Do we end when we die? I think not.

It was a warm, sunny day near the end of May in 1956, when I walked up the driveway and saw my Mom chatting with a neighbor in our backyard.   I caught just a glimpse of their conversation and realized that my mother was being offered condolences.    I remember wondering who had died.   As soon as there was a moment of silence, I asked my mother, “who died, Mommy?”  Calmly she told me that my Grandmother had died.  She wasn’t crying and didn’t seem unduly upset, so I assumed that it was her mother-in-law, my Grandma Fries.  My Grandma Fries, who lived next door to us, had suffered a stroke several years earlier and had been an invalid for some time.   So, I assumed it that she had succumbed to the effects of her illness and said to my Mom, “Grandma Fries died?  She said, “No, it was Grandma O’Donnell who died.     I was shocked and stunned.  For some reason, Grandma O’Donnell didn’t seem ill to me.  I had heard that she had heart trouble but she was up and about most of the time and my 11 year old brain didn’t think she was “sick”.  I certainly didn’t believe that she was ready to die.  But what I remember the most about this experience and what has remained with me all these 60 years is the fact that my own mother was so relaxed and calm in the face of her own mother’s death.  I thought she would have been crying hysterically or would have been verbalizing the horrendous grief she was feeling.   After all, she had just lost her Mother!!   

It wasn’t until many years later, on November 19, 1998, that I experienced this same strange kind of calm after my own Mother’s passing.  Although I was sad and I missed her physical presence, I did not feel hopeless or deserted.   I had this overwhelming sense that my mother’s spirit was stronger and more powerful than it had ever been before.  I felt that my mother didn’t actually leave; she was still very much with me.  As a matter of fact, she has never left me.   She remains with me always.  It is actually a great gift.

I don’t pretend to know where we “go” when we die.  I don’t pretend to understand who or what God is.  I only know in my own heart that our essence - our core - our spirit - our soul continues to go on after we shed our outer, visible layers.   

 Dedicated to 

Grandma Margaret Mary Coleman O'Donnell -  B. 2-16-1887 (Middletown, Pa) ; D. 5-29-1956 ( Brooklyn, NY)

Mother Rita Mary Agnes O'Donnell Fries - B. 3-25-1917 (Brooklyn, NY) D. 11-19-1998 (Latham, NY) 

Cousin: Mary Ruth ( Mae)Purtell Feeney - B. 6-9-1931 (Middletown, Pa.) D. ? ( )

Joe Describes His Experience in the Battle of the Bulge

So I spoke to my cousin Noel Krebs yesterday.  He is my second cousin on the O'Donnell side of my family.  His mother, Anne O'Donnell Krebs, is the daughter of Frank and Nellie O'Donnell ( Frank was my Grandpa T.J. O'Donnell brother).   Tomorrow (Sunday) Noel is going to be connecting with a group that served in the Battle of the Bulge ( they must be elderly gentlemen) and he was asking me about my Uncle Joe O'Donnell's involvement in the Battle of Bulge.   I told him all I could remember off the top on my head and suggested that he should contact Joe's granddaughter, Kathleen Smith Balint for more details since she is now the keeper of the Joe O'Donnell binders.   Coincidentally,

(there are no coincidences are there?) I decided to clean out the file cabinet next to my computer and came across this one letter.  This letter was found undated and folder among my parents' memorabilia.  It was obviously copied over by my mother, Rita O’Donnell Fries since it is written in her handwriting.  (I could not find the original).  It is my Uncle's description of his experience during the Battle of the Bulge.   I am hopeful that someone in Noel's family will be able to print this and get it to him asap.  I know Noel rarely "does" computer or Facebook but the Frank and Nellie O'Donnell family was very prolific and there are descendants all over the place - hopefully some are near Goshen and on Facebook.  Hopefully they will find it in their hearts to get this to my dear cousin, Noel.

“Dear Folks,

This is Joey coming to you from Belgium.  I’m writing this in a Belgium home that the Bn. Got for another officer and myself for living.  Last nite I slept in a big feather bed about a foot thick at least, the first bed I slept in since I came over seas.  Oh boy! Did I sleep sound. Wow!! It was wonderful.

I guess I can tell you about what happened on the front.  We were called up with the 101^st Airborne Div. as shock troops to absorb all Jerry could throw at us.  We took up Defensive positions behind our fleeing allies – the next morning Jerry showed up.  We sat way up high on a mountain just inside a woodline,  Jerry crossed an open field in swarms and tried to take a small town in the valley.  I sat on the wood line with binoculars and watched.  Suddenly our artillery opened up –wham – bang- that was the first time Jerry knew we were there.  They were blown right off the earth.  Then we counter attacked and drove Jerry back.  – We captured prisoners of course and they said – the higher up said the Americans were 15 miles away and running back to the channel.   We stayed there in our defense position until 45,000 American troops could escape Jerry and reorganize.   General Montgomery had to order us back 7 miles to better positions.   Our general said the 82^nd never gave up ground and Monty said we would have a chance to get it back soon.  Well we got the opportunity sooner than we thought.  We made three main attacks.  My platoon spearheaded all three.  On the 1^st and 2^nd we rode tanks just like riding a bronco only having people shoot at you.  E. Company shined.  The first attack we got on the tanks all full of spirit.  These boys sure are a wild and reckless bunch, but they make swell soldiers.   I was full of fight just itching to drop some Jerries.   Well after the attack was over I felt different.  I hated war and I hated to attack.  We got shot up bad.  2 officers out of 6 were left.  Our platoons were half strength.  Next afternoon we pushed off again.  I didn’t like the idea of riding on those tanks.  You are like a duck on a pond.  I took the company over that night.  I was the only officer left.  The next morning a 1^st Lt. came in and rank held priority so he has the company.  The last attack was the worst I think.  We jumped off at dawn and were caught at the open fields just like we caught Jerry.  I laid in a hole for 3hrs.  It was snowing and I was all wet from crawling in the snow.  Each time I put my head up a rifle would zing or a shell from an 88 would drop in.   I prayed but hard and came out O.K.  Cold boy – it was rough.

