My aunt, Sr. Alice Montgomery, passed away this morning, January 21, 2019. My cousin, Jane Gamp, texted the news to my cousin, Susan O’Hara Jones, who was keeping me posted on Sr. Alice’s quickly failing health. Jane’s text stated, “Sr Alice’s angel wings were ready and she slipped away about an hour ago. Very peaceful departure. ??”
My aunt was 100 years old and no doubt headed toward a big reunion party with her nine brothers and sisters, her nieces Sara and Patricia, and host of other relatives and friends. A happy event—yes. Nonetheless, I shed tears—not so much for Sr. Alice, but for me and my cousins and the end of an era. For she was the last physical thread tying us to our fathers, mothers, aunts and uncles.
In truth, Sr. Alice’s memory had been steadily failing her more and more ever since she fell and broke her hip at age 95. Last April, the family gathered at the Mercy Retirement & Care Center in Oakland, CA to celebrate her 100thbirthday.
When I returned, I wrote the following piece for the creative writing group I attend at the Senior Center in South Haven, Michigan. I am sharing it now in this blog in honor of my aunt, Sr. Alice Montgomery, for certainly she was a fellow Spiritual Traveler throughout her life and surely into the future as she embarks on the next adventure or her existence.
April 14, 2018
Sr. Alice Montgomery 100 Years
Such a Wonderful Celebration—
Wish You Could Have Been There
Sr. Alice Montgomery. One hundred years of memories. If only you could remember them. Your mind exists now like a San Francisco morning in February, encased in a fog so dense that even familiar landmarks cannot be recognized.
But the memories are there—somewhere.
Memories of the little girl, youngest of ten, granddaughter of a Civil War veteran and his wife who traveled west from Missouri on one of the first transcontinental trains and settled in California—Humboldt County, redwood country. Alice Montgomery, daughter of Margaret—and of Felix, a gambling man who purchased a farm, a house, a business when he was flush and lost each in turn when his luck turned. The family stayed in Humboldt County, but they moved around a lot. That must have been hard.
Ah, but there was the local Catholic Church, especially St. Mary’s in Ferndale. That church and the Sisters of St. Joseph provided the ballast that helped Alice and most of her siblings sail steady and at a sea worthy angle to the rather tumultuous headwinds that threatened to engulf their family life.
By the time Alice posed for the family portrait at four, two of her sisters had already taken the veil, joining the order that had nourished them, the Sisters of Saint Joseph. Both became scholars, teachers at the college level. Sr. Felix would become the Mother Superior at the order’s motherhouse in Orange, California. Sr. Ignatius ended up at the motherhouse too. She was in charge of their magnificent gardens and was a world-renowned rose expert.
For the most part, the other brothers and sisters succeeded in life too: a salesman, a restaurant owner, a tool grinder (my father), and wives and mothers who were dynamic in their own right—but those are stories for another day.
Alice chose the path of becoming a nurse and then a nun, not of St. Joseph like her sisters, but of Mercy. This choice, like those of her sisters, was based, in part, on family piety and devotion to the Catholic religion. I suspect, however, that these choices also had a lot to do with the times and the window of opportunity provided by these religious orders for women who wanted to pursue and succeed in a profession.
Like her sisters, Sr. Alice Montgomery did succeed. As a little girl, I remember her visits to our house in Berwyn, Illinois in the 1950s. She was the president of the American Nursing Association for three years and often traveled to Chicago for meetings and conventions. And when Mercy Hospital decided to build a new facility, she came and helped design the new neo-natal unit.
A Catholic school girl, I was used to nuns. But, I was in awe of, and bit intimidated by, Sr. Alice with her voluminous black habit and the rosary with beads as large as marbles that circled her waist and cascaded down ending in a black and silver crucifix that bumped against her knee. I did manage, however, to find out the answer to that age-old question of Catholic kids: “Do they have any hair under those veils?” The answer was, “Yes. They had hair, short—but hair nonetheless.”
You may be getting the idea that Sr. Alice was a take-charge woman and you are right. In high school, I often traveled with my family as we made our frequent pilgrimages out west. Often our travels would include a stop in Phoenix, Arizona where Sister Alice headed the neo-natal unit at St. Joseph’s Hospital. By then she wore a modified habit, still black, but much less voluminous and with a much smaller veil that even showed a bit of her hair. But, no matter what she wore, Sr. Alice had a presence defined by knowledge, responsibility, and authority. And let no one—man or woman, priest, doctor, colleague or family member—doubt it.SpiritualTravelerGuides.com, my cousin Susan O’Hara Jones, reminded me of just how much a force of nature our aunt was. Susan wrote this comment: “Sr. Alice was a pioneer in the life-flight air emergency program. She initiated it for her hospital in Phoenix. My granddaughter Cathleen was a beneficiary of that life-Flight system in place all over the country now. It saved her life.”
