My aunt is dying.

Then again, I suppose we all are, depending on your perspective. The difference is that my Aunt Sheila knows her time is short. She has Stage 4 liver cancer, and the doctors have told her she has only a few months left. The news has settled over our family like a heavy blanket. Each of us is trying to make sense of it in our own way. Most of all, she is.

Death has always arrived suddenly in my family. My grandfather was gone in an instant. So was my mom. There were no long conversations. No final questions. No chance to say everything that was left unsaid.

This time is different.

As heartbreaking as it is, there is also an unexpected gift. We have time. Time to say thank you. Time to laugh. Time to remember. Most importantly, time to tell someone what they have meant to your life while they can still hear the words.

There really is more than words can say….I will try.

A Life Unlike Any Other

I knew my Aunt Sheila was super special when I was five years old. On my very first day of kindergarten, she walked into my classroom wearing her Holy Child habit. Instantly, every child stood, bowed or curtsied, and together they said, “Good morning, Sister Sheila.”

I remember thinking, Wait…everyone knows my aunt? She wasn’t like anyone else’s aunt. Although she is a Holy Child Sister, that isn’t what makes her extraordinary. Plenty of women become nuns. Very few become Aunt Sheila.

She is the fourth of seven children, right in the middle, and she has always been filled with energy, joy, and a smile that could brighten any room. She has always loved sports, especially tennis, and later, as my school principal, she could often be found outside shooting baskets with the boys instead of sitting behind a desk.

People have always mattered more to her than titles.

Actions, Not Words

The Holy Child motto is simple: “Actions, not words.” No one has lived those words more completely.

After becoming a school principal before the age of thirty, Aunt Sheila left everything familiar to become a missionary in Nigeria. She fell in love with Africa and never wanted to leave. Malaria eventually forced her home, but not before the people there had forever changed her heart.

Later, as a psychologist at St. Luke’s Institute in Washington, D.C., she found herself walking beside clergy and victims during one of the darkest chapters in the Catholic Church. She saw unimaginable pain. She carried stories that most of us could never bear. I still remember the day she accepted a position helping survivors of clergy abuse.

With tears streaming down her face, she looked at me and asked, “How will I be the keeper of such pain?” Only someone whose heart was built for healing would even ask that question. She never sought recognition for that work. She simply showed up, listened, prayed, and loved. Thousands of people found healing because she chose compassion over comfort.

The Quiet Teacher

I have never heard my aunt raise her voice. She almost whispers. Yet somehow everyone leans in to listen.

She has a remarkable gift that feels almost impossible today. She is completely present. When you speak, she isn’t thinking about what she will say next. She simply listens. Then she pauses. She reflects. Finally, she offers a few thoughtful words that somehow become exactly what you needed.

After my mom died, Aunt Sheila quietly stepped into our lives in ways neither of us ever discussed. She became another grandmother to my boys. She celebrated birthdays, attended school events, and simply showed up. One afternoon I came home upset over some ridiculous mom drama at preschool.

She listened patiently before softly saying, “Heidi, people who are hurting, hurt.” That was it. One sentence. One lesson I have carried for decades.

What Really Matters

Watching Aunt Sheila live has taught me far more than listening to anyone preach. She knows exactly what matters. Faith. Family. Friends. Everything else waits its turn.

If someone is suffering, she is there. Not just for the first visit, but for the next one…and the one after that. Sometimes her care lasts twenty years. She has met Popes. She has appeared on Oprah. She has led schools, hospitals, ministries, and organizations. She has also cleaned bathrooms, washed dishes, and quietly done countless unseen acts of kindness.

To her, none of those accomplishments carry much weight. Serving people does. That is her life’s work. That is her joy.

Her Greatest Lesson

Today, cards arrive every single day. Scholarships are being created in her honor. Buildings bear her name. People from every season of her life are writing to tell her how she changed theirs. While she appreciates every note, she isn’t interested in the recognition. What fills her with joy is hearing that someone is helping another person.

That matters. Love in action has always mattered.

The other day I asked her, “Aunt Sheila, I know what I think your legacy is. What do you think it is?” She didn’t answer right away. Instead, she looked at me with those beautiful blue eyes, lifted her hands, and formed the shape of a heart.

“Love.” Just one word. No long speech. No list of accomplishments. No résumé. Simply love.

As I watch someone I deeply love prepare to leave this world, I realize she is giving us one final gift. She is still teaching us. Not how to die. How to live. Perhaps that has been her lesson all along.

A life isn’t measured by titles, awards, or recognition. Instead, it is measured by the people we love, the burdens we help carry, and the kindness we leave behind. If that is true, then Aunt Sheila has lived one of the most beautiful lives I have ever known.

What a blessing to tell her that while she is still here to hear it.

CHARITY MATTERS.

 

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