I woke before 7:30 in the morning after only two hours of sleep. My sinuses had not improved, and my eyes were beginning to water, but I dressed and ate breakfast in my room and prepared myself for the day. I missed the earlier bus to Centerville after not finding my printed directions in time, so I decided to wait for the next one scheduled around 9:30. I opened the sliding door in my room to breathe the cool morning air and gather myself for what I knew would be a more solemn pilgrimage than the day before.
My plan was to visit Our Lady of Victory Parish, the church where the funeral for Ethel Kennedy and Saoirse Kennedy Hill was held and then walk to St. Francis Xavier Cemetery where Eunice Kennedy Shriver, her husband R. Sargent Shriver, Mary Richardson Kennedy, and Saoirse Kennedy Hill are laid to rest.
At nine o’clock I left my hotel room with printed directions, a rain jacket, and an umbrella, unsure whether the weather would turn before my journey was complete.
I was still tired from illness and would have preferred rest, but I felt this was the day I was meant to go.
The bus arrived with only a few minutes to spare, and after a fifteen-minute ride the driver dropped me off near the parish and kindly pointed me in the right direction. I was not entirely certain I was walking the correct way until I saw a grotto statue of the Virgin Mary holding the Infant Jesus.
I followed the path upward and soon reached the parish grounds. It was a quiet and beautiful place. For a moment I simply stood outside and took in the stillness.
His expression carried a warm gentleness, as though he were greeting those who entered. I felt a soft welcome in his gaze. I walked silently into the sanctuary, and in my mind the melody of God Help the Outcasts rose like a whispered prayer.
I did not think of funerals or events here. This was first and foremost a house of worship, and I moved reverently through the stillness as one who is a guest in sacred space.
After some time, I made my way to the cemetery on foot. A light rain began to fall as I walked, but it did not grow heavy.
When I arrived, I searched first for the resting place of Mary Richardson Kennedy and Saoirse Kennedy Hill. I found them within minutes, and as soon as I did the rain stopped.
I stood before their graves in quiet recognition.
I did not think of their final struggles, nor of the manner of their passing. It was enough to remember that they had lived, and that they were once human beings who were loved.
From there I went to search for Eunice and Sargent Shriver and soon found them as well.
I sat on a nearby stone bench and remained with them for a while.
I thought about their son Mark, whom I met at the JFK Library in 2016, and about Eunice’s sister Jean, whom I met in 2017.
They were not distant historical figures but people whose presence had already crossed the path of my own life. Sitting there, I realized I only knew them through documentaries and public memory, and I felt a quiet responsibility to understand them more deeply.
When I finally left the cemetery, I passed Mary and Saoirse again in silence before returning to the road.
A few minutes later the rain returned, and I was grateful it had waited until after I completed what I had come to do. I had expected to walk the two miles back to Hyannis, but when a bus appeared alongside the road I waved, and the driver stopped to let me on. It felt like a small, kind blessing at the end of the hardest part of the day’s pilgrimage.
I returned to town and made my way to the Hyannis Public Library.
There I sat with copies of Sarge: The Life and Times of Sargent Shriver and Eunice: The Kennedy Who Changed the World, wanting not only to visit their graves but to understand their lives.
As I read from Eunice’s biography, I found the following words spoken by her near the end of her life:
“I am lucky that I experienced the sting of rejection as a woman who was told that the real power was not for me. I am lucky that I saw my mother and my sister Rosemary treated with the most unbearable rejection. I am lucky that I have had to confront political and social injustice all over the world throughout my career. You might say, ‘Why are you lucky to have had such difficult experiences?’ The answer is quite simple: the combination of the love of my family and the awful sting of rejection helped me develop the confidence I needed to believe that I could make a difference in a positive direction. It is really that simple: love gave me confidence, and adversity gave me purpose.”
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