I won't have time to continue my "Children of the Heart" Blog entry tonight but I did want to take a minute to wish my Mom a Heavenly Happy Birthday. She was born on March 25, 1917 in Brooklyn, NY and today is her 93rd birthday. I hope with all my heart that somewhere out there she is joyously celebrating and is surrounded with nothing but pure love and happiness.
Bob & I went up to Siena College's Chapel today for the 12:30pm Mass in honor of my Mom's birthday. When the priest announced that today was the feast of the Annunciation, I remembered how pleased my Mom was to have been born on this special feast day of Our Lady. Just like Mary said "yes" to an outrageous proposition, my own Mother couldn't say "no" to anyone.
Love,
Mary - proud to be the oldest daughter (me - Mary Beth Fries Buchner) of the oldest daughter (Rita Mary Agnes O'Donnell Fries) of the oldest daughter (Margaret Mary Coleman O'Donnell).
Many years ago when I was a very young nurse, I worked in the Intensive Care Unit. I remember one particular day when I had been assigned to care for a little girl who had just come back from major heart surgery. After getting all the typical post-surgical tubes, wires, catheters, and IV fluids, etc. connected up and situated properly, another nurse covered for me for a short time so I could go to the waiting area to bring the parents back to the ICU to see their child. As I walked towards them, I noticed the anxious expression on their faces. Dear God, I said to myself, wait till they see how pale and fragile their little girl looks. They're going to be terrified when they see all those tubes and wires. For some reason, on the short walk from the waiting room back to the ICU, one of the parents happened to mention that their child was adopted. I don't remember the rest of the conversation but I do remember that I felt a real sense of relief when I heard it. I felt this relief because - at the time - I was under the mistaken belief that they wouldn't be quite so nervous since their child was adopted and not "their own". In a matter of a few short years, I found out first hand that I had never been so wrong about anything in my life. No matter how your children come to you, they are your "own children". You love them as dearly whether they come out of your womb or grow in your heart. Where they are concerned, you suffer as much joy and as much sorrow as any other parent. .......................to be continued
After approximately two hours and several visits to the corner port-a-potty (a diuretic will do that for you), we began our journey up 5th Avenue. A marvelous feeling feels your soul as you turn the corner of 45th Street and start moving northward. There is no better way to travel up 5th Avenue, i.e., marching to the sounds of bagpipes, right smack in the middle of this famous Manhattan street, the warmth of the sun on your face, your ears ringing with the cheers of the jovial crowds lining the sidewalks. But for me, this year felt different than all the others. There was a certain sadness in the air. Shortly before we started to march, I had been given a pin to wear and I had attached it to my treasured nursing school cape just below the gold StVH pin which professes to the world the virtues of St. Vincent's nurses - Patience, Fortitude and Perseverance. I made sure my button was on straight, even though my heart felt a bit crooked as I read its' message again - Save St. Vincent's. My mind is saying, Can this be real, has it actually come down to this? Is this, "our"magnificent major Medical Center, really finished? Sure, I was kept abreast of the news and I knew things were dire. Nonetheless, it took the incongruity of this day to bring my deepest feelings to the surface. Here we were on this pictureperfect St. Patrick's Day. I had never marched in better weather and the crowds were larger and more festive that ever. But the sun and the warmth, and the revelry and celebration felt almost unfitting to me. We did not wear green carnations this year and the absence of a corsage felt appropriate. Black arm bands might have been more suitable at this particular time in the history of St. Vincent's. It feels to me like a time of grief and mourning. As we proceed up 5th Avenue, the title of a movie surfaces in my consciousness - Dead Man Walking. Some of the spectators shout out supportive words and express sentiments of condolences as we march by. I heard one particular young woman yell out loud and clear, St. Vincent's, Tell them to show you the green. Yes, I think, why don't they do that? Why don't they get the money from somewhere? Hasn't St. Vincent's Hospital and Medical Center done enough for this city? Don't we deserve to be rescued? When we reach the famed Cathedral of St. Patrick and throw back the right side of our capes as a gesture of respect something unusual