She really was the sparrow. Tiny, yet with a huge spirit. We left the church singing, mourners walking under a bright grey November sky from the convent to the cemetery. With chimes and Latin verse dedicated to Mary echoing around us, her sisters sang her home. The Indian Summer breeze blew, and leaves, brown and yellow, fell softly to the ground. As they lowered the casket into its final resting place, it rocked ever so slightly in the wind, rocking Sister Sylvia, like a lullabye one last time.

She was my spiritual director, Sylvia, and she always told me to pray, pray, pray. She loved Thomas Merton. Once, when an ailing sister had finally passed on, she called and told a friend that she had good news for him, that the sister had finally been released from her great suffering, and would be resting with Jesus. I feel the same way. Sylvia is home now. Thank you, Sister, for all your kindness and encouragement. Thank you for your great love.