Catie and Daddy walking at Kaydeross.
We seemed to go from crisis to crisis. We were definitely at the end of our own resources. One day Marianne suggested to Mark that he stop by and check out the Saturday seven PM Mass. She said they would pray with him afterwards. Mark got there a little early and actually saw part of the Mass before receiving prayer from a team of people.
When he arrived home, he was still trying to take it all in. He said “Irish, they were singing and it was different from anything I ever heard. It sounded like angels or something.” Before long we had joined the “Spirit of Love Prayer Group” that met every Thursday evening at eight o’clock in St. Paul’s basement. As it turned out, we had just been allotted two hours a week of in-home respite. That was what we used it for – a chance to re-charge our batteries and join in a community of faith that was alive and expectant. At first, we felt so awkward. People had their hands in the air, they prayed in tongues and when they closed their eyes to pray, they said they “saw” things (When I closed my eyes, I saw eyelids.) or they received “Words of Knowledge”. I knew this was all in Scripture, and by now I had had a few experiences myself, but they had come to me totally by surprise, in so far as, timing and content were concerned. Sure, I had prayed about the situations, but I wasn’t used to praying and receiving immediate guidance or answers upon request.
As I always did, I prayed and read about the whole thing. They were “charismatic”, meaning God could and would use ordinary men and women (not just canonized saints) to heal and uplift His people by allowing them to operate in the charisms, or ‘Gifts of the Spirit’. Right away we learned that there were some “mature” and truly gifted people within the community, and others who were either new, had some emotional problems, or were unintentionally relaying their own thoughts and feelings. The people leading the group were experienced and wise people, others seemed to be attracted to the spontaneity and freedom this form of worship offered. I came to the conclusion that there were the same kinds of people everywhere, and we sought out those we respected, ignored those we questioned, and had spiritual direction from our priests. We were going to use all the spiritual tools at our disposal. We looked forward to going each week. It was joyful and personal and it helped us both as we dealt with our concerns, problems and griefs.
That summer of 1986 my mother kept saying she wanted us to take Catie to Canada to St. Joseph’s Shrine in Montreal (The foster father of Jesus) and to St. Anne de Beaupre’s shrine (The mother of Mary and the grandmother of Jesus) in Quebec. My Mom and Dad had been there not too long before and they loved them both. They offered to babysit for the boys so we thought “Why not?”
It was a hot summer and our little Dodge Aries wagon didn’t have air conditioning. The windows in the back of the wagon were also designed so they didn’t open. It was hot! We arrived at St. Joseph’s in the early afternoon. The shrine was beautiful. Near the entrance of the basilica was a kind of pedestal with a glass dome over it. It was about the size of a typical Baptismal Font. There was a relic inside. People would stand there for quite a while. Most put their hands on it. I remembered it to be a bone fragment of St. Joseph, as did Mark, but when I was writing this and looked up the Shrine in Montreal, I couldn’t find any mention of a relic of his. (One thing I read said that there were no known authentic relics of Mary or Joseph anywhere.) There is a relic of the heart of Brother Andre elsewhere at the shrine. He was the founder and is now a canonized saint. So maybe that was also a relic of his? I’m not sure. But I am one hundred percent certain that there was something holy under that glass. There was a peaceful power emanating out of that dome that contained this holy artifact. People stood around it for extended periods in order to drink in the graces. Mark, Catie and I also remained there for several minutes before we walked around the rest of the basilica. There was an area near the front of this beautiful shrine that was filled with crutches, leg braces and canes, left by those who found healing through the intercession of Brother Andre and St. Joseph. A few years after our pilgrimage I would meet someone who knew a recipient of healing from these intercessors personally. Our friend, and one of Catie’s former nurses, Darlene, had a sister named Kim who had very similar disabilities as Caitlyn. Kim had cerebral palsy and an intractable seizure disorder, as did Cate. When Kimmie was little , her parents brought her to this healing place with a desire that she learn to walk independently. Their prayers were answered.
As we walked around this huge basilica there was much to see. I was looking at something when I felt prompted to turn around. As I did so, I was face-to-face with a statue of St. Therese. I startled upon seeing it, much as you would when you turn around and discover that someone has been behind you that you didn’t detect. After saying a little prayer to St. Therese we went back to the domed relic near the doors. For whatever reason I said “Catie say goodbye to St. Joseph.” She lunged forward from my arms and kissed the dome. Clearly she perceived a holy presence.
We left St. Joseph’s Oratory, had a bite to eat and headed for Quebec and the St. Anne de Beaupre Shrine there. It took a several hours to arrive at St. Anne’s. We had no reservations and were fortunate to find a room in their hostel. They had a crib too! After putting our belongings in the room we headed to their little cafeteria area before it closed for the night. We were sitting there eating our dinner when a man in a golf shirt and slacks came over to speak with us.
Is your little girl ill?
We explained Catie’s diagnosis. He then said “I’m a priest and I will be concelebrating with a Bishop from the Philippine’s tomorrow. If you would like me to, I will ask him to bless your child and to bring the relic of St. Anne’s arm over to touch her.” This was so special and unique. The relic of the arm of the maternal grandmother of Jesus, was encased in glass and safely held in a cabinet. We agreed without any hesitation.
Relic of the arm of St. Anne de Beaupre, Quebec, Canada
The next morning we arose early for Mass and the bishop did just as the priest had promised. After Mass we wandered around the gorgeous cathedral looking at all the shrine had to offer. I turned from viewing something, and was once again startled to see another statue of the “Little Flower, St. Therese” right behind me. By early afternoon we were ready to head home. The weather continued to be hot and we still had no air conditioning. We were getting hungry and needed to stop and refresh ourselves because we were spent. (Catie was an absolute angel throughout the trip.) Mark asked if I wanted to stop near the Canadian border, but I said “Why don’t we just continue on to Plattsburgh (where we had both attended college and met one another)? He agreed.