happens. I've marched quite a few times in the past and I'd never seen anything quite like this before. Archbishop Timothy Dolan lets out a sigh when he sees us approaching, and he steps down from the sidewalk and out into the street to greet us. We stop marching. Oh, St. Vincent's, he murmurs sadly as he grabs our hands and walks among us. I shake his hand and hear him announce that every day he lights a candle and prays to St. Jude for St. Vincent's Hospital. I'm feeling really sad, sort of like I'm at the wake of a loved one. But then again, I guess in a way I am. Just as the Archbishop turns to resume his place on the sidewalk a photography runs up and asks him if he would mind standing in the center of our school banner to have a photo taken. He obliges, the photo is taken, and this poignant moment is over. We start moving again. The Bagpipers are way ahead of us now so we march on in silence; too far behind to catch up easily. I think to myself, doesn't this seem appropriate right now - marching on in silence. Later on in the parade or maybe it was earlier, I can't say for sure another photographer jumps out in front of us asking, Is this the hospital that is closing? This makes us noteworthy I guess, because he, too, wants to take our picture. We stop very briefly for this photo and then continue our march. Somewhere around 70th Street I start feeling really tired. I shouldn't feel this tired, I think, I walk a brisk 3 miles almost every day. I come to the conclusion that this fatigue is much more than physical. I turn to the woman marching beside me. I don't even know her name but I'm comforted by the knowledge that we are all a part of this special sisterhood -we are the cream of the crop - the nurses of St. Vincent's. I ask her what street the parade ends hoping to hear something different even though I'm sure we go all the way up to 88th Street. She can see the weariness in my face and says, You know, you can drop out anytime. My answer is immediate and emphatic, Oh no, I could never do that. I know in my heart thatI may be tired and I may be sad, but I'm definitely in it to the end.
Once again I was indecisive about marching in this year's St. Patrick's Day parade. After holding our school banner in last year's parade, I felt marching again might seem a bit anticlimactic for me. After all I had reached the pinnacle, and really, where can you go from there? But as the day got closer all the ducks lined up in a row and too many variables started to fall into place. There was absolutely no reason not to go and I began to see my journey down to New York City as inevitable. I may sound a bit dramatic, but it seemed to be in the cards - my destiny. I ordered my Amtrak ticket on line and given my age (I was just recently dubbed Ms. Medicare 2010 by a fellow classmate), I was able to make the round trip from Albany for a mere $62 dollars. Since I had a very kind invitation to visit with a dear friend who lives in Manhattan, I went downstate on the 16th. The train was right on schedule, the day was picture perfect, and the scenery was like something out of The Sound of Music - mountains, river, cloudless blue sky. I walked from Penn Station to my friend's place in Peter Cooper Village - thank God for suitcases on wheels - and we spent a lovely afternoon and evening together browsing the thrift shops and having dinner at one of her favorite Italian restaurants. The next morning I decided to save my energy for the parade so I hopped on the uptown bus and got a transfer crosstown at 42nd Street. I purposely tried to arrive later than the stated meeting time of 12:10 pm at the designated gathering spot on 45th Street between Madison and 5th. My past experience taught me that the time spent waiting to march can be excruciatingly long especially for someone who didn't sit still even in utero. But when I jumped off the bus at 42nd Street and Madison Ave, it was already 12:30 pm and I was beginning to get a little nervous. As I passed 43rd and 44th Streets, I noticed with increasing anxiety that both these side streets had already been cleared of marchers. I started to envision myself running up 5th Avenue in an attempt to catch the Alumnae of St. Vincent's Hospital School of Nursing but as I reached the corner of Madison and 45th and slipped through the blockade, I saw the beautiful sight of those distinctive three pointed white caps. Glory be to St. Patrick, I wasn't too late. I walked into the center of these wonderful women and and was greeted by a fellow classmate, Maureen McLoughlin Early, and I immediately felt at home. Good thing I felt right at home because I was going to be there for quite awhile. - to be continued
