On the subject of St. Frances:

1972

It was January 5^th, 1972 when I left Lima Peru to come to the United States to continue my education. As I was about to board my flight on Braniff Airways, I turned to my mother one last time hugging her until all the other passengers were on board.

“When will you come visit?” I asked.

“Soon!” she lied.

As my high school graduation gift she had scraped up enough money for my airfare and another $300.00 to get me started. I knew she would not be visiting any time soon, but it was comforting to know that she wanted to come and see me.

1978

My mother, Luisa Eugenia Sola Franco de Rohde, was finally at a point in her life where she was willing to come to Dallas and live with me. Several conditions were set.

She would bring my younger sister, Teresa, to live with us. I would have to buy a house big enough to ensure my privacy. She must have heard from all my girlfriends. They must have told her about my revolving door, the wild parties and all the going ons that I had in my apartment. In my mother’s words: “ I do not want to cramp your style.”

Where did that remark come from?

My brother Laurence lent me money for a down payment on a house that had a “Mother in Law” quarters. It shared the kitchen and living room, but could be closed off so that MY privacy was ensured. A separate entry from the garage would allow all the comings and going that I needed.”

One of my mother friends, Patricia Hutcheson, just so happened to have a spare Grand Piano that she lent us. Now I was in heaven. Not only would I come home from work to hot meals, but also when I would go to bed my mother would begin to play the piano. Classical music was always her favorite and the music flowed through the house almost every night.

During the time that my mother lived with me she was able to travel to Europe to visit her brother, Eduardo Sola. Eduardo was an artist that lived in Rome for over 40 years. As often as my mother could she would visit her brother. Together they would travel to different European countries. My uncle would have set up a schedule beforehand. He would contact friends that would allow him to come and visit for as long as he wanted. A month in Greece. Two months in Spain. A week in Luxemburg.

No matter where the winds took them they always spent the last week of my mothers stay together in Assisi Italy. My mother once told me that somewhere she found the prayer of St. Frances and she read it. She read it until she memorized the prayer. From that day on she believed that St. Francis life was the way all of us should live.

My mother made her pilgrimage to Assisi, Italy four times during her life. She would make one more.

1984

For reasons unknown to me and other members of my family my mother decided that she should return to Peru. Leaving Dallas in late January she would stay in Lima for three weeks. Apparently, once there she closed out bank accounts, made sure taxes on her house were paid up to date. She renewed the lease on the house giving Power of Attorney to a lifelong friend.

She then said goodbye to friends and relatives. This was the strangest part of the trip. My mother was not one to say goodbyes. Her usual departure phrase was usually “Until we meet again.” I think Roy Rodgers picked this lone up from my mother.

After leaving Lima she went to Guayaquil, Ecuador, her birthplace. Here she stayed with her sister and visited relatives for several weeks. Again before leaving she said good bye to her friends and relatives.

Back in the US she stopped in Miami to visit my brother Fernando, she was to have stayed there for two weeks, but decided to come home earlier since my brothers marriage was already on the rocks making my mother feel uncomfortable in his house.

I can not remember the exact date but towards the middle of March on a Thursday my mother arrived back home. As soon as I saw her I noticed how tired she looked and for the first time that I could remember she even looked depressed. I thought that this was jet lag or exhaustion from her recent travels.

That Friday morning my mother went to see her physician. She had been going to this same doctor almost since she arrived in Dallas back in 1978. Even though he knew that my mother was a smoker who started to smoke when she was thirteen it never occurred to him check her lungs. On this day he tried inserting a thoroscope only to realize that her lungs were so clogged from the tar accumulated from years of inhaling. No matter how hard he tried to push the camera through the layer of tar it would not penetrate.

My mother quit smoking that day.

On Sunday we went to mass, my mother was a regular. Some weeks when time permitted she would go to church three or four times a week. This time I went out of fear. I went to pray for her well-being.

Monday she went to a specialist who recommended chemo and radiation. She started on Wednesday and because of the amounts of therapy she was to receive over the next two weeks she was to stay in the hospital.

My mother never regained her strength and was able to walk only short distances. When she would sit at the piano she no longer played for hours at a time and her music was not as fluid as before. But, it gave her something to do and even though she knew that she was not producing the same quality of music as before it still gave her pleasure. I would sit on the coach and listen and try to remember what she was playing. I tried to remember enough of her music to last me for the rest of my life.

