Anne sherwood
As Remembered by Sister Mary Therese Sherwood
Sister Marie Therese Sherwood poses with her mother, Anne, in front of the Our Lady of Fatima statue at Monocacy Manor in Bethlehem, Pa. This photo was taken on August 31, 1958, on the day of Sister’s entrance into aspirancy with the School Sisters of St. Francis.
My mom, Anne (Matusovic) Sherwood, was born in Jersey City, N.J., after my grandparents emigrated from Austria-Hungary (Slovakia) in the early 1900s. Mom had a beautiful singing voice and was a member of the church choir. She and my dad grew up in the same neighborhood, dated throughout high school, married in Assumption BVM Church, and soon became the proud parents of my brother John, myself, and my sister Annie.
Our Assumption BVM elementary school was staffed by the School Sisters of St. Francis. Mom was very active in all our school events, and became close friends with our Sister Theresa Hanecak, who taught all three of us. After my brother died in 2007, our Sister Antoinette Popovic wrote me a letter saying she had taught Johnny in Kindergarten, the first year it was established in Assumption School, and that Mom had been a great help to her.
My Mom and Dad were very active in our parish, and Mom often performed and sang in the parish minstrel shows. Mom taught me how to dance the polka and Csárdás (a traditional Hungarian folk dance), and I have wonderful memories of the two of us circling around the parish hall at many celebrations.
After we moved out of the city to Lakewood, N.J., Mom continued working as bookkeeper at the Jersey Journal newspaper, traveling to Jersey City by bus until her retirement in the late 1970s. It was soon after that we noticed a change in Mom. She was diagnosed with Parkinson’s disease, which progressed and caused physical deterioration. By that time, Dad had died, and Mom was living with my sister Annie and her three children, all of whom have loving memories of their grandma.
Mom died just one month shy of her 77th birthday. She and Dad left us a legacy of deep faith in God, love and care of family, and a strong work ethic.
“My mother, Frances Bomberger, as my mentor
and confidant, taught me what it means to have
quiet courage and strength to do whatever needs
to be done for others with love.”
julia giba
As Remembered by Sister Rosalia Giba
My mother was a living saint. God was always first in her life. She raised us children with a love that fully permeated heavenly joy. No matter how difficult it was raising all seven children, she never lost her love of God. Hers was an example of what pure joy in serving God meant to all of us.
Number one on her list was her love of the Mass. Daily she went, receiving her lover in Christ and proving to be a role model for all of us. It is there that heaven touches earth, and when we were too small to go to Mass, she made sure that she breathed upon us the love that filled her heart with the Eucharist.
Because of her nearness to Christ, she was able to see three of her daughters enter religious life. Also, being a member of the Third Order of St. Francis, Mom prayed the Liturgy of the Hours daily. That impressed me so much that I, too, wanted to be able to pray it.
Her love for Mary also knew no bounds. I remember her putting the Rosary in our hands and teaching us how to pray it. Our family prayed the Stations of the Cross daily and the Rosary together every evening, but in Slovak because that was my parents’ native tongue.
The basis of my religious life was my formation in my family home, where my mother’s way of life made a big impression on me. It was with her influence that my calling to religious life took root.
anna kuzma
As Remembered by Sister Roselyn Kuzma
I was blessed to be the middle child of 11, learning from my older siblings and teaching the younger ones. We all claimed to be Mom’s favorite, but I know I was! Actually, she loved all of us, and we knew it.
I lived with my parents during the last years of their lives and will always be grateful that I was able to help them when they needed help the most.
My mom worked hard all her life and then when she slowed down she began to make afghans for her children and grandchildren before she died. I still treasure mine as I curl up on cool nights.
It may be Mother’s Day, but I cannot honor Mom without mentioning my dad, who loved and cared for all of us. They were married on April 30, 1929, and, today, there are 152 descendants, including all the in-laws and great-great-grandchildren. I know that they are in Heaven smiling and praying for all of us.
“Strength and dignity are her clothing, and she laughs at the time to come. She opens her mouth with wisdom, and the teaching of kindness is on her tongue.”
My Mother’s Hands
My mother’s hands were not physically beautiful to behold. But they baked berry, apple, and lemon meringue pies, five at a time. They used an old-fashioned washboard for countless wash days. Those hands held, soothed and caressed four kids at once. They prayed rosaries — three a day — until all the wooden beads were gone and only the chain was left. To me, my mother’s hands were precious and summed up who she was. Her hands revealed a woman with a lifetime lived out in loving service. Sometimes, I look at my own hands pondering, wondering before my God, what do they reveal?
— Sister Jo Goolish