At the very last second I decided to march in the New York City St. Patrick's Day parade as I really wanted to represent the Class of 1965, St. Vincent's Hospital School of Nursing. I took the Amtrak train out of Albany -Rensselaer Station on Tuesday morning and stayed overnight with a dear friend, Mary Ann, who lives in Manhattan. Just got home on Thursday afternoon and have been catching up on my rest, household responsibilities, etc. I will get back to my blog tomorrow and I'll tell you a bit more about the parade. Mary Beth
Recently I have felt the need to reconnect with people from my past life - people that were special to me; people that I loved. Some people might not understand my need to do this reconnecting. But to me it feels essential. For a number of reasons many of these people are no longer a part of my everyday life. Life moves forward; water flows under the bridge. Certain doors close so that others may open. Nonetheless as I get older, I realize that love is truly the most wonderful gift of all and I have this tremendous need to say Thank You to all those people who taught me what it means to love and be loved. Maybe I'm silly, maybe I'm overly sentimental, but I don't care. Today I read the following quote by Rev. John Powell: "The essential sadness is to go through life without loving. But it would be almost equally sad to go through life and leave this world without ever telling those you loved that you had loved them." I agree with Rev. John Powell and I guess this is where my need to reconnect stems from. I want the people who were important to me to know they were important to me. I don't want to leave this world without telling those I loved that I loved them. Mary
When my cousins, Sharon and Diane and I were adolescents, Aunt Anne -who always loved to play games - introduced us to a cute little fortune telling game using a deck of cards. You would line up the 4 Kings on the floor or table and name each one after a guy you liked or thought liked you. Usually one of the Kings was named Mr. X and that was someone that you hadn't even met yet. So, for example, the King of Hearts might be named Bob; the King of Spades, Joe; the King of Clubs, Donnie; and the King of Diamonds, Mr. X. Then the participants would come up with questions like the following: Who likes me the most?; Who is going to kiss me?; Who is going to quickly disappear from my life?; Who will I marry?, etc. You would hold the rest of the deck in your hands and flip cards over onto each King: when the suite of the card matched the suite of the King, you would have the answer to that question. It was a silly little game but we would have great fun laughing and teasing each other about the "men" in our lives. When it was Aunt Anne's turn to pick the Kings, she would always name one of the Kings, Eddie. The one you liked the most would usually was assigned to be the King of Hearts. This was the way I first learned the story of Eddie.
Anne Rose O'Donnell was born at 662 Halsey Street in Brooklyn on Dec. 10th, 1920. She was the fourth daughter born to Margaret Coleman and T.J. O'Donnell. Throughout her childhood and youth Anne would spend her summers at her Grandma Hannah (Byrne) Coleman's aka, Hannah Work Coleman's home in the beautiful hills of a tiny little hamlet known as Friendsville, Pennsylvania. Anne absolutely loved going up to "the country" as she called it; she shared how wonderful it was to be away from the heat and the congestion of the city streets and roaming instead through the lush and green countryside of Pennsylvania. As she grew from a child into a young, vibrant woman, the calls of the square dances that were held in the Friendsville Church Hall began to beckon her. It was then that Annie met a handsome young farmer by the name of Eddie. From all the descriptions I have ever heard from Anne and other family members, it was love at first sight. The couple had a great time together in this idyllic setting; Eddie took Anne out in his car and taught her to drive and they spent all their free time together. Before you knew it the summer had flown by and it was time to say Good-bye. Annie had to go back to her life and responsibilities in the city.
But every June, when the warm weather arrived and Annie returned to the country, Eddie, would be waiting with open arms. Anne graduated from Franklin K. Lane High School and took a job at Talbot Bird Insurance Company in Manhattan, but even though certain things changed, she would still spend her vacations up in Friendsville. On October 19, 1940, when Annie was 19 years old, Eddie Moran, came down to Brooklyn to escort her to my parents wedding at Our Lady of Good Counsel Church. There is a picture of this handsome looking couple - Anne O'Donnell and Eddie Moran - sitting together at Rita and Charlie's luncheon wedding reception in the the rooftop solarium of the Hotel Granada in Brooklyn. They appeared to be made for each other and most people would have assumed that they might be the next ones to the altar.