On July 3^rd 1984, my mother wanted to see fireworks. Teresa’s boyfriend, Gene, had a weekend apartment at Chandler Landing in Rockwall and told us about the annual firework display that was scheduled for that night..

I drove out to Rockwall with my mother and found to my surprise that my sister had invited her tennis friend, Sandra to spend the day with us. Since we had plenty of time before the fireworks we decided to play some tennis. Teresa and Sandra played against Gene and myself. We played below the balcony where my mother sat and watched. I noticed that during some of the match she had dosed off. She never saw the final result. The men beat the women.

After the fireworks display and despite my mother’s tired objections we left for home.

Exhausted, but in a good mood, my mother weakly climbed into bed. She reached over to the bed stand and grabbed her framed prayer from St. Frances. Before I turned the lights off I noticed that her lips were moving as she recited his prayer.

July 4^th, 1984

I was going to go to work for a few hours this morning, wanting to clear the day to spend as much time with my mom. On the way back from Rockwall she had asked if we could go to the fireworks display at The Cotton Bowl I thought that that might be fun.

Before heading out I went into my mother’s room to check on her. As I opened the door I heard soft moaning coming from my mother’s bed. I quickly walked over to see if there was something that I could do for her.

As I approached she opened her eyes. “Ya estoy lista! I am ready!”

I ran to get her wheelchair; once she was in it I started to push her towards the garage.

“Not so fast,” she spoke softly. “I want to go through the house one more time.”

I pushed her into the living room as we passed by the grand piano she reached for it. I stopped. Instinctively her fingers went for the keys, after a few seconds I barely recognized the tune. Pachelbel's Canon in D. I cried.

As we left the house my mother did not speak. The look on her face was subdued and painful. When we made it to Baylor Hospital she kidded me: “The way you drove me here nearly scared me to death.”

The room they gave her was on the south side of the building. Guess what?

The Cotton Bowl was clearly visible from her room. Unfortunately my mother was in such pain that the doctors decided to sedate her with a morphine drip.

Around 9:00 pm my brothers Walter and Laurence and my sister Teresa were with me in the hospital room. During our vigil at my mother’s bedside we spoke of the past. We reminisced of the happy times we all spent together. We asked ourselves if the family would remain united after her death or if we would just become acquaintances. All of a sudden explosions came booming through the closed windows. Dazzling displays of lights seemed to be exploding just outside the window. We all looked at our mother she got what she wanted. Her final display of Fourth of July Fireworks and what a spectacular display.

One of my brothers wanted to remove the morphine drip from our mothers arm so that he could experience the display as my mother was.

After the fireworks everyone told me to go home, I looked tired they said. They would call me if they thought I should come back.

That night I slept in the house all by myself. My sister decided to stay at Genes house since he lived near the hospital. I cannot remember falling asleep but I did.

July 5^th, 1984

It was around 8:00 am when I woke up to crashing sounds of thunder that shook the entire house. At first I thought that I was at the hospital still watching the fireworks, but between thunderous booms I heard hard rainfall.

I wearily got put of bed, took a shower and headed for the garage. When I passed by the kitchen I realized that I had not eaten since the evening of the third. I forced myself to make and eat a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.

As I slowly drove to the hospital I was thinking that my siblings did not call me to tell me that my mother had died, to spare me just a few minutes of grief.

Normally I would be passing everyone to get to my destination, but today I was being passed by every car, even an elderly woman passed me by. To this date I swear that she flipped me off.

When I arrived some of my mothers dearest friends were in her room. Dolores Cole and Patricia Hutcheson greeted me at the door. “Luisa is resting,” they both said as they each gave me long embraces.

At 10:00 am the rain stopped and almost immediately the sun burst through the clouds. My sister Teresa, my oldest brother Walter, Mrs. Cole, Mrs. Hutcheson and her daughter and very close friend of mine Laura had gathered around the bed. As we prayed The Lords Prayer my mother stooped breathing.

I called my brother Laurence: “Where are you?” I demanded. You need to get to the hospital as soon as you can.” I did not know what the urgency was; I feared that they would remove my mother’s body to the morgue immediately to make room for another patient.

