Many long years later, I was able to make it up to her.
Brigid was Irish to the core. Everything in her possession, if humanly possible, must be green.
When I called to visit her in the hospital, I found her very sick, quite disturbed, as she twisted and turned restlessly in her bed.
Suddenly, I launched into my one bit of Gaelic.
It was the Sign of the Cross which my father had taught me when I was a child.
The Irish sisters had also coached me to say the Hail Mary in Gaelic.
It was when I began to speak the language of her native race that the dying Sister Brigid let go of all her anguish.
And, then, I sang some of her favourite Irish songs.
But it was not until I was singing The Soldiers’ Song, the Irish National Anthem, that she stopped breathing and, with a gentle smile on her face, died.