Anastasia Means Resurrection

Anastasia Marie

Imagine naming your child for both the Resurrection of Christ, and the Blessed Mother. My sister, Anastasia Marie Evans, left us just before Christmas of 2019, a short six months ago as I write this. She had breast cancer which had metastasized throughout her body, among a host of other complicating health issues. Anastasia was twelve years older than me, the oldest daughter of eight, while I was the youngest child. We shared a bond in many ways, which somehow survived despite our age difference.

When I was four years of age, I had a serious break to my left elbow and was in the hospital for two weeks. Due to visitation policies and lack of transportation, I saw only my mother during most of that time. Marie, as we called her back then, was a lifetime doll collector. One thing she did when I came home was to give me her favorite doll. Not the average gift for a small boy, but I loved it. I remembered that gesture all my life. Back to that in a bit but that was the kind of relationship we had.

When I returned to the Catholic Church in 2005, she offered to help me on my journey. Though I had an RCIA sponsor and a friend also co-sponsoring, I took her up at least on her prayers and support. She was the one person in the family who had remained cradle Catholic from birth to death. All the rest of us had left at one point or another, but not her. Ironically, when I left the Church, I became a devoutly charismatic Christian and helped point her in that direction. She first resisted but later in life became part of People of Praise, a primarily Catholic charismatic community, and made a permanent covenant with them in 2006, the same year I was belatedly confirmed at age 50. I was there with her when she did. I had helped her to become charismatic, and she helped me to return to Catholicism. Strange indeed how God works.

Earlier, when I became involved in “LGBTQ” rights and activism, she never once condemned me or caused me to feel somehow less Christian than she. But, judging by the sheer amount of spare rosaries we discovered in her home after she was in the long-term care facility, I am pretty sure she prayed for me on much more than one occasion and on several of those very rosaries!

Healing Through Soup—And Margaritas

She, for assorted reasons, was not always close to her siblings or other family members, including me. Looking back, I realize there were several times any one of us could have reached out to her more, and, as with most such situations, there was some fault on all sides. With her and me, there was not so much tension as distance, but I know I could have done better in reaching out to her with a call or suggesting coffee. That is on me.

The good news is it did not end there. In another CS article, I spoke about my dad, who, one short day before he passed, called her on the phone to be sure all was well between them. He also spoke to Colleen, another of my siblings, suggesting we each make a better effort in reaching out to her. Colleen took it very much to heart, helping her in many ways during Anastasia’s last few months with such things as making sure she had personal items from her home, Dr. appointments, arranging her chemo, as well as going with her to such appointments.

After his death, I can truthfully say all of us did better in getting together with her and rebuilding that relationship. A resurrection, even during her few years on earth, began to happen. We often went out with her to her favorite soup restaurant, and one time, to my surprise, she was guzzling a margarita when I arrived! We shared. What else could I do? In any case, those enjoyable moments prepared us on both sides for what was to come. When she discovered she had terminal cancer, she reached out to us, and we back. Both sides were ready for that resurrection of sibling friendship.

I wish to point out something here. We never spent time pouring over the past, whatever hurts or mistakes that we each made, and that was okay. Society teaches us these days to have closure, and by it, we often assume it means a constant rehashing of old hurts or misunderstandings. That is not terrible, but not always what is most needed for ultimate healing. Sometimes it is just laughter and tasty food—and, yes, margaritas. Resurrection comes in many forms.

Death Can Be A Victory

On the last day of her life, she was mostly unconscious, and I do daily home care close to St Therese where she resided. Immediately going there after work, I spent that last day with her, alone until evening, and with two siblings and one of her daughters, was there when she died. The only other time I was present when someone moved onward was with my dad, 5 years earlier. And, in both cases, amazing things happened.

Here are just a few—I arrived in time for the daily Mass for residents and was able to receive the Holy Eucharist with her. Technically I had received in the Chapel, and then the chaplain came to her room with me and administered our Lord Jesus Christ to her. Catholics understand that the real presence of Christ stays in us sacramentally until the sacred host digests and becomes part of our body, and that had not happened to me yet when she too received, around 5 minutes later. Having Christ come into us together gave us yet another bond to share, this one eternal in nature. I am so glad I was there at that moment. Before this, she had received Last Rites and Apostolic Pardon, and God had allowed me to arrange this for her as well, as had happened with my dad too. We had come full circle on our spiritual journeys in both cases. I will cling to that sacred moment until I die.

My two sisters, Jan and Colleen, and Anastasia’s daughter Lisa arrived in the evening. Our family loves to sing, and we sang songs of praise and worship to her as her breath was slowing. How much she understood is not knowable in this life. But God heard. By that time, I had been there several hours, and Lisa and I went downstairs to get a quick snack. We were gone for only ten minutes, but somewhere during that time Anastasia’s breathing stopped. One might say I missed the most important moment—but not so. While we were downstairs, I sensed an inner direction to go next door into the Chapel once again and prayed for her before Jesus in the Blessed Sacrament. Later, I realized it was at the exact moment she was meeting Him in person. I was where I was supposed to be.

COVID19

One last bit of mercy occurred that is worth sharing here. We, like most in the world, had no idea that two months later the world would be under quarantine due to the coronavirus Covid19. Further, what we could never have guessed the long-term care facility she was in at the end of her life was the epicenter of its spread in the state of MN. If she had lived two months more, she would have died of this horrible disease on top of her cancer. Well over half the residents at St Therese New Hope were infected, and over 50 have died thus far. We could not have visited her, and she might not have received the Sacraments, all while dying alone. I cannot fathom how hard that would have been for her or the family. I can only say it was the blessing of God that He took her exactly when He did. I dare not guess why He spared her and not others, but I am so thankful He did. And, again, it is a reminder that Anastasia means Resurrection.

One last thing-it is said that St Therese, patron saint of the health care facility where she was, has been known to bring roses to people in need and to make her prayers and presence known. The night, after my sister died, I told those present about the doll she had given me over half a century ago. Lisa then gave me a beautiful “Anastasia” doll, the only one of her collection with her in the room. It may not have been roses, but St. Therese knew how much I would treasure that gift. St Therese was with us.

Please pray for the repose of the soul of Anastasia with me. And ask her to pray for you too. I am confident she will.