“I am not coming!” The phone went dead.

It would be two days before Laurence called to see how I was doing and to make sure that all the arraignments for the cremation and memorial service were handled.

July 9^th, 1984

My mother’s memorial service was presided over by a priest from Peru, Father Hernandez. Hernandez taught my sister in high school and became a good family friend, as luck would have it he happened to be in Dallas at the time of my mother’s death.

Father Hernandez decided that it would be a good gesture if at the appropriate time I would stand up at the a podium and read The Prayer of St Frances.

When the priest nodded to me I got up from the pew and made my way to the podium. I looked up at the gathering of friends and relatives. And I froze. I could not get my voice to work. I shook like a baby on a cold winter night. Father Hernandez came to me and standing nearby took over the reading for me.

Lord, make me an instrument of your peace. Where there is hatred, let me sow love; where there is injury, pardon; where there is doubt, faith; where there is despair, hope; where there is darkness, light; where there is sadness, joy; O Divine Master, grant that I may not so much seek to be consoled as to console; to be understood as to understand; to be loved as to love. For it is in giving that we receive; it is in pardoning that we are pardoned; and it is in dying that we are born to eternal life.

As Hernandez recited the prayer I stood there looking out at those gathered to say goodbye to Luisa Rohde. I noticed that the colors of clothes worn that day were dark and solemn. As I scanned through the crowd of people I noticed one person had on an outfit that quickly drew my attention to her.

It was not the girl that I had dated for the last six months, she had disappeared in the final days of my mother’s life, the girl that I expected to comfort me during this trying time did not realize how much I needed her at this time.

The girl that I could not stop looking at was the girl I played tennis with just a week before, Teresa’s friend Sandra. Wearing a purple and black outfit caused me to stop scanning through the group of people in attendance. For the rest of the reading I stared at her.

In the days that followed it was Sandra that would call on me, that would make sure I was recovering from my grief. It was Sandra that forced me to leave the house and give me renewed strength.

June 30^th, 1985

“If my mother were still alive would I be marrying Sandra?” That was my thought early in the morning of the day of my wedding.

I always feared that my siblings would not help with the care of my mother, and I thought that she would live with me until she died. One of those latin things I guess. Take care of those who take care of you.

I wondered if my mother knew that she had cancer before she went to Peru the previous year? Did she feel that she had lived long enough and was as she said ready to go?

It is still hard for me to understand how and why my mother died at such an early age? Fifty-four! People are living much longer then that now.

I some times wonder if she thought that she was a burden to me or if as she had said earlier she was cramping my style? Did she actually decide that it was time to go? Can one actually will themselves to die? But, if she did decide that her time had come then why did she subject her self to the pain and suffering caused by the radiation and chemotherapy?

Fortunately, her older brother Eduardo came to Dallas for my wedding. He was with me that morning and we talked about my mother, about all of my thoughts and concerns regarding my marrying, Sandra so soon after my mothers death.

He was a wise old man. In just a few minutes he let me know my concerns were unwarranted.

December 25^th, 1985

Sandra and I finally went to Europe on our honeymoon. By now we were already six months pregnant. Unlike most honeymooners we actually took my mother with us. We did have some concerns that taking a box full of ashes may cause some concern as we went through customs as we entered the countries we were to visit before we met up with my uncle, Eduardo, in Assisi, Italy.

We toured through Germany, Austria and northern Italy before arriving in Assisi to meet Eduardo. As schedule we arrived around noon and went directly to the hotel where my uncle had reserved rooms for us. We stayed in the same room where my mother had during her four previous trips to this beautiful town.

The narrow streets leading up to Assisi made walking a must. The quaintness made this relaxing village the most picturesque stop on our trip so far. In just a few minutes Sandra and I realized my mothers attraction to this place. Once in the hotel the clerk called Eduardo, who greeted us anxiously ready to show us around.

He led us, I think in a southerly direction out of the village. We arrived into a snow-covered field. “This is where Lucha, my mothers nickname, would spend hours alone. There is a grotto just over there” he pointed with his crooked fingers, “It is said that Frances would come and fast and pray for days and weeks at a time.”

After a few hours wandering through the village the sun started to set. The narrow streets quickly darkened even though the dim streetlights burned overhead. The quiet town sans tourist gave us a feeling that this was our town. I thought that from tonight on this would be my families place.

