Tricia Leines

Growing up I didn’t hear the stories of Little Red Riding Hood, Goldilocks, or Jack and the Beanstalk. When Mom read to me, her children and grandchildren, the familiar words came from biographies of her heroes. The stories she passed on were meant to inspire, teach, and guide. Mom would always turn to the pages of a well-loved and time-worn book titled “The Lives of the Saints.”

These narratives described how everyday people faced difficult decisions and situations, but chose not to take the easy way out, the path that was most convenient or conventional. Instead, they chose differently; facing their challenges with meaningful sacrifice, moving forward with humility, and stepping into uncomfortable bravery. The suffering they experienced would be offered up to help others. These individuals learned how to love unconditionally and dedicate their lives to serving those in need. Everyone in my family heard these stories growing up. But as you would expect, the impact manifested in their lives differently. For my niece Jennifer; when she heard these stories, she heard them as a call to action. She decided early on to live inspired by the lives of the saints.

I’m going to tell you a little about how Jennifer did that. I really want you to know her… to feel inspired by her life, and who knows, perhaps you may hear a call to action too… she would love that!

At four years old I became “Aunt Tricia.” It was December 25th, Christmas Day that my eldest sister Loree gave birth to a dark-haired beauty and named her Jennifer Regan. Regan, which is my middle name too, was passed on from our Irish Catholic grandmother. I was so curious about this new, tiny, and vocal person visiting our home. Kneeling at the end of the bed, chin in my hands, I ‘d watched my sister put this floppy live doll into layers of pastel clothes. Babies were new to me. I had to be very careful with Jennifer; not poking at the soft spot on her head, sitting very still on the couch, and holding her just so. I couldn’t play with her. She didn’t say anything that made sense, but my sister, Loree, assured me that Jennifer and I would have fun soon.

And Loree was right. It wasn’t long before Jennifer and I were running through sprinklers. Orange popsicle juice staining our faces and t-shirts and having very animated conversations between our favorite stuffed animals. We’d make elaborate living room forts, turning my mother’s museum-style home into complete chaos. Saturday morning cartoons were lazy hours filled with giggles. Dressing up for Halloween, she, a witch and I a fortune teller, we’d case the neighborhood, side by side, taking turns ringing doorbells, sweetly saying, “trick or treat!” You see, all my siblings were older; twelve to eighteen years older than me. Jennifer was like my cool younger sister. She never called me Aunt Tricia, because that would be weird. We were friends, allies against all those adults who outnumbered us. When bored, Mom would say… “Patricia Regan, go get lost on the freeway,” and I had someone fun to get lost with.

Through elementary school, Jennifer and I always lived nearby; around the corner, down the street, and even next door. My sister made Saturday mornings special by cooking up stacks of chocolate chip pancakes (so delicious). Or, Loree took us to Elmer’s Pancake House, where Jennifer and I would order our own plates of strawberry crepes, swirled high with whipped cream. Our eyes grew so big as the server placed the huge portions before us. We were good girls and knew how to follow instructions. We’d whisper grace, make a small sign of the cross, savored each bite making sure to cleaning our plates. We had board game parties, camping trips, and time adventuring at the R-Ranch — a rustic summer getaway that my parents bought shares back in the 1970s. Jennifer and I swam, looked for rattlesnakes, and fed the horses.

Years later, sitting at the R-Ranch, I watched my 3-year-old son, Andrew, play in the kiddie pool. The same kiddie pool that Jennifer and I would close our eyes, stretch out our arms, and play Marco… Polo… Marco… Polo…. My dad recently died, and I was in the middle of an unexpected divorce. Mom thought the familiar setting of the bunkhouse, chow hall, and California hills would do us good. As mom sat across the club house, cutting coupons and making lighthearted conversations with strangers, Jennifer called me on my cell phone. Her warm, clear voice on the other end… “Tricia, I think I’m gonna get married.”

A lot had changed since Jennifer and I were kids. Our lives diverged, as often happens with teenagers, with me going off to college to study music and Jennifer moving north with my sister’s growing family. I won a language scholarship to study in Europe; Jennifer won a scholarship to college. After graduating, she joined the military. Major Jennifer worked her way up the ranks as I was auditioning for shows in New York City. Both of us wanting to serve something greater. While we didn’t talk on a regular basis, we knew we were there for each other to share the news about big events in our lives. I loved knowing she was out there in the world shining her unique light and love for people.

While I was the youngest of six children, Jennifer was the oldest of seven children. Acting responsibly, caretaking, and deescalating intense situations was second nature to her. She was also very smart and excelled academically. Naturally curious and respectful, she dialed in work strategies and earned numerous accolades. Tall and strong, she was a star basketball and softball player. And, she was beautiful… I was envious of her thick brown hair, even tanned complexion, and easy smile.

