It was Mom's dream to take me to Lourdes, France.
The doctors continued to tell my parents that I might die because of the O.I. No one really knew for sure because the condition was so rare. They felt if I lived past the age of sixteen I would have a chance.
So when I was fifteen we visited Lourdes, the famous Catholic shrine in Southern France. The place for miracles. It was where Our Lady appeared eighteen times to a poor young peasant girl named Bernadette in 1858. My parents scraped together enough money to make the trip, borrowing, saving and scrimping. Along with my youngest brother Mark we embarked on our own little pilgrimage in August 1972.
During the apparitions, Our Lady of Lourdes called for "penance." Indeed, as soon as we arrived from our long transatlantic flight our own personal penance began. The travel was hard. From Paris we transferred on to Lourdes. The airport was small and I vividly recall my Dad carrying me down the stairs of the plane to a waiting wheelchair.
The thing about Lourdes is, they know all about wheelchairs and accommodations for people with challenges. We were not on an organized pilgrimage. We were on our own for three weeks. We couldn't speak French. Looking back on it we were either pretty brave and determined or pretty dumb for not hooking up with experienced travelers.
The first time we entered the shrine grounds was like what it may be like to enter Heaven itself. So quiet and peaceful, a world of difference considering the commercialism just outside the sanctuary gates, where souvenirs of all kind were sold, everything from t-shirts to water bottles, to rosaries to trinkets.
Here was Lourdes in front of us: the majestic basilicas, the miraculous fountain, the Grotto itself when the Blessed Mother stood, where the hundreds of crutches and canes hung, testaments of miracles through faith and prayer for decades.
A beautiful statue of Mary stood in the niche of the rock which she had graced with her presence.
A humbling experience. I wasn't sure if I seriously appreciated the experience and exactly where I was. I wondered about my faith. I always believed in God, went to church as my health allowed, or watched Sunday Mass on TV. Mom's faith was much stronger. She firmly believed a miracle would happen sometime in those three weeks and I would be healed. Me? I wasn't so sure.
During our time in Lourdes we prayed a lot, at the Grotto daily and in the numerous churches. Masses were said at all times. People of all nationalities knelt in constant prayer, day and night.Some sat on benches at the Grotto, saying the Rosary out loud, others on their knees, silently praying, their lips moving along with their beads between their fingers. No matter the hour, no matter the weather, people were there, praying for miracles.
We visited St. Bernadette's home, the place where she lived during the apparitions. It was more like a hovel than a house, formerly a prison cell, so small, damp and cramped. Each place we saw left a lasting impression on me of the extreme sacrifice and poverty.
During our stay we met many inspirational people. One was a distinguished gray-haired, sweet lady named Mrs. Feeney, who worked at the Lourdes Medical Building near the grounds of the shrine. She had been cured of cancer at Lourdes years ago and decided to stay. The bureau was the place where the miraculous cures were reported, documented and verified.
During her daily lectures on the miracles, Mrs Feeney provided impressive evidence of physical cures with photos and old documents. She talked about the spiritual healings which occur daily at Lourdes. Royalty from all over the world would secretly volunteer their time annually at the shrine, working in the hospital or as stretcher-bearers, their form of penance to Our Lady.
It was at one of these seminars where we met Brother Collins. This elderly Irish priest came to Lourdes each summer with a group of blind boys from a school in Dublin. Meeting these boys touched me a great deal and I began to wonder, why would God allow innocent kids to be so afflicted?
As I shook each hand they asked for no pity or sorrow. They seemed to accept their situations and were just thankful to be in Lourdes. They weren't outwardly seeking miracles. They returned each year to restore their faith and hope to do whatever God had in store for their future, taking his guidance day by day.
I didn't feel so helpless. Why should I complain? This feeling increased as our stay continued.
Since Our Lady had asked everyone to come to her in procession, each day at 4:30 p/m/ there was a daily Blessing of the Sick in Rosary Square. I was fortunate to be in the rows of sick people to receive these blessings from countless priests, bishops and cardinals.
During the procession of the Blessed Sacrament, miracles often happened at this time. I still couldn't comprehend it, instantly being able to walk or see or hear. My life would be so different without O.I. here I was, worried about not breaking a bone while at Lourdes, yet what if the opposite occurred and there was a miracle?