We waited until the stores had closed before venturing back out into the cold night. Eduardo led the way. In front of the Basilica of St. Frances there is a grassy knoll where my mother once fell asleep. At this spot I opened my coat to pull out the box that contained my mothers ashes. We quickly walked on to the grassy area and started to spread the ashes.

We heard a whistle not to far away, and then some footsteps gathering speed as they slapped down on the cobblestone coming nearer. Instead of gently pouring the ashes out, I started to shake the container. More whistles, quicker footsteps. The cloud of dust rose up around us. I was hoping to become invisible protected once more by my mothers embrace. Sandra and Eduardo swept their feet back and forth trying to scatter the ashes into the winter grass.

“Buona sera! ciò che stai facendo?”

All I understood was: “Good evening and what is going on?” from then on Eduardo took over. Before the cloud of dust settled we were on our way. My uncle had apologized and assured the officer that we would not scatter any more ashes.

The next morning we left Assisi and were to follow Eduardo into Rome. As we wound down the mountainous roads leading us away from my mother’s resting place a glimpse of Assisi filled the rearview mirror. I told Sandra of the beautiful view. She turned around to look and then clutching my hand she said: “It is a beautiful place, we should never forget this village. If we have a boy we should name him Frances, if we have a girl we will call her Assisi.”

As I wished for a girl, I cried.

March 1992

My sister Teresa always wanted to live in Europe, in January of 1992 her wish came true. Despite the fact that she had been battling Hodgkin’s lymphoma for several years when the chance arrived, she took it.

Moving to Limburger Germany with her husband she was able to take side trips to Spain, France and Austria before the cancer came back. It was her decision to stay in Germany to receive alternate treatment that showed more promise that that which she received back in Dallas.

It did not work. On March 15th Teresa’s husband, Andreas, called me to say that my sister had just a few more days to live. He hoped that I could come to see her before she died. I called Walter and Laurence to see if they would come with me.

On the flight out of Dallas Walter, Laurence and I boarded a flight to Munich. Once there Andreas met us at the airport and whisked us to the hospital. As soon as we arrived the doctors told us that she was sedated and asked that we return in one hour.

We wanted to see her then, we had traveled so far, but they denied our access. We reluctantly left for the hotel where we checked in and left our luggage and then headed back to the hospital. This time they led us into her room I immediately saw that she was awake despite the tubes running in and out of her mouth and nostril she looked alert. As Walter and then Laurence walked in she seemed to open her eyes in disbelief. When I walked in she seemed to want to jump out of her bed and greet us with hugs and kisses.

Near her was a board that she used to ask us questions and to answer ours.

“How are you?” I asked.

“I am dying,” she scribbled.

We were able to stay for about thirty minutes before her facial expressions started to show pain and exhaustion. The nurse that stood nearby during the entire time we were with her suggested that we leave. We were told that we would be able to come back the next day around 10:00 am.

Early the next morning while still in bed groggy from jet lag and the exhaustion caused by the knowledge of the impending death of a loved one the phone rang. It was Andreas.

“The hospital just called they think we should go to the hospital immediately.”

We did not have to ask why. We hoped that we would get there in time to see her go. We did not want her to be alone.

We did not make it. Once back at the hospital the nurses asked us to wait. When we were led into her room we noticed that the tubes that had been in her body the day before were now removed.

Around her neck hung a medallion that was not there yesterday. They must have put it on her after they took the tubes out.

The silver medallion that she had was similar to the key chain that my mother gave me a long time ago. The image of St. Frances clutching a small animal in his arm now lay on her chest.

Laurence and Walter would leave Germany to get back to Dallas. I stayed to make sure that the cremation would take place promptly. On the afternoon that the ashes were given to Andreas and myself we left for Assisi. Driving a 500 series Mercedes at breakneck speeds we hurried through the night arriving just as the gates to the city were being opened.

I led the way as Andreas and his brother followed up the steep narrow streets that led to the grassy knoll. It was easy to find the spot where I had left my mothers remains. Near the intersection of the walkway in the middle of the knoll in an otherwise well kept grassy area there grew a single flower. No more then three or four inches tall stood a dandelion. The beautiful yellow flower was waiting to greet Teresa. Could it have grown from the ashes of my mother?