Her intelligence, heart of service, and faith guided her to be a grounding force in all situations. She was rooted, thoughtful, and offered a perspective that was unique and needed. I’m a Pisces, and so is her mom. And while I don’t believe in astrology, there is something to be said about the tumultuous inner terrain of a water sign. Lots of emotions and tears flow easily and for any and no reason at all. But this was not Jennifer’s way. She reminded me so much of my mom… joyful, practical, and disciplined. And when she made up her mind to do something, consider it done!

Jennifer decided early on that she wanted to build a life with service at its core. That early decision to enter the military and then choosing to be a nurse made perfect sense. But giving showed up in her personal life as well. Jennifer made it a point to develop close friends and meaningful community connections wherever she moved. And, she moved a lot. “I’d ask God,” she said, “to help me make one good friend. And, then I’d ask the parish priest, ‘Who needs the most help in this congregation?’” Next thing, Jennifer was knocking on that family’s door, ready to help. She would babysit, wash dishes, do the laundry, clean house, run errands, or be a listening ear. Whatever the family needed, she happily got it done. No judgement. She didn’t care about your past, your mistakes, your beliefs. She just loved you. Arms wide open.

The time came that she was open to sharing those arms with a special someone. She desired to marry but was very patient and picky. For she had seen firsthand how important it was to choose a good and loving husband. Her biological dad was not a good father and not involved in her life. And, she had witnessed many friends and family members struggle in their marriages. She was with me on my wedding day and grieved with me as that union came to an end.

When Jennifer called me at the R-Ranch that day to talk about her new love, it was beautiful to hear this new kind of happiness in her voice. She asked me practical relationship questions like she was doing anecdotal research and jotting down the data. I loved how her mind and heart were working together to make this important decision. In her inquiry, I felt the lives of the saints were still influencing her questions and her path. How could she serve God in the best way possible? Would this marriage allow her to continue that work and service? He, Ryan, proposed, and she thoughtfully said yes. Mom and I flew to Florida for that beautiful celebration. Jennifer and Ryan were eager to start their family, and over the period of twelve years, they had seven beautiful children. All with that thick beautiful hair, tanned complexions, and easy smiles.

She grew her family with the same values she nurtured in her single life. Guided by humility she learned to mother with equanimity. Desiring deeper understanding, she took online classes earning her master’s degree in psychology. She loved God deeply and sought to role model that to her children every day. She balanced parenting with staying active in the Army Reserve. Jennifer took time to build close friendships and serve others with joy.

Two years ago, another call was made; this time it was me calling her. I was sitting in a rental car outside a restaurant about to grab dinner after watching my son play baseball. Turns out, it wasn’t a casual catching up phone call, but instead she shared important news.

At the age of 47, Jennifer was diagnosed with terminal brain cancer.

The news hit so hard. So deep. It was shocking, unbelievable, and out of the blue. We have no family history of this. Jennifer was healthy and strong. She thought maybe she needed glasses, as suddenly her vision was a bit off. She felt a little dizzy when visiting Colorado… maybe it was just the altitude. But it wasn’t and the prognosis wasn’t good.

But, somehow on the other end of the call, her voice was still strong and confident. “How does she do that”?, I thought. It’s a choice of a well-exercised muscle grounded in a lifetime of practicing her faith. I could hear her groundedness as she shared with me this heartbreaking update. She knew what she was going to do…turn to prayer and knowledgeable doctors to help her. She would offer up this trial to Jesus, ask for healing, release the outcome, and glorify God every step of the way.

And, just like her saintly heroes, that is exactly what Jennifer did.

To sit with someone young, someone you love and respect so much, someone that is your childhood friend, your peer, your family, and know she is dying is unlike anything I have ever experienced. To witness how Jennifer courageously and gracefully navigated the most debilitating and devastating news… knowing she would leave her children, at the time ages two to fourteen, her husband, siblings, parents, friends, the church, the military, and the neighborhood communities she adored while still embracing gratitude each day… was otherworldly.

As the disease progressed, she never complained. With her whole heart she believed in and took great refuge in serving others. After her initial surgery removing part of her brain, she lay recovering in the hospital. To endure the intense physical pain, she softly asks for her rosary.  Bead by bead, prayed for the relief of suffering for others. In that moment, she chose to transform her pain and find comfort in praying for us.

