Rosa Mystica: A Mother’s Mystery tells a mother’s story of raising four children, including two with an unexplained neurological disorder, as faith, uncertainty, and fierce family love guide her through decades of caregiving, loss, and grace. What inspired you to structure the memoir around the mysteries of the rosary?

During Kristy’s final illness, we spent many long hours alone together in the hospital. Since she could no longer respond, I prayed aloud with her and often recited the rosary, just as I had so many times over the years. In those last weeks, the connection between Mary’s experience of motherhood and my own settled deeply in my heart. It helped me see my own journey as a mother as a story woven through a series of connected mysteries.

How did you balance telling your own story with honoring Kristy and Johnny as individuals?

Working with my wonderful, creative editor, Ellen Blum-Barish, helped me find a way to tell the story in my own voice while still making sure Kristy and Johnny really popped off the page. They had such extraordinary, endearing qualities that it felt natural to bring them to life in the narrative. Few people ever met them without falling in love with them, and I wanted readers to have that same chance.

Which memories were the most difficult, and the most joyful, to revisit while writing the book?

Without a doubt, the most difficult moment to revisit was the day we chose to take Johnny off life support rather than put him through a dangerous operation that had only a slim chance of helping him recover and a very real chance of leaving him in terrible condition. Even now, every time I proofread that section of the memoir, it tears me apart all over again.

It’s hard to choose just one joyful memory, because there were so many. But the last one that felt completely whole and happy was our daughter Betsy’s wonderfully festive wedding, when the entire family was gathered together, celebrating, laughing, and simply being present with one another.

How did your understanding of motherhood and faith evolve during your family’s caregiving journey?​

When I was twenty-six and expecting my first child, I had a very idealized picture of motherhood. I knew babies and young children would have endless needs, and I understood that mothers often carry much of that care. Still, I felt ready. I wanted to be gentle, patient, and understanding, and I hoped to help my children become exactly the people God and nature had equipped them to be. I even believed, rather naively, that if I ever had a child with special needs, I could simply make sure that child had the best life possible. But that was the theory. I had no idea what it would really mean to raise children with extraordinary challenges, or how little I would ultimately be able to control beyond the steadiness of my love for them. Over the next four decades, motherhood taught me humility, endurance, and the painful truth that love does not always protect us from suffering. At the same time, it became the force behind every decision I made, including the times when I had to learn that caring for myself was also part of caring for my family.

My faith changed alongside that journey. While I was mothering my children, I also went to graduate school and earned a Ph.D. in Theology, so my understanding of the Roman Catholic faith grew from the simpler faith of my childhood into something broader and more reflective. But the change was not only intellectual. As my understanding of the sacred expanded, my personal faith deepened too. In the hardest moments, it was that deeper, more lived-in faith that helped carry me through.

Author Links: GoodReads | Facebook | Website