August 1993

I was at work when I received a call from Parkland Hospital telling me that my brother Laurence had died just minutes before the phone call was placed.

I had the sad duty to call his sons and ex wife to inform them of his passing.

Laurence was cremated with the hopes of taking his remains to Assisi where I would scatter his ashes in the same location as that of my mother and sister.

Laurence has been resting peacefully at my house since the euro has remained so strong making long-term travel to costly. My hope has been to take Sandra and our two children Assisi and Victor so they will know where I want my ashes scattered.

I said I have to make long term travel plans since Italy has so much to see. When we take Laurence’s ashes to Assisi I want the kids to also go to Rome, Venice and Florence.

January 2006

During a rather difficult personal time in my life I was lucky enough to get some help from a long time customer and friend Dr. James Wagner. Not only has he been helping me edit a book that I have been working on for the last six months, but also he has been able to help me make my way through some personal issues.

One evening his wife Sally asked me if I would like to stay for a while and enjoy a glass of wine. I readily agreed.

As we sat and talked time flew by. We spoke of everything. We spoke of Assisi, not only my daughter but also the beautiful city in Italy.

Mrs. Wagner excused herself returning quickly with a statue of St. Frances.

“Wow! That is the most unique piece I have seen. Where did you get it?”

I looked at Dr. Wagner as a smile grew across his face.

“I did the sculpture.”

I cannot remember what I said after that, I had already drank my glass of wine. Before I knew it Dr. Wagner was telling me his story.

“I was on the way to do my residency.” I think he said he was in his way to Sacramento, but I know he was somewhere near Carmel when he felt that he should stop for the night.

“I went to the Holiday Inn to get a room for the night only to be told that this was one of the busiest weekends of the year. They had no room for me. I asked the clerk if they knew where I might find a room. After thinking for a while he smiled and said: “Try Molly Palmer’s Guest House”

Dr. Wagner paused for effect.

Mrs. Wagner took the opportunity to offer me more wine.

“Shuure.” I slurred.

“I drove up to the entrance.” Dr. Wagner continued: “You had to park outside a living fence made from an assortment of blooming and fruiting plants. As I made my way through the gate I saw an old lady. ‘Hello!’ I said.

‘Shhhh!’ she said hushing me up. I watched this little old lady as she called for a nearby bird to alight on her extended finger. ‘Prrrit, Prrit’ she called out. And then out of nowhere the bird flew to her and clutched on to her finger. That is where I got the inspiration for this statue.”

A few weeks passed before I got the nerve to ask Dr. Wagner if he could make a statue for me. Without hesitation he said that HE would be honored.

June 24^th, 2006

Dr. Wagner and his wife invited Sandra and myself to their home. They knew that my birthday was on the 26^th. We arrived at their home and were invited to sit in the living room. On the table in front of us sat the statue of St. Frances.

“Sandra, that is like the statue I asked for.” I whispered.

After a few minutes of drama and suspense and some idle conversation. Mrs. Wagner smiled. “Greg, that your statue.”

“But you said that it would not be ready for several months.”

“We pulled some strings,” boasted Dr. Wagner.

Dr. Wagner went on to tell Sandra how a friend of his came for dinner one night, bringing his Filipino wife with him. As soon as they entered the home the wife saw the statue of St. Frances. “Oh, I love she said. I have a friend that collects artifacts of St. Frances. Where can I get one of these?”

A few minutes later the name of her friend was exposed. Corazon Aquino the then president of the Philippines. And yes, she did get a statue just like mine. Being who she was Mrs. Aquino actually had the statue blessed by the Pope on a state visit to Rome.

As we continued our conversations with the Wagner’s I told them of my affinity for Pachelbel's Canon in D again it was Mrs. Wagner who stood up and with the push of only one button the beautiful music played quietly in the background. My evening was complete.

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When and Where:

Saturday, July 15, 11:00 am to 3:00 pm

Rohde's Nursery and Nature Store
1651 Wall Street; Garland, TX
(972) 864-1934

From LBJ, go north on Garland Road for two blocks to Leon Road. Turn right and go one block to Wall Street. Turn left onto Wall.

Rescue groups are especially encouraged to participate. For more information, contact AAT at 972-967-2266.