I think the first time I was old enough to understand the concept of an angel was when I looked at a nativity scene depicted on a Christmas card where two-winged figures were looking over the shoulders of Jesus Christ’s parents at their child in a manger. I didn’t know if this was strictly a Catholic thing, as none of my Jewish friends ever mentioned anything about having an angel of their own. I naturally assumed that to be an angel, you had to wear a white gown of sorts and wings any bird would envy. As I got a bit older and started losing my baby teeth, I was introduced to a nighttime visitor known as the Fairy Godmother. Sometime during my sleep, she would recycle my teeth and leave me with a quarter under my pillow. At that time, I wish I had more teeth to redeem, as a quarter was a lot of money for a child back then. I found out she, too, had wings, which was confusing, as she had wings, but was called a fairy instead of an angel. They both seemed nice, so the only common denominator I could figure out was that there had to be something in the wings, since neither appeared to be able to fly. Years later, I learned it was better to be considered an angel than a fairy, but I still associated angels with wings, which disqualified me.
For the longest time, I couldn’t figure out what the qualifications were for being an angel, as I never met one, and most of my friends and I made too many mistakes along the way to be remotely considered for “angelhood.” However, things changed the first time I heard my mother refer to someone as an angel. Imagine the look on my face when I saw my first one in real life, and no wings! Guess like Jesus, who wasn’t recognized as anything special by those in his hometown, there didn’t seem to be anything particularly special about the lady my mother was referring to. It was then that I started to understand what it meant to be an angel.
Given what makes someone an angel in the eyes of others, I think the first one I met was my mom. She was kind, patient, encouraging, and saw the best in others. I never heard her say an unkind word about anyone. While you may know others who embody the same qualities, it was her act of honesty that left an indelible impression on me. Years ago, when I was in my pre-teen years, our church was having a raffle, and the grand prize was a new Volvo automobile. A very prestigious prize back then. A dear friend of my mother’s had left to visit family in California and couldn’t purchase a ticket before she left. She asked if my mother would purchase one for her, along with one my mother purchased for herself. As luck would have it, one of the two tickets my mother purchased was the winning ticket, and when everyone congratulated my mother, she replied, “That was the ticket I bought for Dorothy.” As you can imagine, those who approached my mother said, “Dorothy would never know,” but my mom replied, “I would.” There would be many other examples I learned from her over the years, but her act of kindness and honesty was a hallmark moment for me, not to mention a tremendous life lesson.
Recently, our church here in Punta Gorda lost its Pastor who passed away in his sleep. His name was Father Jerome Kaywell, or Father Jerry as he was known to us. A Grammy Award recipient, composer, songwriter, and cancer survivor, who was one of the kindest souls you could meet. I had an opportunity years ago to interview Father Jerry for one of our monthly newsletters and felt the presence of someone uniquely special. He often used the term “mysticism” as part of his spiritual belief, which transcended the personality traits we have grown accustomed. He thought on a higher level. He wanted the church to think and embrace a higher level of thinking and understanding, where we would be more accepting of others, particularly those who didn’t necessarily share our core values. At 72 years of age, he was taken too early from us, but he impacted so many lives. He often confided in close associates his desire to be acknowledged as a Saint, which to me takes Angelhood to a whole new level. I don’t think you can find anyone who doesn’t feel they are a better person for knowing Father Jerry, and I count myself as one.
As I’ve gotten older, I’ve realized that those we consider “angels” don’t fit a physical mold. Many times, it’s not their spoken word, but a certain presence that inspires us to be better. It can be through the gifts they share or just an act of kindness that gives us a paradigm shift in how we view the world, fostering a desire to make a difference in the lives of others.
Recently, I attended an awards ceremony hosted by some of the area’s Rotary Clubs held at the Charlotte County Events Center. Several hundred people were in attendance to acknowledge the acts of heroism, service, and support our firefighters, law enforcement personnel, and unique individuals provide to our community on a continuous basis. While each story was touching, with many risking their lives to save others, it was the look of gratitude on the faces of the lives they touched that you sensed would go on to perform the same acts for generations to come.
Of those who were recognized on that special evening, former educator, school community liaison, friend to many, and founder of the rock-and-soul band called the Boogiemen was Mike Riley. In his various capacities over the years, he has touched the lives of scores of people. His band was one of the most sought-after bands in all of southwest Florida, performing at over 180 charitable events over the decades. Riley, as he is known to his friends, has had a passion for the area’s children, encouraging them to pursue the goals and dreams they embody. Always self-deprecating, Riley has always celebrated the gifts and successes of others, and in his acceptance speech for the Charlie Shue Award, he encouraged those in attendance to make our community a better place for the children and to lead by example. It wasn’t the award he received, but an opportunity he would have, while battling a debilitating health issue, to inspire us all.
This award ceremony would leave us one last defining moment, when recipients of the Punta Gorda Police Department’s program, “Do the Right Thing,” were acknowledged. While we think of those unique individuals who impart years of wisdom from lives well lived, it was a young elementary school girl, whose intervention in saving the life of a fellow classmate contemplating suicide by jumping down a stairwell, made all of us realize angels are all around us. With poise and understanding, she coaxed her classmate to safety, with maturity and composure that far exceeded her years.
These are just some of the angels who walk among us each day. Their words may be simple. Their acts of encouragement, when needed most. Other times, it may be a warm embrace or a listening ear. But they all seem to have the same effect in leaving you with a better version of yourself and a desire to touch the lives of others.
