On this day five of honoring Mary, I moved in a different direction and feature here a photo of my mother in the arms of her mother. My grandmother's name was Marie Bottiglieri and I never had a chance to know her. She was 33 when she died in 1933. My mother was 13 years old when she lost her.
I've always felt a sort of attachment to my grandmother. It's complicated by the fact that my mother's life would have been very different had she not died. But, thinking on that, that difference would likely have sent my mother in another direction and I would have never been.
We truly are here at the will of chance. My father was on the USS Nevada at Pearl Harbor right next to the USS Arizona. My grandmother died young. A death nine years before a random chance of death that ended up in life for my father, finally brought the two of them together in 1946. And, here I am.
I like to think that my grandmother, Marie, was devoted to Our Lady and that she was called home early so that the greater plan of me and my own children would be accomplished as chance played out its part in the destinies of my parents.