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Chapter XXIII: Bridget the Catholic

Her body was limp, her voice a whisp, but the vulnerability in her eyes could speak volumes, a lifetime of them. She was grieving and grieving is the fruit of how deeply we have loved and connected. Her unconditional love was exposed and echoed as she beheld each one in turn. She turned the rosary beads around in her fingers, clinging, treasuring their promise of salvation, assenting to what was about to come…

She felt her life force being drawn up to her eyes and through these eyes she saw a balmy light at the foot of the bed, a light that grew dazzling, irresistibly so and when she gazed into that light she saw a figure that she knew, a figure that inspired her—it was her Jesus holding out his arms to her in the most welcoming of welcomes. Lo! Her lord had come. Death was a friend.

—Extract, page 282

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