It’s all over now so don’t worry.   I’m fit as a fiddle and know what the score is.   I did crazy things so does everyone.  That’s why we are winning the war.  I won’t stick my neck out too far – don’t worry.  I love you all.

                                                                                    Your son Joe”

(Joseph T. O’Donnell 2^nd Lieutenant)

Sharon and Me

I should be sleeping. It's late and I'm feeling so tired.  I have aches and pains from too much time sitting at the computer but I came across this photo and could not help myself.  I had to take a moment to reminisce and to share.   It is the 1950's and we are two young girls trying on what it feels like to be young women.  The photo was taken outside the back door of 91 Craig Avenue, the home that my Aunt Marie bought in Freeport, Long Island.  God only knows where we got those dresses and those hats, but we appear to be having a jolly good time, lipstick and all! 
It seems like just yesterday and at the same time, it seems like a million years ago.

Darkness in December

We entered one shop after another, each one more festively decorated than the one before it.   December had just begun and already our voices were overcome by the refrains of all the usual Christmas melodies.   I began to think there was a conspiracy to singe the message that “it’s the most wonderful time of the year” into the convoluted pathways of my brain.  There seemed to be a conspiracy to convince me that the words to the songs are true; to make me believe that nothing can go wrong during this marvelous, glittering season.   I would love to believe that December and the Christmas holidays will somehow shield me and those I love from sickness, death and all things painful, large and small.  But somehow, I’m just not buying it this year.  More than ever I feel vulnerable; I don’t feel especially protected by this “special, magical” time of year.  Maybe it’s the horrors of random shootings; maybe it’s my age and the all too frequent funerals I seem to be attending lately.    Whatever it is, I react to the message as I would to a bold lie.  I find it insulting and demeaning.

Then I walk out into the street and see the tree.  It is at the very end of a long, narrow wooden pier, jutting out into the angry lake.  It is late in the day and the sky is prematurely darkened by the ominous clouds blowing furiously this way and that.  It is a somber scene yet strangely I am pulled right towards it.   In spite of the cold, powerful wind, I walk quickly across the boards.  through the chilly mist.  I am looking down into the black, white caped waves on either side of me as my steps hasten and I realize I am almost running through the chilly mist.  Finally, I am pleased to be standing directly in front of this tree that is speaking so clearly to my heart.   It contains no fancy ornaments, and it is simple but not perfect.  The meager scattering of white bulbs with one larger white bulb at the top is just what I want it to be.   Somehow, it gives me solace and I can’t really explain why.   I think about my reaction and consider why I am reacting so strongly.   Maybe this scene represented truth to me.  The truth that people I knew and loved got sick and even died right smack in the midst of this “most wonderful time of the year”.  The truths that people still get tired and stressed and feel sad.  The fact that there is no holiday break to war and violence and terror.   And, the realities that people are still hungry and thirsty and lack the basic necessities.  This lone tree says to me I don’t have to pretend that all is jolly and bright.  It tells me that life is not perfect, and truth continues in spite of the dazzling lights and intense excitement that jitters my nerves and rattles my soul.   I like the simplicity of this tree, I like the truth it expresses, and I like the fact – even though it is a bit weird and maybe a bit depressing in and of itself - that I am old enough to acknowledge and be at peace with some of the darkness in December.

Rita on her Honeymoon

Came across this photo recently and thought it was cute.  It is a photo taken in October 1940 on my parents' honeymoon.  They went to Washington, DC and Mount Vernon and my mother had purchased a special honeymoon suit and a fancy-dancey honeymoon hat.  It is how things were done back in the day.  From what my Mom told me over the years she felt like she married the right man, and she had a marvelous time on her honeymoon.

Today is the 95th Birthday of Anne Rose O'Donnell

 

Anne wondered if she would be remembered after her death since she never married and had no children "of her own" (Actually, being an adopted mother, I hate this expression.)  I dare say, we - her nieces and nephews - were all her children and as long as I have breath in me, I will remember her.  I thank God that she was a part of my life.  Every time a movie begins, I think of her; every time I drink a milk shake I think of her; every time I enjoy Chinese food (especially Moo Goo Gai Pan), I think of her.  Every time I think of unconditional love, I think of her.  Thanks for everything, Aunt Anne. I love you and I miss you.

Anne was the 4th child born to Margaret (Coleman) and TJ O'Donnell on December 10th, 1920 in Brooklyn, NY..  She died on Oct. 7th 1994 and is buried in Friendsville Cemetery in Friendsville, Pa where, long ago, she left the "love of her life"  Eddie Moran.

One of Us

On the monumental occasion of our 50th Anniversary of our graduation from St. Vincent's Hospital and Medical Center, School of Nursing, NY, NY, my classmate, Patty Lynch Finch, (see photo of Patty - isn't she adorable!)

gave me a beautiful framed commemorative plaque with a  special poem by Brain Andreas, (artist, writer and storyteller).

Someday, the light will shine like

the sun through my skin & they will

say.  What have you done with your life?

& though there are many moments

I think I will remember, in the end,

I will be proud to say, I was one of us.