By Prem Gongaju

Some pesky business with my health made me seek out the salubrity offerred under the maternal umbrella of Frances Xavier Cabrini for a few days. Yes, that Mother Cabrini who fought every step of the cold cobblestones trodden by the upstart capitalists as well as the well heeled power brokers and power mongers of the City Hall of New York, with her faith and feistiness born of the beauty and brawn of Bel Piesa.

I think I am getting a bit ahead of the story.

So, I was walking the halls of Cabrini Hospital with my daughter, who, by the way, is a health professional in her own right, a pediatric physical therapist, greeting the new acquaintances of Cabrini and taking in the nourishing ambiance of the halls made holy by the sainted breath of Mother Cabrini. And I might as well add that I was adorned in the finest gowns covering my front and rear views, walking arm in arm with my beloved daughter when lo and behold, one of the two ladies waiting by the elevator tapped my daughter’s hand and offered an additional hospital gown to cover my supposedly unclad caboose. No sooner had I grasped the naked truth of the situation, Mr. Robin Williams, the late funnyman par excellence, came to lend me a sliver of his wit, and I said, “Ma’am, the patch is all patched up of Patch Adams.”  This dimension of Robin Williams’ Patch Adams movie added some hilarity to the somewhat awkward situation, restoring the cordiality of the moment, and the ding sounded the opening of the elevator and the two smiling ladies walked in and my daughter and I resumed the father-daughter stroll, both parties happy.

Therein, the birthing of an idea for my Reverie.

Most common among the immigrants from the nooks and crannies of the world was the endless supply of hope and faith. Their courage was smeared with the precious tallow of the elbow grease.  And the young girls from Italia, forsaken and forlorn, famished and fatigued, were vulnerable to the predatory worms of the Big Apple.

In the midst of the shunned and sautered souls living in the squalor of the 19th century New York was Franceca Saverio Cabrin. Fostered by the light of her faith and favored by the fickle fingers of fate, and delegated by the pope, the future Saint Cabrini heeded the papal command, “Not to the East, but to the West!” She was relentless in her effort for the upliftment of the poor and helpless, orphans and urchins. By the sheer force of her will rooted in the clay of her Catholic faith, she succeeded in winning the imprimatur of the prelates, the purse of the rich and famous, and the compromise of the elected officials at the New York City Hall. The majority of one, she presided over her Lazarushian principality of “the tired, the poor, and the huddled masses yearning to breathe free.”

I too am an immigrant in this conquered land, which not too long ago belonged to the native Americans. An immigrant among the fellow immigrants from the inhabited continents of the world, I made my home here among the descendants of “the huddled masses yearning to breathe free.”

The patron saint of immigrants, Mother Cabrini worked tirelessly with all her heart made sacred due to her unwavering love andd devotion for the Immaculate Heart of Mary and her soul made pure and unblemished due to her love for the Sacred Heart of Jesus “across the Americas in schools, orphanages, hospitals, and prisons.” She walked among the wretched of the earth.

Incidentally, I find the principles and philosophy of her love and kindness, caritas and sacrifice permeating the humanity of the Cabrini Hospital staff at the service of the sick and infirm, the frail and ailing; they seem to rejoice at the chance for extending their hands toward alleviating the pain and suffering of the fellow human beings.

Finally, may her faith heal the Peter Smiths among the blind populace of America, I pray.

-Samapta-