Sainthood

Sainthood
I want to write about my mom, Helen; but, every time I compose an anecdote she seems like a crazy person, not quirky and funny.
It’s important to know that Helen was Irish and genetically sound; she looked Irish, dark hair and green eyes and a wicked smile. Admittedly she did have a tongue that could strip wallpaper but she didn’t frighten me. For example, I was impressed, not afraid, when I watched her in a temper break every dish in the house. But, that is a story for another time.
One of my favourites is her response the time that Jesus appeared to me. The Sisters of Saint Joseph convinced us grade oners that sainthood was an admirable vocation like teaching, nursing or being a nun. Of course when one was a saint the benefits were vastly superior to other jobs. Granted there might be some suffering or torture involved but saints can handle that stuff. Plus there’s bonus of performing miracles.
While I was plotting sainthood, my mom was at home with my two brother ages four and two and pregnant with number three, an understatement to say that she was overwhelmed.
Cutting through the grove on my way home from school on a sunny warm autumn afternoon I decided “this is the day!” High on the hill overlooking our street I stood atop a stone wall, the remnants of an old mill and stared fixedly at the sun…and yep…quite sure that was Jesus standing on the sun arms outstretched. No message but I figured I had hit pay dirt…racing down the dirt path, around outcroppings, to the road, dashing across without looking both ways, (saints don’t worry about traffic), up the hill as fast as my skinny seven year old legs could pump, taking the steps two at a time and throwing the yellow door open I screamed …”Mommy, Mommy, Jesus appeared to me!”
Whoops! Looking down at Helen who was on her knees scrubbing the hallway floor, I waited for her jubilant response. She looked up at me with those tired green eyes and said” Why would Jesus appear to a little brat like you?”
Hmm…she had a point… visions of the phone call to Father O’Neil, trips to Rome vanished as Helen stated the obvious. I settled for milk and chocolate chip cookies and a hug.