(In this “November Special Series,” RVA’s writers share memories of loved ones they have lost — a celebration of their lives, recalled with a tinge of sadness and the hope that one day there will be a reunion…… in a place where there is no death, no suffering, and where God Himself will wipe away every tear. – Editor)
As candles flicker in our homes and churches this November, one flame burns brightest in my heart: the memory of my Novice Mistress. Her life, love, and laughter continue to illumine my days long after she has gone.
My novitiate days were among the best years of my life — a season of formation, friendship, and the profound discovery of God’s ways. We were blessed with a mature group of seniors and an energetic, lively group of juniors. As though heaven wished to favour us a little more, our Mistress happened to be the favourite of all, Sr. Cecily Vellaringattu. She spoke gently, treated us as women capable of maturity. We were trusted to rise to the best within ourselves. Eventually, we did. Even those of us who held on to a little childishness soon found ourselves shaped by the example she set.
A few months after entering the novitiate, I developed eczema on my left foot. Without any delay, she arranged every care I needed. During the canonical year, my condition was manageable, but in the second year, when we were frequently sent on missions, it became a concern. I missed being part of those experiences. Through it all, she remained constant and extended her wholehearted support. She even sent me to several spiritual fathers in Patna to help me discern my future more clearly. Their prayers and encouragement strengthened me at a time when uncertainty clouded my heart.
Each visit to her room for spiritual direction was something we treasured. She received us warmly and always offered the ‘easy chair’, perhaps sensing how much joy it brought us to sink into it. Her room was a place where one felt heard, understood, and quietly renewed.
Saturdays were set aside for super-cleaning, and one such day remains unforgettable. My companion and I were assigned to clean a dormitory. The rule was simple: we were not allowed to climb on the beds; we had to use wooden furniture to reach the windows and higher corners. But the beds were far more convenient and would save a little time. So, in a spirit of mischief and efficiency, I decided to hop from one bed to the next. My companion gently reminded me of the rule. I simply smiled and said, “Hey, one should always enjoy the work!”
I was still standing confidently on one of the beds when, lo and behold, Sister appeared right in front of me. I still cannot imagine the speed with which I jumped down. She looked at me with her usual gentle posture and said, “Elsy, it is good to listen to your companions too at times. Anyway, you know well that the Spirit leads me to the right place.” She moved away gently. I had no words, only a quiet, lifelong lesson I carry even now.
Months passed, each one shaping us tenderly. On 14 April 2007, we professed our first vows. The days of preparation had been guided by her patient, meticulous accompaniment. She walked with us, corrected us when needed, encouraged us generously, and helped us step into religious life with confidence.
After seven years of Juniorate, we were sent to the Institute Mater Dei Convent in Old Goa for our Tertianship programme. Once again, we were among the blessed; she was appointed to guide us as well. She had planned everything with her usual care and intended to visit us by October 2014. We were eagerly waiting, filled with stories, experiences, and laughter to share.
But that Sunday (August 10, 2014) brought news that shattered our joy. It was not the usual Sunday call that we always waited for from her. She had developed a high fever, which soon revealed itself as pneumonia. It struck her severely, and she never regained consciousness. Within a week, she quietly slipped into her heavenly home on 19 August 2014.
Even today, I cannot hold back my tears when I recall those painful days. The five of us came together and wept bitterly. Everything felt helpless, an ache too deep for words. Being far from our Motherhouse cemetery in Mokama, Bihar, we could not attend her funeral. We later learned that the funeral Mass was marked by uncontrollable sorrow, a testament to how deeply she was loved.
Yet all the good memories of her continued to guide me, lighting inner corners that grief could not overshadow. Then, one day, I received a gift I cherish, a dream that felt like a sacred visitation.
The five of us were seated on a smooth rock in the middle of a beautiful garden, serene and glowing with gentle light. Suddenly, she appeared among us, dressed in one of her favourite brown cotton sarees. With the same warmth we had always known, she asked about our Tertianship, our families, and our lives. None of us realised, in that moment of grace, that she was no longer alive on earth. Her presence felt so real, so comforting, so unmistakably hers.
After what felt like precious hours, she held us close, blessed each one of us, and congratulated us for our Final Commitment scheduled for 13 May 2015. She smiled and, with quiet joy, said goodbye.
That dream brought immense consolation. It taught us that love does not end with death, and that those who have shaped our souls remain with us in ways deeper than we can fully understand. Death cannot separate us from her. She remains present — in my joy and in my sorrow, in moments of confusion, and in every quiet decision I make. I still recall her silent, gentle presence and often find myself consulting her in spirit.
As she served the congregation willingly, lovingly, and without complaint, I, too, desire to walk the same path, to serve with the grace and humility she embodied.
We still miss you, Sr. Cecily. We know you are praying for us from heaven, watching over us with the same tenderness you shared with us on earth. Until we meet again, may we live the values you planted so gently in our hearts.
