Ero

Our sweet, darling Ero (ee-ROH) is dying. Her family has gathered from as far away as California. The nurses are making her as comfortable as possible, which isn't very. Ero can hardly speak, but never utters a complaint. Of course, she has never been heard, ever, to complain about anything.

Ero also could never bear to hear evil spoken about anyone. She would always get tears in her eyes and say, "Oh, please..." and jump to that person's defense. "Maybe she wasn't herself that day," or, "Maybe he didn't understand..."

Her husband, Matthew, 80, has frequently said he doesn't know how she has put up with him all these years. I don't know what he will do without her. I don't know how the world can spare her.

And I don't know why I didn't spend more time in her blessed company. Maybe I could have learned some of her sweetness, gentleness, moral courage, for the inner feats she has performed are fully equal to those of many a great saint. What a fool I am to have squandered that opportunity! (Well, there are still some saints in this town, and I do not intend to make the same mistake any more. God helping me, I shall take fullest advantage of their presence, and be around them as much as I can.)

Ero has well loved everybody, even those who constituted a test very few other people passed.

Ero has also prayed for my sister, Barbara, every day for years and years. It's so horrid to see her suffering this.

This isn't Ero's first bout with cancer. But she recovered from her colon cancer. Seemingly, I suppose I should say now. I remember when she first came back to church after that, about 15 years ago; it was the Sunday of Orthodoxy, just as yesterday was, when many, many icons are carried around the church in procession, together with the Cross, and candles, and the Book of the Gospels. I was right in front of Ero, and everybody was kneeling, and as the Cross came by, I heard Ero whisper, "Eucharisto!" ("Thank You!") and I cried.