In fact, after I posted “In Memory of Sr. Alice Montgomery” on my blog, SpiritualTravelerGuides.com, my cousin Susan O’Hara Jones, reminded me of just how much a force of nature our aunt was. Susan wrote this comment: “Sr. Alice was a pioneer in the life-flight air emergency program. She initiated it for her hospital in Phoenix. My granddaughter Cathleen was a beneficiary of that life-flight system in place all over the country now. It saved her life.”
Eventually, Sr. Alice retired from St. Joseph’s and moved to the order’s mother house in Burlingame, California. No habits at all now—just simple dresses and skirt suits. No veils, just modestly styled hair and a small cross pinned to a lapel. Retirement, however, did not stop Sr. Alice from being productive. She became a chaplain at St. Mary’s Hospital in San Francisco and as such, was able to secure one of the visiting nurses’ apartments for family stays. The apartments were a block away from Golden Gate Park—what a treat!
Evenings were often spent at her sister, Ann O’Hara’s home, a magnificent Queen Ann with picture postcard views of the Golden Gate Bridge from the back windows. Ann would serve California wine, cheese and crackers as a prelude to dinner. We all enjoyed that ritual, as did Sr. Alice. After all, wine is a sacrament!
Those early retirement years were filled with adventures. Sr. Alice traveled, sometimes on missions of mercy—a Sr. of Mercy bringing the skills of her profession to this or that disaster. Other times, she traveled to places like Ireland, England and Scotland in search of her family’s roots. She was so proud of the Montgomery tartan, all purple inlaid with red and green striping. She was fond of telling the story of the Scottish Lady Montgomery who introduced the tartan wool industry into Ireland.
And she was equally proud of the Montgomery crest with its motto, “Gardez Bien” and the maiden in blue one hand resting on a ship’s anchor and the other holding a man’s severed head. Hmmm… maybe a clue to why the Montgomery women are so dynamic…
Throughout these years, Sr. Alice was like a sturdy oak tree, tall, strong, a bit gnarly and rough on the outside, but always someone you could lean on in a crisis. She was there for all us when Ann O’Hara, the family matriarch, my aunt, her sister passed away, leaving Alice as the only surviving sibling of her generation. She dropped everything and flew with my cousin Jane to be by my side when my mother went into hospice and passed away in 2007 and was there again to provide support when my brother Patrick’s sudden heart attack took him from us.
Age, of course, eventually slowed Sr. Alice down. She moved into the assisted living section of the Burlingame motherhouse. She was able to maintain her independence, though. Visits always included a stroll around the facility with frequent introductions to staff and other residents. And she thoroughly enjoyed going out for lunch to her favorite Chinese restaurant.
At age 95, my cousin Jane threw a grand birthday party for Sr. Alice. I wasn’t able to be there, but many other family members were. That night, she returned home and sometime in the wee hours, they think, she fell. Her hip was broken. That was repaired. Her mind, however—that was another matter altogether.
It was so sudden! One day she was with us and the next—she wasn’t. And that “wasn’t” part—It just kept getting worse and worse. No more assisted living. Now it was round the clock nursing care at the Mercy Retirement & Care Center in Oakland.
Two years ago, at age 98, we threw Sister a birthday party. She didn’t recognize any of us. But the strength of her old personality did shine through. She smiled and enjoyed looking at photos. She even stood up and holding firmly to her walker welcomed all of us, thanking us for being there. Later, when I visited her, I handed her a rosary. She didn’t know me from Adam, but she knew how to say every Hail Mary, Our Father, Glory Be and every mystery.
The summer before last, when I visited Sr. Alice, I expected to be sad. My cousin, Jane, had warned me that Sister wouldn’t recognize me. And she didn’t. Oh, but, she was having such a great time participating in activities like balloon volleyball in the activity room. She was in her own magical world. It made me smile.
On Saturday, April 14, 2018, the family gathered once again in the party room at the Mercy Center. Relatives ranging from my generation to the tiny newest additions gathered to wish Sr. Alice Alice well on her 100th birthday. We were all there, but this time, sister wasn’t. Oh, there were glimpses of the real Alice, like when she smiled at baby Hayden or when cousin George and I held her hands. But, for the most part, she just wasn’t there. Not in mind, not in spirit—and soon not in
The party had barely started when sister summoned over cousin Jane’s son Kevin. “Let’s get out of here!” she commanded. And Kevin obeyed, wheeling her back to her room, where she stayed. We partied on and it was a joyous celebration. For although Sr. Alice did not remember us. We remembered her.
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