Remembering Adele

Anyone who ever attended St. Thomas the Apostle Church in Delmar knew Adele, quietly sitting up front in her wheel chair, or wheeling herself in or out of the church to her residence next door. She had an infectious smile. Her passing was recorded in The Tablet, the newspaper of the archdiocese of New York.

Everyone at our parish knew Adele. Maybe they didn't know her up close and personal, but they knew of her. She was a visible and ever-present fixture at St. Thomas. Her wheelchair with the "Got Jesus?" bumper sticker on the back was parked in front of the first row of pews at every Mass every weekend. When she wasn't in church, she was praying in front of the statue of Mary outside our school or in front of the tabernacle in our chapel or at any number of vigils around the peace pole.

Noah and I got to know Adele when we volunteered to help at the birthday parties our parish sponsored at Reilly House, a residence for people with physical disabilities next door to our church. Once a month we would go over and help residents with their bingo cards or give them a hand with their cake and ice cream. I thought it would be a good opportunity for Noah to learn about serving others, but it turned out to be a good opportunity for both of us to learn about being strong and courageous and joyful in the face of adversity.

Adele was all of those things. Unable to walk and with very limited speech because of cerebral palsy, she never let her physical limitations keep her from doing the things she wanted to do. Through her quiet witness and deep faith—not to mention an unflappable determination to get the rest of us to slow down long enough to figure out what she was trying to tell us—she taught young and old alike what it means to trust in God and keep on keeping on, no matter how much we might want to sit back and feel sorry for ourselves. Adele never seemed to feel sorry for herself, even if others may have felt sorry for her.

Many people in our society—a society bent on creating perfect babies who we assume will grow into perfect adults—probably looked at Adele's circumstances and figured that hers was not a life worth living, but if you knew Adele, you would also know that her life, with all of its limitations and struggles, was a rare gift.

The rest of the story is here.