February 26, 1967

My dear Frater Quentin,

It is my understanding that you have requested notes and letters from any of the many, many friends and acquaintances of Little Virginia Cyr of Jesus. With your kind indulgence, I will attempt to put some of my thoughts and experiences on paper.

I title my relationship with Little Virginia "The Great Privilege."

For many weeks before Virginia's death, my wife Shirley and I had heard from several of our friends about a very saintly young girl, afflicted with cerebral palsy. To hear these people talk, I was led to believe that she had the power to reach inside you, pull from you your soul, examine it and mold it to make it more pleasing to God before putting it back. We had heard how priests came to her bedside to celebrate the Holy Sacrifice of the Mass literally at her feet. We heard of the wisdom that flowed from her lips, of the love that radiated from her entire being. I was particularly impressed with the awe and reverence that seemed to be associated with her very name: "Little Virginia of Jesus."

Since Christmas, I was told, Virginia was steadily going down hill. It was apparent that her suffering was a great concern to everyone - but her. Almost daily, most conversations eventually led to Virginia; and with each passing day I felt I knew her although I had never met her. My actions were inevitable! Shirley didn't want to meet her. Knowing that she was, physically, a pitiful sight to see, she wanted to keep the image of Virginia that she had imagined. Shirley said once that when she gazed at the huge crucifix in church, she imagined Virginia's face on the figure of Christ. How astoundingly accurate this was, and how fitting. Virginia made her suffering as Christ-like as any human could.

I am a florist. We own a small flower and gift shop, and two of Virginia's close friends had each sent a large candle to her, decorated with Christmas trimmings. I was deeply flattered to hear that the candles I had designed were used on the altar--at the foot of her bed--for her private Midnight Mass. Three priests concelebrated Mass while she and her newly adopted family, the Ted Kiefers, participated. When I learned of this, I was deeply moved. This was perhaps one of the deciding events in making up my mind to meet her. I had sent word to find out if she would see me and, of course, the answer was yes. So on Thursday morning, January 26^th, I decorated a very large white candle with white cupids and pink roses. I lit the candle that morning in my store and offered the little flame reaching to heaven for Virginia's own intentions. It is my God-given nature to give gifts to people, whenever possible, to give them a few moments of joy. This was my reason for giving Virginia a gift.

Our meeting was strange and beautiful and very significant. (Just how significant was made known to all who attended her Bible vigil and funeral.) I was afraid of showing any sympathy or pity, so I had made up my mind to literally jabber, to avoid any lull in conversation. I nearly made an ass of myself because of the consistent jabbering, but not to Virginia. As I walked into her room, our eyes met, and she radiated with love. I was disappointed for a moment at her tormented disfigurement, but it was a fleeting moment. Her eyes did truly love me. Their depth pierced my soul and I think I could feel her caressing little hands gently molding my soul. I don't remember what I said during that hour; I just babbled. It probably wasn't necessary; I prefer to believe that our souls carried on a conversation, and when I left . . . I was full! Full of a closeness to God that I had never known before that day.

She told Ruth Kiefer after I left that the burning candle was her, and when it burned out, she would also burn out. I didn't go back for a few days, but most of my thoughts were in her room.

The following Tuesday, I heard that she was in grave condition and everyone knew her time was near. The following day, Wednesday, I tried to prevent the inevitable by taking her a new

Our beloved Father Keith Hosey was there on that Wednesday, and had planned a Mass at her feet. What a privilege to be asked to participate! Here I was with the two people on earth who meant "Christ" to me. What a thrill! Father Hosey said the Mass of the following day, The Blessing of Candles, and the new candle was used in the ancient Liturgy. I began realizing that I was brought to Virginia for a purpose. I watched Virginia during Mass. I watched her body twist and jerk and the veins nearly burst on her thin little face as she suffered through the reenactment of the crucifixion. Have you ever witnessed a martyrdom? All who participated in Mass with Virginia did!

Later that day, that evening, that night and the next morning, people--many people--stopped in to visit and to pray. Virginia had asked that we pray for the end, and everyone was.

On Thursday morning Shirley sent two candles, newly blessed at Mass, but Virginia was not aware of much of anything that was going on. She did say that morning, while the women were bathing and changing her, "Tomorrow I will be a bride." I was deeply impressed by these words. Only a sainted person could experience such a beautiful yet agonizing death. Her pain was unbelievably brutal. Why, God? Why don't you take her? I suppose she was still giving the last few ounces of strength left in her body to someone she loved. Perhaps to her mother. It was a beautiful yet pitiful sight to see her mother's crippled hand laying in Virginia's crippled hand. During those last hours I felt a sorrow and loneliness for Virginia's mother, for she was the only one there who didn't know Virginia. She was probably the only one there who felt the sorrow that death brings to the living left behind. To the rest of us, Virginia's death meant the beginning after the end, and it was all truly beautiful and awesome.

It was later that day that Father Eugene brought her casket from St. Meinrad's. When I learned that the monks and seminarians had built her final sanctuary with their own hands, again I felt a closeness to a divine being who was a great mystery to all. I say mystery, yet I'm sure I knew her as very few knew her - and she wanted and permitted this feeling between us. One complete week had passed since our meeting, or was it a lifetime? How many times had I knelt at her bedside to thank Him for the great privilege! The times seemed countless yet too seldom.