One summer, after several years had passed, when Anne returned to the country, she was greeted with the heartbreaking news that Eddie was engaged to be married. Nonetheless, Eddie heard of Annie's arrival and came to see her. When he saw his Annie once again, he discovered that his feelings for her were as strong as ever, he still loved her very much. He expressed his love and told her that if she would consent to be his wife, he was ready to break his engagement and marry her instead. When Aunt Anne told me the story she said that she thought that this would have been a terrible thing to do. He had gotten engaged to someone else and obviously he must have had deep feelings for this other woman also. Also, Aunt Anne was concerned that leaving her beloved family would have been very difficult for her. Back in those days, it was easily an eight hour long, winding car ride from Brooklyn to Friendsville, Pa. How could she leave her family and move so far away? Besides, she felt it might be very difficult for her to adjust to life as a farmer's wife since she had been a city girl all her life and was now a business woman and supervisor in a New York City Insurance firm. Nevertheless it was not an easy decision for Anne; I feel certain she must have questioned her decision at different times over the years. I know she really loved Eddie very much. I know for a fact that Annie had other beaus and other marriage proposals, but she remained single her entire life. I can't help but wonder if she never married because she continued to carry Eddie, the Love of her Life, in her heart. Possibly, she had no room for any other man.
So let's skip forward 55 years to 1994-
As the Executrix of Anne' will, I was responsible for going through all of her personal belongings after her death. If any of you have ever had this job, you'll understand what I mean when I say that it gave me a very weird feeling. I felt like I was totally invading Aunt Anne's privacy. It is absolutely something that honorable people don't typically do, i.e., rummage through some one's drawers and most intimate items. While completing this rather sad task, I eventually got around to Annie's nightstand - the one right next to where she laid her head each night. There were only a few things in the drawer, but right on top was this sweet little picture of Annie and Eddie - the one I included at the top. On the back of the photo written in pencil it said, Eddie and Annie - 1939. It was amazing to me to find that she kept this picture of the "Love of her Life" so close to her for all these years. I guess he really was Annie's Love and the King of her Heart.
Mary Beth
An addition made on March 29, 2017 when the picture below was found in some old photos:
L to R - Anne O'Donnell, Ruth Geary Snover, Kate Moran, Eddie Moran
In
her teen years, Anne and Eddie were "an item" during Anne's visits to
Friendsville, Pa each summer. She would come up from Brooklyn with her
mother and father ( Margaret and TJ O'Donnell) as soon as school
let out in Brooklyn in the late spring/early summer. Sometimes, Anne
and her siblings even attended some classes with their country cousins
(since their country school might still be in session). My grandmother,
Margaret Coleman, - the day after her wedding to Thomas J. O'Donnell
on January 19th, 1916, - permanently left her mother, Hannah Byrne
Coleman, and all of her seven siblings in order to move to Brooklyn
with her new husband. I can only imagine that this was a difficult
thing for Margaret to do, and probably the reason she spent summers with
her mother, Hannah Coleman, in Friendsville, Pa. TJ, being a NYPD
police officer, would take a week off at both the beginning and the end
of the summer months in order to transport his wife and kids to
Pennsylvania. Many years ago, Margaret made the decision to leave her beloved family and her life in the "country" to come to NYC with the love of her life, T.J. O'Donnell. Many years later, when confronted with a similar decision, her daughter, Anne Rose O'Donnell chose differently.
