herculean labour of keeping home and hearthfire burning until Dad finally recovered.


Many a parent is an unsung hero...


*Photograph taken by Catherine Nicolette. Please feel free to use copyright free
for any worthy purpose