I was unable to attend Father Eugene's Mass that afternoon. How beautiful and original it must have been. A first of many firsts.

Many tears were shed in her room that day and that night by oh so many people who loved this wretched disfigured symbol of love. That night was indeed a long and painful vigil for Virginia and the women who never left her side during her last few days of life.

Shortly before dawn on Friday, February 3, 1967, Little Virginia Cyr of Jesus made her wedding vows for all eternity. Tears were shed by many of her friends, including myself, but only because we would miss her. There was also a great feeling of joy that spread rapidly to all who knew and loved her. Virginia was dead, alleluia!

Considering the length of time her dying consumed, one would think the final arrangements would have been organized and well planned. Contrary to this, everything seemed confused turmoil. So many seemed to have an idea to interject. Finally, all preparations were made, and we were all more aware than ever of the great impact this small bundle of love had had on our lives.

Virginia was to lie in her very own room with her family, the Kiefers, and her many friends around her. There were very few floral tributes, but it was again my great privilege to make the few significant ones that were there. From Ted and Ruth Kiefer: an arrangement of weeds and berries centered with a bow of braided rope, a lighted vigil light, and a single red rose. The card read: "To our little hobo." From her mother there was an elegant cherub holding a superb arrangement of red roses. The card: "To my precious daughter." Fitting, indeed, from her mother. The most magnificent of all was her "Charlie Heart," slightly altered to fit the occasion. A three-foot heart of red carnations pierced by a five-foot cross. A crown of thorns encircled the top of the cross, while a replica of the Holy Spirit perched atop the heart for all to behold. The card read: "You made it, Charlie!" This arrangement and the next were probably the most meaningful to Virginia. The senders were deeply loved by Little Virginia. Virginia had a great devotion to Our Lady. Perhaps that is why a bronze statue of Our Lady was selected, standing in front of a contemporary wreath of straw, with a sheaf of wheat (the grain of life) next to a styled arrangement of virgin blue Oriental iris. All of this was on a base of ugly green sheet moss, to signify the world. Reaching to heaven from the moss were the flames of two vigil lights. An arrangement truly appropriate for the occasion.

Virginia's crude cross, constructed of two branches tied with twine, a gift to her from you, her beloved Frater Quentin, was placed in her casket. We entwined three red roses around this cross - three for the Trinity, red for love. A group of friends had sent a "Rosary" of red rose buds that was laid on top of her casket. This brings to mind a strange happening that is beyond me. Although Virginia loved Our Lady very much, she had little or no devotion for the rosary. And even though I expected all the flowers to wilt and turn black long before the funeral, only the flowers on the rosary wilted! Finally, Shirley's and my gift and tribute to this momentous occasion was a crude and rugged cross of bark, garlanded with greens for life. A braided rope hung like the shroud of Christ with each knot to signify a trying step of Virginia's life on earth, all the symbols of life centered by death . . .Virginia's bridal bouquet. Such a great privilege for me to be such an important part of the final tribute to her.

But my role was not finished! The Bible Vigil--your tribute, Frater--seemed incomplete without some of the music that Virginia loved, one of her few joys here on earth. Someone said she spoke to me, and maybe she did, for I asked if I could sing.

The selection was difficult. Many of Virginia's favorites were "folk songs" - definitely not my style of song. Even though I protested vigorously--to myself mostly, because I think everyone else knew what would happen--I sang Virginia's favorites: "Climb Every Mountain," from the show "The Sound of Music," a show she loved, and "I'm me!" I was fully aware that God was permitting me to sing my best. And it was! It was all very ironic to me, especially the accompaniment. Velma Tanzelli, the organist, had never played the organ before, and had said she never would. But, where Virginia was concerned, people found themselves doing many things they had thought they could not or would not do. So again it was my great privilege to play an important role in the life and death of Virginia Cyr.

Like many of the people who loved Virginia, Shirley and I stayed with her during the night while she was lying in state before the altar of God where we, who loved her, worship.

Virginia's funeral was not her funeral. It could very well have been her wedding. As you know, Frater, eight priests concelebrated Mass vested in white. At the Offertory, a crown of velvet, red roses and hyacinth blossoms was placed on her coffin to signify the crown she received at the Throne of the Almighty. Again, it was my great privilege to construct the crown. Before Virginia was processed to the hearse that would carry her far from us to her grave, we sang, "Alleluia, the strife is over," to the glory of Him who had taken her.

For most in attendance, it was over. A great experience, a beautiful friendship, a loved one gone, the end of suffering or maybe just a witness to a first. But for me it was the beginning of fulfillment. I went to work filled with grief, for I knew that this was the day and the only day that I must meet my confessor face to face, something I had avoided since I first met and loved Father Keith Hosey. The decision was the most difficult thing I have ever experienced. Virginia knew it, and this was her gift to me. A new life. At 5:30 the afternoon of Virginia's funeral, I sat face to face with my Christ-on-earth, Father Keith. I was afraid as I looked into his eyes filled with love. "Father, this is my first confession!"

Frater, may the blessings of all the saints and Virginia of Jesus be with you, who also loved her.

Jim McDaniel

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