St. Peregrine

Did you know that St. Peregrine is the Patron Saint of cancer patients?

No?

Well now you do.

I should have found this out when my mother had cancer, but the craziness of the 24/7 breastfeeding newborn Lillian and a penchant for turning to St. Jude anyway made this need obsolete. So my mother wasn't exactly a 'hopeless case,' which happens to be St. Jude's specialty. She did, however, have Stage 3 colon cancer. It was serious enough to warrant going to the main intercession Saint.

I'm of a clearer head these days. But once again knowing someone with a serious case of cancer, I wanted to find out who exactly is the go-to Saint for this disease.

We Catholics have Saints for everything. It's amazing. You got some dental issues? Saint Apollonia might be able to appeal to the higher ups on your behalf.

Looking for help during labor? Sr. Gerard Majella, ladies!

Eye troubles? St. Lucy is your best bet, having quite possibly had her eyes taken out by Diocletian as part of her torture.


Gardeners facing a tough growing season can implore for the intercession of St. Fiacre.

Fearful of a shipwreck? St. Anthony of Padua is your guy.

Tired of procrastinating? Expeditus might listen.

Even pastry chefs, undertakers and cab drivers have their own saints. No malady or profession is left without a celestial partner to lean on.

*******

About 10 years ago my parents took me to Ireland as a college graduation present. I made it through college, hadn't succeeded in killing myself, and so that was worthy of celebration. Unfortunately, I was fairly deep in the throes of a nasty depression, and so I was a sullen, weepy traveling companion. (My poor parents, seriously). (Also, Saint Dympna...Patron Saint of Mental Illness! Good to know.)

While we were there, we made a little pilgrimage in our rental car to the shrine at Melleray, where the Virgin Mary had reportedly appeared to some boys in the 80s. It was me and my parents, and a friend of my uncle we were also traveling with. As I sat in the chair before this shrine, where a white statue of Mary was set into the dug out side of this hill, I felt very little. I was so consumed with despair that I was entirely stuck in myself.

I had some natural intrigue about the story of the boys. I admit to watching to see if the statue would change to Jesus and back again to Mary, as some people had reported seeing, or if it would grow almost psychedelic with bright wavy lines around it, before returning to its natural state.

And I did pick up some of the holy water from the blessed spring that ran through the shrine. I did look at all the lit candles that symbolized someone's fervent faith or requests.

But generally, it was just another stop in Ireland, albeit one with a bit more relevance to my scattered faith.

In the car on the way back to our rental house, my mom and Jim began talking about their rosaries. Jim took his out of his pocket and mom took hers out of her purse. And in something my Agent Scully-like nature still has trouble processing today, they both discovered that elements of their rosaries had changed color. On my mother's rosary, the Christ figure, like the rest of the metal on it, had always been silver. It was now a gold color. On Jim's rosary, a scattering of links had also turned to a gold color, in nothing that resembled a pattern.

I won't go on and on about it. It was something I saw (I was sandwiched between them in the car) that still can make me shiver when I think about it.

It was simply one of those times heaven comes down to smack you in your head and remind you of something bigger and more wonderful. Whether we feel it or not. It's there.

*******

Yesterday I saw a bird on our dogwood. It was bigger than any of our typical fare, and I could tell instantly by its size and coloring that it was a bird of prey. I assumed it was a hawk, and stood there for a moment watching it. We see them circling above sometimes, but never this close. And never perched. Then it flew off.

This morning as I opened the bookmark that has St. Peregrine's novena for cancer patients on it, it hit me. What does a peregrine falcon look like?

And do you know what? It looked exactly like the bird on the dogwood. That wasn't a hawk. I scoured Google images feeling this jumpy sort of jubilation. I looked up the info on how they were endangered but are making a comeback, and can be found all over the world. I lingered on one particular image showing its back, and one showing it in flight, the two views I got the best of.

And back to Agent Scully, or at least, back to the reality that I am most certainly not an ornithologist. It was yesterday. The coloring was certainly not brown. I saw those striped tailfeathers. Is my memory serving me correctly?

So maybe it's nothing. Or maybe it was something big and wonderful.

I have decided that I don't care. I'll take it as a sign. St. Peregrine Laziosi has nothing to do with the peregrine falcon. All they share is a name, but right now that is at least enough to make me feel like I'm being listened to.

If not answered, listened to.