There was a common link, why we were all there together, as I gazed over rows and rows of sick, handicapped and dying people, young and old alike, Ailments differed and so did pur faith. Different cultures, different languages, different stories, different needs, different expectations. All had sacrificed something to be at this place and time, at that moment in this holy place.
Maybe there would be physical cures that day, maybe not. All would leave touched by the message of Lourdes to share. No one leaves Lourdes empty-handed, as Mrs. Feeney had said.
"Go drink at the spring and bathe in its water," Our Lady said to Bernadette. I was lucky enough to bathe in those very miraculous waters.
After saying prayers and kissing a statue of Our Lady of Lourdes, a pair of capable attendants lowered me into one of the stone reservoirs under the mountain. We were lucky to get a spot at the bathes, with the help of Mrs. Feeney. .It was a cold, damp place, a place that was hidden from the outside world yet another place where miracles often occured.
Wearing nothing but underwear I was immersed in the ice-cold water. I experienced a feeling never felt before or since. Maybe it was the shock of the extremely frigid water but a surge went through my body like a wave of electricity. A terrific pain knifed through my back but not my legs. My legs weren't completely submerged. Mom noticed this and quickly splashed a handful of water over them before I was quickly dunked once and out. It happened so fast.
After wards I sat shivering outside the baths in the summer heat sun, still in pain and shock. I dried amazingly fast ( that was the rules, no towel drying. You must allow natural drying). I thought of Mrs. Feeney, who had said that pain sometimes happens before a cure.
As it turned out, my back, often a source of pain since my earlier vertebrae fracture, stopped hurting. I wore a corset as a child, to prevent sclerosis, but as the years went on I didn't need it anymore.
We filled bottles and jugs to carry the precious Lourdes water home for family and friends. Whenever we needed it our own personal supply of miraculous water was available.
Our last day in Lourdes was full of mixed emotions. We had grown so familiar with the sites and the friends we had made there. But I was homesick too. I missed everything back home, including the Phillies. Yet we were sad to leave this special place. Who knew if any of us would ever make that long trip again?
We promised to keep in touch with Mrs. Feeney and Brother Collins. Every Christmas for years we would get a postcard and letter from the priest, with best wishes from the boys. The memories would last a lifetime and we would continue to spread the message of Lourdes to everyone not lucky enough to visit.
Even on the return trip to America the power of Lourdes continued to shine. Back in New York at customs, a tough-looking guard began inspecting our luggage. Tired after another grueling flight, we weren't looking forward to the anticipated wait.
Then the guard noticed our jug of Lourdes water.
I know Mom was fearful it may be confiscated for whatever reason. Instead, the guard mentioned that he wasn't Catholic, but he had often heard of Lourdes and asked about our trip. Good-hearted ( and clever) Mom offered him a small bottle of water. He accepted it like she had given him gold .He allowed us to pass through without inspecting our bags.
In the years to follow much of the remaining water served as a source of hope and healing, helping many at home who were sick or dying. We were only too happy to share it. In that small way we passed along the message of Lourdes.
Years later I met Pat Croce, then the President of the Philadelphia 76ers. A really nice guy, I loved his positive outlook on life. I sent him a get-well card after his near fatal motorcycle accident. He replied with a personal thank you note and asked to meet me at a future Sixers basketball game in Philly.
Pat kept his promise and stopped by to say hello, busy as he was before games. In appreciation I surprised him with a gift: a bottle of Lourdes water to help his recovery.
'Youv'e been to Lourdes?" he asked. 'Are you sure you want to give me this?"
He wrote me another thank you note, thanking me for the water. I was never surprised at the power of Lourdes.
I wasn't physically cured at Lourdes, I learned to accept whatever God had in store for me. I learned things could always be worse. I was given a path to follow in life, a shining light whenever darkness surrounded me. Because of Lourdes I would find my calling in life, helping others in need.
Now I look back at the photos when I was young and the unforgettable memories. Dad and Mom are gone but their devotion and love live forever. Mark is married with grown kids. And Lourdes continues to be even more special than ever in this crazy world.
Will I ever return to Lourdes? A little voice tells me to return, no matter the distance, the disability or debt. But no matter where I am Lourdes is always with me- in my heart.
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