The Unknown Saints

It was in the late evening of November, 1998, when I received a call from my oldest sister that Mom was not doing well and would probably pass soon. Early the next morning, I was on my way to Menomonee Falls, Wisconsin. As I was driving up, I thought about the last time I visited Mom. I remember meeting Mom’s friend Kathy in the parking lot. I asked her how Mom was doing. She said she had not visited her for a couple of weeks because all Mom did was sit there and ask her to do things for her. Mom had always been a little ball of energy, running up and down the stairs of our tri-level home. She was always upbeat, maybe it was the Polka Band or the Country Western music on the radio that kept her going.

Now she had no energy because of congestive heart failure. The doctor told me that she could have lived at least five years longer if she had her heart valve replaced, but she was too weak now to undergo an operation. Mom had rejected the idea of surgery because her older sister had died during heart surgery.

The 5th of 11 children, Mom had come from a poor farm family. They were gentle folk. My grandfather was a very quiet, hard-working Irishman and grandma, who my mother took after, was a sweet little German lady.

Mom never seemed extra holy. She made sure we all went to Church every Sunday, but I never saw her praying the rosary or reading the bible. With taking care of six kids, she had little time for herself. I am sure she prayed every night because she was up until every child was home and in bed. Having the children spread over 22 years, there was always someone out late in our teen years. No matter what time you came home or in what condition, she was always there waiting and I am sure praying. She exemplified the words of St. Francis who said, “Preach the Gospel at all times, and if necessary use words.” Mom seldom corrected you when you did something wrong. When I had playboy magazines under my mattress, they just disappeared. When Elvis or figure skaters in skimpy outfits were on TV, she just came and turned it off.

It was a 7 hour trip to the nursing home where she had been admitted four days earlier. When I arrived, they were already cleaning the room. Mom had passed that morning and her body had already been taken to a nearby funeral home. When I arrived, both of my sisters were there looking at caskets. We chose the one with the angels on each corner, as it reminded us of her.

My older sister related how she received a phone call that morning saying Mom had died. It took her 35 minutes to get to the nursing home. When she arrived she was astonished to see Mom look so radiant and peaceful. Her eyes were wide open and very bright, and the pupils deep blue in color. This was extraordinary because Mom had brown eyes. My sister said,” I wish you could have seen her before they took her away.” I wish I had too.

My younger sister told me she had been up to see Mom the night before she passed. While there, Mom looked up and asked, “Who is that man standing behind you?” There was no one else physically in the room. We knew the Lord had been watching over her to take her home.

Maybe God reveals His presence to help the family in the grieving process or to strengthen their faith. His presence brings an unimaginable sense of peace.

I am sure there are many unknown saints in our midst today. Think about it. Have there been unknown saints in your life? These saints are usually taken for granted, but God knows them and recognizes them. The COVID-19 pandemic has given us many potential saints, people who give of themselves so that others may live.

John 15: 12-13

My command is this: Love each other as I have loved you. Greater love has no one than this: to lay down one’s life for one’s friends.

Loving care givers see things most of us do not. Encourage them to share their experiences. God wants all of us to know He is real and is present in our world today. So, if you have seen the Lord, share the encounter with those around you. By sharing your encounters with God, it gives hope to those who do not see or are unaware of His divine interventions in our everyday lives.

Clarence Gilles