---

(Editor's note: A "sacramental" is an object like a religious medal, rosary or statue.)

Growing up as a Catholic in Troy, I always used to stay overnight with my grandmother, Phil, and her sister, Grace, and go to Mass with them either on Saturday or Sunday at the old St. Mary's Church on 4th Street.

The two of them instilled their own faith in me. I remember seeing a rosary hanging on my grandmother's bedpost, and in Aunt Grace's bedroom. When I asked Grandma Phil what the rosary was, she told me it was a sacramental, that praying it faithfully can help us during times of trouble and that even miracles could happen. This began my lifelong fascination with the Rosary.

After Grandma Phil died several years ago, I found a grandmotherly figure in Aunt Grace, whom I loved as dearly as I loved Grandma Phil. I could never forget going to the St. Anne's novena with her at St. Mary's, her festive Christmas Eve parties - her meatballs were legendary - or ziti dinners and watching "Jeopardy" on TV with her during the summertime. Most of all, I could never forget the impact of her own faith upon me.

Last September, Aunt Grace became seriously ill, and her prognosis was poor. I began to pray the Rosary every day for her, hoping for a miracle cure.

My faith was challenged when she didn't get better. I wondered if I wasn't praying hard enough, or if maybe the rosary simply wasn't the powerful sacramental that I thought it was.

However, I came to realize that maybe I was looking for a miracle in the wrong place. Once I realized this, I began to pray the Rosary in gratitude. I realized that the time I had with Aunt Grace was a miracle. Each novena, the Sunday Masses at St. Mary's, the holiday parties and the phone calls were all miracles.

I prayed the Rosary asking for God's will to be done for Aunt Grace, with thanks for her life and everything that she did for me. Aunt Grace went home to the Lord shortly before Christmas. The miracle of the Rosary, at least for me, was the grace to let her go - not with anger or sorrow, but with gratitude and love.

Eternal rest, grant unto her, O Lord, and let perpetual light shine upon her.

(Mr. Gustin is a parishioner of St. Michael the Archangel Church in Troy and a teacher at Notre Dame-Bishop Gibbons School in Schenectady.)[[In-content Ad]]

---