Note to the RCCL: Please DND

I promise I will write about my mother-daughter experience but I have to get this off my chest first. I also think it's important to know what preceded it.

While we were visiting, a Eucharistic Visitor from the local RC church came by to bring the Holy Sacrament to my mother. I was really appreciative of that wonderful gift and felt happy that my mother would be able to partake in Holy Eucharist, even though she was unable to attend church.

A woman in her mid-70's, she appeared to be very professional if not in a uniform of sorts: A green plaid pleated skirt, solid green, tailored jacket with several pens neatly lined up in the chest pocket, a white button-down lightly starched shirt, the 'peter pan' collar straining to be held together at her neck by a silver religious pin that said, 'Eucharistic Visitor'. She wore black orthopedic shoes and black tights. She also wore a cross with a corpus in obvious agony hanging from her neck and held in her hand a very large well-polished silver ciborium that was wrapped into a computer-generated list.

You would never confuse this woman with the 'TV Lady' or even the Nutritionist or Physical or Occupational Therapist.

She was the very model of efficiency. I'll just call her "The RC Church Lady." That's RCCL for short.

The RCCL said 'good morning' to my mother who, in turn, introduced my daughter and I, going at lengths to mention that we were visiting from NYC and NJ. RCCL glanced over our way and gave the most miserly small, what could only be described as very sour smile (no, I was not wearing a clerical collar).

The RCCL looked up at the clock over my mother's bed as she asked, "How are you doing today?" in a way that told you immediately that this was a strictly perfunctory question.

As my mother politely answered her question anyway, the RCCL made a great fuss about unfolding her computer visitor list and then, interrupting my mother's response mid-sentence asked to verify her name. "Why yes," my mother said sweetly (I recognized the tone immediately and knew exactly where this might lead).

"And you're Catholic, right?"

"Yes, of course," said my mother, as if to say, "D'uh!"

"I'm Catholic, too," I heard myself say. My daughter quickly chimed in, "Me, too!"

It was very fleeting, but I do know that a tiny smirk appeared in the left lower corner of my mother's lips. We've had this conversation before. My daughter and I are 'Anglo-Catholic' and we refuse to let Rome claim sole propriety on that word. Even my RC mother gets that.

That smirk on my mothers lips as she recognized the boldness of her daughter and grand daughter dissipated her own need to show the RCCL, as my mother would often say, "the backside of my hand."

The RCCL never looked our way, much less offered us the Sacrament. Instead, she snapped a pen from her jacket pocket and placed a check by my mother's name. "Okay," she said, getting right down to the 'real business' of the visit, "It's time for communion. Let's say the Lord's Prayer together," adding sternly, "Girls, I know your mother taught you this, so you say it with us."

Ah, sweet inclusion!

"Yes, course," I said, startling myself at how much I sounded like my mother. The RCCL forged ahead, blessing herself as she said, "In the name of the Father, and the Son . . . ."

I decided to let go of any anger that was brewing within me, close my eyes, and pray with and for my mother. But, as we ended that wonderfully familiar, universal Christian prayer, something in the RCCL's voice annoyed my ears. I looked up and saw that she was saying, " . . .and lead us not into temptation . . ." while looking up at the clock and writing down the time on her paper.

My mother didn't even have a chance to say a full 'Amen' when the ciborium was popped open, a small, paper-thin, round communion wafer emerged and the RCCL was saying, "Body of Christ" in the same tone as she might say, "Today is Tuesday."

As my mother said, "Amen," the RCCL snapped shut the ciborium, smiled one of the most inauthentic smiles I have ever witnessed and said, "I hope you feel better. I'll be back tomorrow."

And, without so much as a fair-thee-well or a a fiddle-dee-dee, the RCCL turned on the heel of her black orthopedic shoe and left the room.

My mother looked over to my daughter and I and, noting the stunned looks on our faces, performed the second miracle of the day. She said something to us that she has never, ever said before - well, at least concerning her church.

"I'm sorry," she said, apologizing for the woman's obvious rudeness and bad manners.

"It's okay, VaVoa," my daughter rushed to comfort her grandmother. "It's not your fault."

"Never mind about us," I offered, "We're fine. Think how awful it must be to be a daughter or grand daughter of hers."

"Yeah," said my daughter, "She was just a jerk. One bad apple. Don't let her spoil the whole barrel."

"No," my mother said sadly, "They're all like that. They are all so full of themselves and too proud of the privilege they've been given. They're wrong. You're right. And, I'm sorry."

I'm not sure, but I think the heavenly chorus started singing at that very moment. Then again, it might have been something over the hospital intercom (over which they also say the Rosary promptly at 8:45, immediately preceding the announcement that visiting hours are over at 9 PM. My mother thinks the woman who leads the recitation of the Rosary is this woman's sister. "She's very annoying," my mother says.)

I'm told that this hospital has started a new classification of religious affiliation. There's "Catholic" - clearly, 90% of the book. There's a much, much smaller "Protestant" section - which has sub-sections of "Methodist," "Lutheran," "Episcopalian," "Baptist," "Pentecostal, "Jehovah's Witness," "Non-denominational" and even, "Seventh Day Adventists."

But, the section that is even larger than that is the one entitled, "DND".

That stands for - are you ready? - "DO NOT DISTURB".

That's the newest 'religious category' and it's the fastest growing, I'm told.

If I'm ever a patient in that hospital, promise that you'll make sure I'm classified "DND." Otherwise, this mother's daughter just might have to show someone "the backside of my hand."