PETRONELLA BURANOSKY

As remembered by Sister Pat Marie Buranosky

My mother was a coal miner’s daughter. Eldest of seven, she was baptized Petronella, but called Petrony (which her teacher in a one-room schoolhouse, thought was “Hunky” for Patricia). She spent her adult life called Patsy. She had to quit school after the fifth grade but continued to learn until she died at 89.

ANNE SHERWOOD

As Remembered by Sister Marie Therese Sherwood

My Mom and Dad were very active in our parish, and Mom often performed and sang in the parish minstrel shows. Mom taught me how to dance the polka and Csárdás (a traditional Hungarian folk dance), and I have wonderful memories of the two of us circling around the parish hall at many celebrations.

FRANCES BOMBERGER

As remembered by Sister Mary Xavier Bomberger

My mother, as my mentor and confidant, taught me what it means to have quiet courage and strength to do whatever needs to be done for others with love.

ANNA KLEINSCHUSTER

As remembered by Sister Bonnie Marie Kleinschuster

During tough mother-teenage daughter conversations, my mom would emphatically state, “And I hear what you’re thinking.” She had it right every time! That “gift” of hers always did pay off when we were pinochle partners. But the family claimed that reading each other’s minds constituted “cheating.”

anna kuzma

As Remembered by Sister Roselyn Kuzma

My mom worked hard all her life and then, when she slowed down, she began to make afghans for her children and grandchildren before she died. I still treasure mine as I curl up on cool nights.

MARJORIE BRENNAN

As remembered by Sister Pat Brennan

I smile when I remember my Mom’s gentleness and courage while raising three of us on her own. Also, her joy-filled faith when she became a Catholic.

SUSAN NOVAK

As remembered by Sister Irene Novak

While tending to some of her needs, if it took me longer to get to what she requested, she would say, “You would be a good person to send for death.” Other times she would say, “I don’t like when my body dictates to me.”

MARGARET GOOLISH

As remembered by Sister Jo Goolish

My mother’s hands were not physically beautiful to behold. But they baked berry, apple, and lemon meringue pies, five at a time. They used an old-fashioned washboard for countless wash days. Those hands held, soothed and caressed four kids at once. They prayed rosaries — three a day — until all the wooden beads were gone and only the chain was left. To me, my mother’s hands were precious and summed up who she was. Her hands revealed a woman with a lifetime lived out in loving service.

ROSE HORN

As remembered by Sister Barbara DeStefano

My sister and I had a wonderful mom. She was definitely the ‘boss’ in our house. My dad was kind and gentle and funny. However, Mom told Dad: ‘If the girls ask you for anything, the only thing you’re allowed to say is, ‘Ask your mother’ because you don’t know how to say ‘No’ to your daughters. 

MARY METRO

As remembered by Sister Mary Lou Metro

I have fond memories of my childhood living in Greenfield, a suburb of Pittsburgh. We lived there until I was in second grade, then moved to McKees Rocks. Every Sunday, as a family, we would go to St. Joachim Church for Mass. We would fill the whole bench. Afterwards, my dad would take the family for a Sunday ride. Occasionally dad would drive to Schenley Park. Mom would spread out a blanket, where we sat and had our picnic lunch. We would run and play in the park.