St. Therese of Lisieux recounting the death of her mother
3 min • Digitized on July 30, 2024
From Story of a Soul, page 28
By St. Therese of Lisieux
CHAPTER II
A CATHOLIC HOUSEHOLD
All the details of my Mother’s illness are still fresh in my mind. I remember especially her last weeks on earth, when Celine and I felt like poor little exiles. Every morning a friend came to fetch us, and we spent the day with her. Once, we had not had time to say our prayers before starting, and on the way my little sister whispered; “Must we tell her that we have not said our prayers?” “Yes,” I answered. So, very timidly, Celine confided our secret to her, and she exclaimed: “Well, well, children, you shall say them.” Then she took us to a large room, and left us there. Celine looked at me in amazement. I was equally astonished, and exclaimed: “This is not like Mamma, she always said our prayers with us.” During the day, in spite of all efforts to amuse us, the thought of our dear Mother was constantly in our minds. I remember once, when my sister had an apricot given to her, she leant towards me and said; “We will not eat it, I will give it to Mamma.” Alas! our be loved Mother was now too ill to eat any earthly fruit; she would never more be satisfied but by the glory of Heaven. There she would drink of the mysterious wine which Jesus, at His Last Supper, promised to share with us in the Kingdom of His Father.
The touching ceremony of Extreme Unction made a deep impression on me. I can still see the place where I knelt, and hear my poor Father’s sobs.
My dear Mother died on August 28, 1877, in her forty-sixth year. The day after her death my Father took me in his arms and said; “Come and kiss your dear Mother lor the last time.” Without saying a word I put my lips to her icy forehead. I do not remember having cried much, and I did not talk to anyone of all that filled my heart; I looked and listened in silence, and I saw many things they would have hidden from me. Once I found myself close to the coffin in the passage. I stood looking at it for a long time; I had neyer seen one before, but I knew what it was. I was so small that I had to lift up my head to see its whole length, and it seemed to me very big and very sad.
Fifteen years later I was again standing by another coffin, that of our holy Mother Genevieve, and I was carried back to the days of my childhood. Memories crowded upon me; it was the same little Therese who looked at it, but she had grown, and the coffin seemed small. She had not to lift up her head to it, now she only raised her eyes to contemplate Heaven which seemed to her very full of joy, for trials had matured and strengthened her soul, so that nothing on earth could make her grieve.
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