An Easter surprise from Vilma

Front of the Easter card
from Vilma

I received an Easter card from my friend, Vilma. It was a colorful, cheery card with nine boxes. Each had a hand-cut image of flowers, hearts, a cross and a moon. Each cut-out featured a solitary word: Hope, Love, Faith, Renewal, Gratitude, Grace, Peace, Joy, Laughter.

The card brought tears to my eyes. I've known Vilma for nearly two decades. We met at church, not long after I'd buried my father. I remember walking into the Saturday night service, seeing a man kneeling toward the front. It was cool, and he was wearing a white wind breaker, just like my father used to wear. I remember grabbing my husband's arm: it was as if I'd seen a ghost. The ghost of my father. His hair was the same curly, gray and white thick mass that Papa had; his shirt, the same flannel plaid. And his glasses. They were the same as well. I couldn't take my eyes off him. After Mass, I walked over and asked him if I could hug him because he looked so much like my father. With Vilma looking on, a big smile on her face, he opened his arms and held me. From that moment, we were friends.

After we moved my mother to an assisted living home near us, we brought her to church. Vilma and Jerry welcomed her, too. I shared a photo of my father, where he and Jerry could have been twins, and we reminisced about the greatest generation and the similarities in Jerry and Papa's lives. Jerry was in the Pacific during WWII and it scarred his gentle heart. He couldn't speak of it without tearing up because he couldn't understand the willingness of people to be cruel to one another. My father refused to talk about it at all.

When we celebrated Mom's 80th birthday surprise party, Vilma and Jerry both attended. Vilma brought some old family photos and after the party, we sat with Mom and were amazed at how much Jerry and Papa looked alike as young men. I knew that if Papa were still alive, he and Jerry would have been great friends. Their Italian heritage, strong Catholic faith, love of family and Depression-era upbringing would have been the bonds that bind two people together for a lifetime.

Vilma's photo
from our church directory

When Jerry got sick, my husband and I often brought communion to our dear friends. They were always so grateful for the comfort and companionship. Other times, Vilma and I chatted on the phone, and my husband and I always tried to help them with little tasks that were too great during Jerry's final illness.

Right before Jerry died, my husband and I visited him in the hospital. He was supposed to be sent home under hospice care and Vilma was naturally distraught. I'd seen my own mother go through similar circumstances during my father's long, steady decline through nine months of hospice care. Jerry was determined not to put Vilma through that. He closed his eyes and didn't acknowledge anyone or anything around him. My good bye to him was like losing Papa all over again. I kissed him on the forehead and whispered, "When you get to heaven, please tell Papa I said hi." He just nodded, never saying another word.

Vilma and her
Christmas tree

After that, my husband and I often visited Vilma, trying to help in any way we could: changing light bulbs, moving things, assisting with computer needs, putting up and taking down Christmas decorations, taking her to doctor appointments and church functions, to name a few. Mostly, it was just spending time with her. After her soul mate died, Vilma was lonely. She spent many hours on the phone with her brother. She was always on the phone with her sisters, who lived in Georgia and California. She also talked to her beloved niece, Tammie, who visited Vilma as much as she could. She had a cousin in Italy, Sajmo, that she called often, too.

Vilma was very spiritual. She had a rosary next to her chair, and she often prayed to the blessed mother for her intentions and those of her friends. Some of her favorite intentions included her children and grandchildren, for whom she prayed relentlessly. She also prayed for her friends, and for the world, in general. She never missed a chance to go to Mass and was a very faithful parishioner of several local churches.

Me and Vilma

Vilma was a feisty lady. I love that she always asked for what she needed, when she needed it. It might have been something simple or something more complicated. I just appreciated that she asked, and I told her so. It was her stubbornness that allowed her to remain in her home as long as she did. She never shied away from getting what she needed, and at age 89, that's a great thing. I wish my own mother had been that open to having help. Once, I came over when Vilma had worked herself into a nervous frenzy over something. I asked her if I could make her a cup of tea. When I brought it to her, she almost cried. She said, "This is just what I needed." It was simply, the simple things that made her happy.

When Vilma became unable to stay by herself, her son and daughter-in-law welcomed her into their home. They had invited Vilma to live with them many times, but her stubborn Italian pride kept her from accepting. She would often say, "I'm happy to know they want me, but I want to stay in my house, near my friends."

Friends were something Vilma had plenty of. When she became unable to drive, she used the phone to stay in touch, keeping tabs on her friends and praying for their needs. Over the last two years, she lost her brother, Pip, and her sister, Shirley, and her cousin, Sajmo, all of which were hard on her. Each loss took a toll on her, and she grieved them with faith and tears.

After Vilma moved to Georgia, there was a void. We didn't talk as much because she was adjusting to her new life, making new friends and spending time with her family. When we did talk, it was bittersweet. I missed her, she missed her friends from home, but she was happy, and didn't seem lonely any more.

Vilma called me in late March to tell me that she'd sent me the Easter card, but that it was returned because she had the wrong address on it. That was the last time we spoke in this life.

When I said I received an Easter card from my friend, Vilma, what I didn't say was that the card was hand delivered to me by her daughter-in-law, at her funeral a few weeks after Easter. It's taken me two years to gather my thoughts and reflections about a woman I loved dearly. Those nine spaces on the card conveyed the promise and gifts of Easter: Hope, Love, Faith, Renewal, Gratitude, Grace, Peace, Joy, Laughter, as well as the gifts of our friendship.

Inside the card
from Vilma

Inside the card there was one more cutout, with a heart above the word, Blessings. The message said, "Wishing you all the blessings that life can hold on Easter and always." And she signed it as she always did, Love, Vilma.

In this final encounter, as the congregation sang Amazing Grace during the procession at her funeral  Mass, I held the card in my hands, smiling through tears as I realized that Vilma had given me more than just "all the blessings life can hold on Easter and always." She shared one of the most valuable gifts only a beloved friend can share: the promise of the resurrection, and the assurance that I will, one day, see my friend, Vilma, again. Her final blessing to me was a reminder that our souls will be rejoicing together in heaven with all of our loved ones.

In loving memory of Vilma Sarracino
November 17, 1928-April 18, 2018