We want to tell you of our gratitude for all you have done for so many parents, friends, and disabled young people in Faith and Light in Rome, who knocked on the doors of the Nazareth Institute for nearly thirty years.
We had grown so used to your warm welcome—always with open arms, as if you were expecting your children and grandchildren to visit. We had come to rely on your complicity in our gatherings: running up and down those long staircases to open doors for us, fetching a forgotten ball, finding the salt and sugar we needed for our lunches in the little house. We had come to treasure your silent, discreet presence during our spirited celebrations in the chapel, which you always prepared with care and adorned with love. We remembered how you would approach us shyly to ask for news of someone who was ill, or to suggest we invite a new family you had come to know.
We had grown so used to you that you seemed to belong to Faith and Light in your own special way. "I am entirely with you," you seemed to say to us always. "Don't give up. Nazareth will always be your home." And we took full advantage of that: we held our office there, our conferences, our gatherings in the little house, our workshops, our celebrations.
Never in you, who became a great support to us all, did we see disapproval or criticism. Never did we feel your weariness, even when we showed up late in the evening and asked too much. At the Mass of your farewell, one of your colleagues who worked on the maintenance of that great nineteenth-century house said this to another sister: "Women like this should never die."
We are certain you have not left us. We know you will protect us with even greater love than the affection you showed each of us while you were here. And for that, we say to you our heartfelt thanks.