Finally, we made it through customs and reached a restaurant in Plattsburgh. We parked and Mark opened the drivers side door. With that a hinge broke and the door was partially hanging! Before he could utter a complaint or vulgarity, a car immediately pulled up beside us. Two mechanics piled out, tool box in hand, and said “Go on in and eat. We’ll fix this.”
We went in, ordered, and had just received our meals when one of them poked his head in the restaurant door saying “Finish your dinner, the car is all set now.” They waved good bye and were gone. These mechanics never charged us or even came in to eat or use the restroom. They just disappeared. The moral of my story here is this, when Mark, Catie and I go on a pilgrimage, God fixes our car for FREE!
We kept driving, and were soon near the Shrine of the North American Martyrs in Auriesville, N.Y. We’re very familiar with this place as it’s close to our home. Mark said “Do you want to round out our trip by stopping to say a prayer of thanksgiving for everything. And especially for getting the car door fixed?” I agreed. We walked around the massive “coliseum”, said a few prayers and headed out the entrance. Suddenly, quite close to the church structure, I saw another statue of St. Therese, surrounded by roses. I had been to this place many times and never noticed this white statue. Stunned a third time, I began to cry. For years I had prayed to her to intercede for me, but since I’d been “Baptized in the Spirit”, I had forgotten about her. I felt she was saying to me “Yoo-hoo, I’m still with you, and for you, even if you’ve not given me a thought.” I love her.
Catie riding on her beloved pink car.
Catie was soon riding on a little plastic car. She literally zoomed all over the downstairs of the house like a race car driver. She’d look like she was going to crash sometimes, but then she’d stop and turn on a dime. Her motor planning skills were coming along. One day she was riding that little car up and down the driveway like Danica Patrick and a neighbor commented, “Now there’s a woman with a mission!” Cate loved swimming and swinging and playing with her brothers. We exposed her to as much social interaction and stimulation as we could possibly manage. She was a joy, although we still had heavy hearts about the seizures and her overall developmental risks. Catie was doing so well that New Meadow Pre-School was willing to take her on. They thought she was ready for potty training! She began pre-school in September.
Early that fall I found out I was expecting again. We were a little worried about how we’d manage, but thought Catie would thrive with another sibling close to her age. Maybe she’d even have a little sister? The boys were all excited too.
On November fifth of 1985 (The day before she turned two.) Cate was scheduled to have another developmental exam. This time it would be with Dr. Anthony Malone, another pediatric developmental specialist. I’d heard he was very thorough and knowledgeable. Also, direct. Some of the other parents I knew had come away feeling he’d been a bit too forthcoming with them. Catie was all dressed up in pink, as usual, and she was having a very good day. (See photo below for the dress she wore.) You know how kids oftentimes won’t cooperate when you most want them to? Well, that was my fear. That she’d “make strange” with him and he wouldn’t be able to see what she knew and could do. Well, if I’d given her a million dollars to perform for the good doctor, she could not have done better. She did everything he requested of her, and then, I asked if I could have her do a few other things, like point to her body parts, etc. He agreed.
I said Catie where’s your eye, ear, hair, arm, elbow foot, etc. When we got to belly button, she pulled her little dress up over her head and poked her navel saying “There” (sounded like “dare”). Dr. Malone was dying laughing so I followed with, “Where are your “buns”?” Catie turned on her side, laughed and patted her backside saying “Right dare!” (Her brothers had her doing these things regularly. She knew she would get a big laugh and she was right.) This rather serious man was delighted. He saw intelligence and personality, and he was both stunned, and thrilled. He looked at me and said “Whatever you’re doing. Keep doing it. This kid is no minor miracle. She should be totally physically and mentally dependent.” Then he added “May I follow up with Caitlyn? I’m amazed at how well she’s doing.”
Catie’s two- year old photograph
Then one day in early December I began to have a cramping sensation in my abdomen, followed by spotting. Our neighbor, Eileen, came over to watch the boys, and Mark and I flew over to St. Peter’s hoping against hope that there was still time to save our baby. I couldn’t believe what was happening. Could I really be having a second miscarriage on almost the same day, and the same point in the pregnancy, as the last time? Sure enough, once we got there, they couldn’t find a heartbeat. I was four and a half months along. Another wrenching Christmas grieving either a dead or sick baby. This was the third time in four years. They were afraid to induce labor because I was so far along. It could cause my uterus to involute. They said we’d just have to wait patiently for labor to begin. That it could be hours. I told Mark to head back home so Eileen could leave. He left immediately, and no sooner had he done so when I went into labor. I delivered the baby quite quickly too. They asked me if I wanted to see my little one. This time I said yes. With my previous loss only Mark had seen the baby. I had regretted that I’d declined to look. This precious little child was big enough to fill the doctors hand. He (They later told me they thought I had delivered a baby boy.) was perfectly formed, just like the last time. And the doctor said the same thing to me as he’d said two years previously. “The cord was wrapped around him several times. Maybe that is what caused the loss. Grossly, everything looks perfectly formed.” Mark was arriving home at about the time I delivered Michael (We named our lost children.). As he entered the kitchen our cuckoo clock just stopped for no apparent reason. Mark said that he “knew” immediately that I’d delivered the baby. Moments later the phone rang and a nurse from St. Peter’s confirmed what he already knew. It was two fifty AM when our little baby was born.
In Between Two Worlds 