This Easter season is a reminder for many of the life one person gave for so many others. It is with that same service to others that will inspire us all to make this world a better place for generations to come.
-Gary Cardillo
I always thought of myself as a real summer kid. Growing up in New York I was willing to sacrifice all the other months just to get to the summer season that started with Memorial Day and ended on Labor Day. That’s when I felt the most alive, and it was almost like watching life through a black and white t.v. that just transitioned to color. While my father claimed his favorite time of year was the fall, he would often say, “If you took out January, February, and March you would have perfect weather.” With a puzzled look on my face, I would reply, “You just cut out a quarter of the year like it was nothing.” Then I thought to myself, “I was willing to give up three quarters of the year just to get to my favorite 3 months.” I had to ask myself, “Which of the two of us was really nuts?”
Then came Labor Day, and once again, we somehow interpreted this day that originated as an observance of the labor unions contributions to the U.S. economy, as almost a weekend of rest and one final celebration before heading back to the drudgery of another school year. If you were like me, I bet you couldn’t wait for Halloween to arrive, and whoever would have thought we could have turned a day of observance for the deceased, martyrs, and saints into a night of ghoulish activities, costumes, and shopping bags full of candy! November brought Thanksgiving, which not only was the beginning of the holiday season but seemed to make us a bit more appreciative of the things for which to be grateful. There was a desire to savor the day in the company of family and friends, and it was perhaps one of the few holidays that genuinely made us reflect on the significance of that day. Then came Christmas for those of the Christian faith, and like most kids, it was a day we looked forward to since the end of summer. While it was supposed to signify the birth of Jesus Christ and God’s plan to bring salvation to the world, somehow, our focus was more about the gifts we showered on each other, and the Christ child in a manger got hidden behind that new bicycle and the mountain of toys.
I bet you think I forgot about April, didn’t you? For many, it represents the month that “God giveth and the taxman taketh away.” Perhaps Easter is God’s way of helping us endure that pain; however, Easter represents much more to me. The beginning of spring was starting to bloom. The air seemed fresher, and everything seemed to come back to life. As a child, my early recollections were of an Easter Bunny delivering a brightly colored basket full of jelly beans, a chocolate cross and rabbit, and a stuffed baby duckling, all nestled on a bed of colored cellophane grass. But, of course, no Easter would be complete without the dying of eggs and the Easter egg hunt that soon followed. As I got older, I thought, what sense did all of this make. Easter is supposed to be a celebration of the risen Christ and the hope of many for eternal life, and somehow we have a rabbit delivering colored eggs and candy. Did someone tell the rabbit he walked onto the wrong movie set?
Thanksgiving to me has always been the start of the holiday season. It’s a time where people seem to be a bit more appreciative of the things they’ve received and a desire to share those blessings with others. While we typically think of family and friends sitting around a large dining table decorated in a harvest motif, adorned with a variety of homemade dishes and a succulent roast turkey, I find in recent years my sentiments have turned more to ways we can share our abundance with others less fortunate. However, my thoughts this Thanksgiving season were inspired by a story I recently heard at church from a very special lady whose mission trip years ago to Nicaragua exemplified the true meaning of gratitude that will impact me for the rest of my life.
Gwen initially moved to Punta Gorda to care for her elderly mother who was suffering from age-related dementia, but needing to work, she added, “no one gets rich being a nun for 30 years,” she applied to Sacred Heart Church. Pastor, Jerome “Jerry” Kaywell recognized Gwen’s talents immediately and hired her to be his Pastoral Associate. Technically her role is defined as meeting the pastoral needs of the people of the parish however, to those who know her contributions her handprint can be found in almost every corner of the church. Gwen reflects, “Giving was a family thing. My Mom was very attentive to the needs around her and she seated the responsibility to help others deep in our hearts from my earliest memories. She would often adopt a project and we were always a part of the service.” She recalls one of the most “powerful” examples was when her mom “adopted” a man who lived a few miles from them. The man wasn’t related to them and didn’t have family to take care of him. Gwen’s mother decided that once a month they would bring him food she had frozen from what she made the family the month before. Then on a Saturday every month for years, they would clean his house, tidy his yard, plant flowers, and bring in wood, as he heated his home with only a wood stove. This care for others leads us to the inspiring story Gwen shared with the congregation that touched the lives of everyone present.
Looking back during the time she served as Principal of Seton Catholic High School in Plattsburgh, Gwen said for several years she had been involved with a group called “Mission of Hope.” Created as a result of a mission trip to Nicaragua that was inspired by one family from Nicaragua who attended the school to help their family back in their homeland recover from the mudslides from a devastating hurricane, this non-profit took on a “life of its own.” Today, Gwen adds, “it serves the people of Nicaragua in a multitude of ways from hospitals to eldercare, food to clinics and education to hope.” However, it was that trip to Nicaragua that left a lasting impression.
Gwen’s story reminded me of the bible story of the “Widow’s offering,” found in the twelfth chapter of the book of Mark, verses 41-44. It tells how Jesus sat down opposite the place where the offerings were placed and watched the crowd putting money into the temple treasury. “Many rich people threw in large amounts, but a poor widow came and put in two very small copper coins worth only a few cents.” Jesus called his disciples to him and said, “Truly I tell you, this poor widow has put more into the treasury than all the others. They all gave out of their wealth, but she, out of her poverty, put in everything; all she had to live on.”
While most people would like to talk about themselves, Gary and Gail have always put their clients first, and their diverse backgrounds have provided their clients an unparalleled level of service and knowledge throughout the past years.