Sunday, December 10th, found me ironing name tags into clothing, working on the new telephone number, and fumbling with a few basic comforts. Ceci and I had moved in a few items just a few days before, my brothers-in-law Joel and Sam had brought Mom’s warm electric chair not even 24 hours earlier, my husband Steve had helped me with materials, and Roberta would be coming with me for Mom’s new homecoming in just two more days. It was Sunday, a day of prayers and reflection, and I couldn’t help but cry while moving Mom’s few precious belongings. How many times had Mom opened her home to us when we came to her during hard times in our lives? There was always a place for us, even if it was a sofa or an attic-turned-apartment. How many houses had we lived in over the years? Too many, but always Mom had made each a home for us — all of us. I stopped by the window and caught sight of Mary appearing to children, surprised by the sudden gentleness. Throughout the weekend, nurses and volunteers set up Nativity Crèches, and I was struck by the sweet hospitality. This little room would hold Mom’s bed, but this new community, the Jeanne Jugan Center, would be her new home. I breathed a sigh and a soft “thank you” to Mary just outside the window then laughed slightly because ducks had just landed in the little pond and splashed around. Even they were happy in this welcoming dwelling. 

Tuesday came with check-in meetings, a special mass, and new friends who not only called out “Welcome” but hugged Mom, Roberta, and me with genuine fellowship. Food was plenty, laughter filled the day, and Mom beamed. True, she moved slowly, but I noticed a sparkle and renewed energy in her steps. Her first day I left feeling thankful for such her lovely new beginning. Early Wednesday morning she called me in my office, telling me about what she saw outside her window. A full view of the sky, soft then bright then brilliant colors of a sunrise, ducks paddling in the pond, a bright Christmas star on the gazebo, and an illuminated statue of Mary giving hope to children: describing all these images, her voice caught slightly before she softly told me she was crying in happiness. Such a tender moment that was, and I smiled quietly. Her humor and a renewed sass returning, she then informed me it was time for breakfast, and she was looking forward to the delicious food. “Time to go,” she called out, and we both began our busy days.

Throughout that first week we all came to see her because of coffee dates, new deliveries, a favorite book found and delivered, new sweaters and scarves added to her clothes, and just the opportunity to visit. Every single one of us passed by the creches where shepherds were waiting with Mary and Joseph. This was the beginning of Posadas, too, and here we were celebrating with visits to new residents. In turn, many would come to Mom’s open door, knocking before coming in with invitations to events or just good-natured gossip about what was happening. Early one morning Mom fell — not a big deal to us but a major worry for her. A trip to the emergency room, worries and sighs, questions and an x-ray, release and laughter, and then a trip back. Upon our return, as a family we ate take-out hamburgers and fries, exhausted but relieved, appreciative of everyone who came forward and again said, “Welcome Home.”  Yes, indeed, Mom had come home.