The other night I had an unusual dream. There wasn't much of a plot to it. Basically, in my dream it was nighttime and I walked downstairs from my bedroom into my family room and turned on the light. I was shocked and shaken up to see my Aunt Anne O'Donnell sitting in the recliner near the fireplace. She died in October of 1994. I said to her, What are you doing here? but before she could answer me I woke up. I'm sorry that we didn't get to sit and relax and have a conversation together. It has been such a long time since we visited with each other. In the last decade or so of her life she lived here in the Capital District only 5 minutes from us. It was nice to have her living close by and we became pretty good friends. She would often stop in unexpectedly to see me on my days off and it was always a pleasant interruption to my household tasks. When I heard her car out in front, I would look out the window and see her walking up the driveway toward the house. A happy feeling would come over me. A few years before she died, she said something to my brother, Marty, and he shared this conversation with me after her death. Aunt Anne had wondered out loud to him if he thought she would be missed by anyone after she died. My brother assured her that of course she would be missed. She was so good to all her nieces and nephews, and was a very special part of our lives. I can only imagine that because she never married and didn't have a family of her own, she thought she might be forgotten. So when I saw her in my dream the other night, I got the idea that she might be egging me on to tell a little of her story. I think one of the highlights of Annie's life was her love for a guy named Eddie. I'd like to share this story with you. I think this would make Annie happy. - to be continued..............
On my birthday I always think about my mother. How could I not! I mean isn't it amazing to contemplate the fact that you and I were actually inside of another person's body for a full 9 months. Really, just think about this reality for a minute or two. It is incredible. A woman carried you inside her very being; you actually lived there and grew there and survived there. I am always astounded by the miracle of birth and it never gets old for me. Every single time I look upon a newborn baby, I am utterly fascinated. I find it mind-boggling to think that a couple has this one intimate moment together and as a result they create this whole other human being. How amazing is that? When I contemplate the reality of motherhood and the miracle of birth I can't help but be humbled by the magnitude of creation. And I can't help but say to my own dear, sweet Mother, Remember that day that you gave birth to me?Well, I really do appreciate it. Thanks Mom. Mary
So in less than one hour it will be my 65th birthday. I am now officially an old lady. I have proof, I carry a Medicare Card in my wallet. But what I really want to know is where did all these years go? Just yesterday I was wanting a fake ID so I could get into the hangout joints. Remember those days when you had to prove you were 18 years old in order to get into those great bars/pickup places? Now instead of a fake ID, I have a newly laminated Medicare Card. The lamination was Bob's idea; he's always been practical like that. I guess he thinks I'm going to live to a ripe old age and he doesn't want the card to wear out in my wallet. Interestingly, I don't feel as upset about this monumental birthday as I thought I would be. Rather, the feeling I'm experiencing right now is a real strong sense of gratitude. I have been so very blessed. I have a wonderful family and fantastic friends. It is not even my official birthday yet and I have already been showered with good wishes and thoughtful gifts. One of my friends was nice enough to turn 65 years old in September. The other night I told him how very much I appreciated the fact that he turned 65 years old before I did. If it was not for him, I would have had the dubious honor of being the very oldest one in our closest group of friends. He also reminded me that I should be happy to have made it to 65 as a lot of people don't have such a privilege. We discussed that yes, indeed, it was rather nice to be this side of the grass. I have no reason to complain. I'm a lucky girl - oops - I mean I'm a lucky old lady and tonight I'm feeling truly grateful. Thanks, Mary Beth
So did you think I died? I bet you thought I fell off the face of the earth. Actually, as I mentioned in my last blog entry, Bob & I went on a vacation to Florida for a full 8 days and only arrived back home late yesterday afternoon. It was a wonderful vacation for me because I decided to give up worrying for Lent. I usually try to give up some sort of food or drink item but this year I was fed up with the negative approach and thought I'd try something new. The day before I left on our trip, I happened to speak with a dear friend, Sister Mary Agnes, and in the course of our conversation, I told her how I typically fret and worry the entire time I am away from home. As we were talking, it struck me - like a bolt of lightning - that an ideal thing to do for Lent would be to give up worrying. She agreed. Why not believe in God's providence for a change? Sounds like a wise move, wouldn't you say? No matter what happened while we were away, God would be there - in all places and in all ways - with His love and support. Wow, isn't that a grand thought. So, even though the weather was a bit cool and the sun didn't shine every single minute, I had one of the best vacations of my life. I spent time with people I don't get to see very often, I enjoyed sunsets and other sights and sounds of sea and sky created by the Almighty. Our family at home stayed healthy, the plane lifted off and flew through the air just perfectly, and we returned home again in one piece. With God's help, I will continue to wait in joyful hope. Mary Beth
