Another Anne But

We were both Anne, (she without the E; me with an E.) I didn’t learn that until several years later when I caught a glimpse of her passport.

She had foregone the Ann without an E when she took the veil. Apparently, the government didn’t recognize her choice.

Or perhaps she neglected to tell them.

That was four decades ago when both our worlds were decidedly different, but collided on a cold winter’s night in Dix Hills.

Ann Fahey was now known only as Sister Thomas More and part of the small group of nuns then in charge of the Madonna Heights home for girls.

I never dared ask, but I always believed Sister T, as we called her, was the youngest of the small highly dedicated group of women. The young adolescents in their care often referred to them as Mothers, and indeed they were in all but blood.

I soon realized Sister T and I could have been sisters, we had so much in common. Obviously, the one thing lacking was a vocation, a station in life that had never appealed to me.

Apart from that, we were both native New Yorkers, of approximately the same vintage. At some time in our youth quite possibly we rode the same subway trains en route to school and/or shopping. We both affectionately recalled the same stores and theaters, and yes, within minutes of our introduction became good friends.

In the years that followed, Sister T dined often in our home, often on potluck menus. We traveled to the nearby Westbury Music Fair and listened to an Irish Tenor share the magic of his voice. And when she ordered tea, I would order coffee. Possibly that was one of the very few things we did not have in common,

Sister T came from an Irish family and grew up in the Bronx. And to my surprise, her parents did not encourage her vocation. Her Father frankly disapproved when she left a budding career to enter a novitiate.

When she shared her story with me, initially I was surprised. Then I remembered my parents had never encouraged any of their three daughters to join a religious life.

I realize now our hardworking elders understood the rigors that such a commitment would entail. They were eager to protect beloved children from the harsh realities of life.

After several decades of a surprising friendship that had escalated into becoming a “Sister with another Mother,” both our worlds changed.

Madonna Heights fell under the guidance of SCO Family of Services and the small band of nuns (a/k/a Mothers) retired to Massachusetts. However, there was one exception, Sister T, who remained alone to complete her Mission.

Soon after, my Anam Cara, also departed, but not to another State. My husband died leaving me emotionally adrift. Sister T remained in my world giving not only comfort but support until I, too, relocated.

Our communication faltered, but never ended. In the decade that followed my beloved friend persisted in completing her service not only to God, but all who crossed her path.

The following email was sent earlier this month (two days before her birthday) to those who knew, loved and respected the woman who once was an Anne without an E:

“It is with a heavy heart I need to tell you Sr. Thomas More passed away this morning.”

And I knew another inspirational chapter of life on Long Island had ended.