When she was able, she found ways to travel, making as many happy memories with her husband, children, and friends as she could. One memory comes to mind… A last-minute trip to watch a Laura Daigle concert. Jennifer holding her daughter Maria on her lap. Mother and daughter, embracing. The two singing quietly together the beautiful healing words of one of their favorite Christian artists. I have a voicemail saved on my phone from her saying that she wants to meet me at Spring Training in Florida to see Andrew pitch and meet his wife, Anaya. I knew at the time she would not make that trip. Yet, even as her body and brain were failing her, her heart was eager to support others and make lasting connections.

Jennifer was selfless and giving even as the cancer took everything from her. “I am over being angry and offer what life I have left up to God. I surrender everything,” she said. “I have spent my life trying to be good, Tricia, to make the right choices, to help, and now all I want to do is love… and have that yummy Starbucks drink. Could we order that?” Absolutely, sweet girl.

Surrender became Jennifer’s mantra. Every day she would call her mother, and they would pray the surrender novena together. The cancer and powerful medications depleted much of Jennifer’s focus and memory. But, she never forgot to call and didn’t miss a day speaking aloud those prayers with her mom. Jen, wanting to share with others the peace and comfort it gave her, asked a friend to create a website spotlighting the surrender novena. When you visit the website, you’ll see pictures of a beautiful, shaved, scarred head and hospital-robed, smiling, joyful Jennifer.

From a very young age my world had Jennifer in it. It was better because she was in it. Last year, as I sat with her having tender, philosophical conversations; her cheeks ruddy from medication; her walker within arm’s reach; twenty pounds thinner than when I saw her a few months before; she said, “People gave me a hard time for having so many kids. I always replied, ‘I’ll never ask you to take care of them.’ I guess the joke’s on me.”

This is no joke. It is a tragic tale. The saddest story I know. After two years battling this rare form of terminal brain cancer, Jennifer, born on Christmas, died during Holy Week. She is gone, and those in her world ache and miss her terribly.

There were over a thousand people at Jennifer’s funeral. Friends she made in every place she lived flew in from all parts of the country and from all parts of her life. While they knew her in different ways, the stories they shared were the same. She was special because of how she chose to live her life…holy, humble, and devoted. She wasn’t the friend that gossiped with you. She wasn’t going to bond over manipulative schemes or superficial judgments. Even when talking about the past, she held it loosely with no bitterness. Jennifer elevated every conversation because of the deep well of love she fed every day.

I don’t hold the same religious faith Jennifer does, but I do believe in the miracle of life. The ripple effect of choices and actions. The power of love and doing good. Letting our life speak of what is most important to us. That our interactions with people and our surroundings deeply matter. And, the internal environment we nurture makes a difference in the quality of our engagement with the sacred external world.

I believe Jennifer’s life was incredibly impactful. Her legacy lives on through the generations. The lineage of my Grandma Loretto, my mother Lenore, and the lives of the saints. And answering that call, Jennifer carried the good work on. And, of course, the legacy of Jennifer’s beautiful children. The oldest, Joseph, 16 years old, and Ava, Vincent, Leo, Maria, Raphael, and Rose, only 4 years old now, are surrounded by love. They are well taken care of in honor of Jennifer. When someone asks the parish priest what family needs help, Jennifer’s life of service is returned full circle through those caring for and loving her amazing children.

In my life, her example has inspired me to retell the stories shared in my childhood and reevaluate them with deeper meaning. How may I better serve others? How can I respond more selflessly? How can I bring a richer happiness and joy to the most devastating situations? How can I fine-tune my thoughts and actions to do good in the world? How can I surrender all that is out of my control? How can I love more fully? Thank you, Jennifer, for that.

Jennifer would deflect all this attention. She called herself an average person, just one of the team, an ordinary woman, nothing special. But you and I know differently. We see her choosing, day by day, when faced with intense suffering and pain, to live in an extraordinary way, within the bounds of her precious life. She is an everyday person, just like you and me, inspired by the saintly stories that transformed her life to a saintly life. In her final hours she prayed to the God she loved so deeply and surrendered a life well lived.

I have a picture of Jennifer in my office. It stands next to a book my mom read daily and gave it to me to read to my son. It’s a book of quotes by Mother Teresa. A nun that dedicated her life to serving the poorest of the poor on the streets of Calcutta. Hanging in Jennifer’s home, the first thing you see when you walk through her unlocked front door, is a black and white picture. A deeply wrinkled Mother Teresa widely smiling at a plump little baby she is cradling in her palms. “I love that picture, Tricia.” Jennifer said, “It is the epitome of everything I have ever wanted in my life.” She nods to the powerful image and Mother Teresa’s words displayed below, “Find Your Own Calcutta.”

Jennifer did. Will you?