By Kate Vanskike
Every now and again, those quizzes circulate social media, asking us to identify silly things like our greatest fear or biggest regret. The answers are easy for me: fear itself, and no regrets. (Okay, full disclosure, I waffle between my fears being the clichéd “fear itself” and “the unknown.”)
As for regrets, I have to recognize one constant: not having known certain individuals, a few blessed souls who have left only positive lessons, only loving marks, in their tracks.
I worked for 15 years at a hospital founded and sponsored by the Sisters of Providence. So many Sisters had profound effects on all who knew them, and on many more whom they’d never met. Sister Peter Claver, who died in 1991, is still recalled with great fondness and respect in Spokane’s leadership circles. I never tired of hearing tales about her grace, wit and fortitude. Even the gentleman driving the courtesy shuttle for a car dealership recounted for me the times his mother had been a patient and the impression made by Sister Peter Claver, who, as the top administrator, took time to visit patient rooms. (She also carried tools in the deep pockets of her habit and would tighten door hinges on her way through the hospital.) Other Sisters of Providence—and the Dominican Sisters I eventually came to know—were such strong forces, often the only women calling the shots in a business world usually reserved for men. They were innovative and fiercely protective of the causes they served. Getting to know these dynamic women and their collective history ultimately led to naming my daughter after Emilie Gamelin, who founded the Sisters of Providence after suffering the loss of her husband and all her children to illnesses.
Now in the folds of the Jesuit heritage of Gonzaga University, I’m discovering more saintly souls who I regret not having had the chance to know. Father Tony Lehmann, for example. When my colleague wrote a piece on Father Tony to explain why we chose “To Be Continued” as the name of our new blog, I quickly learned how deep and far and wide Zag love runs for this beloved priest. People trolling their Facebook feeds stopped in their tracks at seeing Father Tony’s face. They “liked,” they shared, they posted. Not in that usual Facebook style, but with intention and heart. What I wouldn’t give to have known him myself and have my own story to recall.
It’s questionable to regret something I couldn’t have controlled—I didn’t choose when or where I was born and raised. But I’m positive there have been other great people in my midst who I did ignore or pass by too quickly. What might I have learned or gained if I’d taken a moment (or more) to visit?
That is my one regret.
Leave a Reply