Cousin Betty

 

 

"Family means no one gets left behind or forgotten"

First off, I am not a Nun. Nor am I a female. In fact, I am not even a Catholic. I did however, spend some time in a convent. They were some of the best days of my life, mostly because of my cousin, Betty.

First some family history. My family comes from a long line of Lutherans. One of my great aunts (on my Mother's side) married a man who was of the Catholic faith. They had one daughter, who they raised Catholic. This young girl, Betty, believed strongly in the principles of the Catholic church. So much so, she decided to dedicate her life to serving others by joining the Sisters of Mercy. As a young boy, I can remember this very nice lady coming to our house at Christmas time, dressed in the full habit of a nun. Over the years, this nice lady and I became close - very, very close. She was not only my cousin, she was my friend.

In 1969, I received orders from the Navy to attend service school in Pensacola, Florida. After many years serving at an order in Baltimore, my cousin Betty had recently transferred to the Sisters of Mercy order in Pensacola. She taught English at the Catholic High School and lived in a convent with other sisters.

When I first arrived in Pensacola, Betty insisted that I spend time at the convent. I had never been to a place so welcoming. When you came in the front door, it was like walking into a warm hug. The sisters really enjoyed it when I brought one of my shipmates with for a visit. The young man I usually brought with me was Ira. Ira was  a100% New York City Jewish boy, and he loved the nuns as much as they loved him. Most Sundays, Ira and I would be invited over to have dinner at the convent. After the meal, when some of the nuns would retreat to the basement to watch football, play 500, drink beer and maybe smoke a cigarette or two, Ira and I would be with them. My cousin Betty was always smack dab in the middle of the chaos.  It was great fun and I will never forget it.

I was stationed in Pensacola twice while on active duty. Both times, cousin Betty was there for me as family, as my friend. We did wonderful things, we had great times. It was a special time in a special place for both of us. After leaving active duty and joining the reserves, I spent two weeks training in Pensacola. By that time, my great Aunt Marietta had moved to Pensacola to be closer to Betty. One day I asked Betty if she and Aunt Marietta would like to go to Mustin Beach Officer's Club for dinner. Mustin Beach Officer's Club was one of the marque eating places in all of Pensacola. Betty had never been there, and she could hardly contain her excitement. I made reservations, the ladies got "dressed to the nines" and we spent a wonderful evening dining and laughing at Mustin Beach. It was a cherished time not to be forgotten.

Betty always called me "cuz" with that acquired southern accent. She came home to attend our wedding, came home every year to watch our kids grow, and would visit extended family whenever she had the opportunity. I never met a person who loved family more than Betty. She was a tireless servant to others, but for her family, she saved her best.

Betty retired from teaching and cut back on her activities as she was not feeling up to par. She decided to transfer back to Baltimore as her mission in Pensacola was done and she wanted to spend her last years where she first started her ministry. One day we received a call from a nun where Betty was staying in Baltimore. Betty was dying. She had Pancreatic Cancer. That news hit me like someone took all the wind out of my lungs.

Because of Betty's love for family, she wanted to come home one last time. She was so sick, she could barely stand. But come home she did. I went to the airport to pick her up. Since it was before 9/11, I could go directly to the gate to greet her. The plane emptied out and there was no Betty. Finally, an attendant went on board with a wheel chair and out came my cousin. Even though I knew she was very sick, I was not prepared to see how this dreaded disease had ravaged her. I wheeled her to the car, lifted her in, and we headed to my parent's house. About halfway there, I needed to stop the car so Betty could lean out the door and vomit. As happy as I was for her to come home, I really was doubting the wisdom in doing so.

I don't know if it was the healing power of home, or just the Lord allowing one more family time with Betty. In the week she was here, she was almost healthy. We laughed, told old stories, hugged, and yes, sometimes cried. On the day she was to leave, she insisted on taking a taxi to the airport. We all said our good-byes in the driveway. She hugged me, looked me squarely in the eyes and said "I will see you again, cuz". Yes, cuz, you will. But it will be a better place - a much, much better place.