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Send her back

by Anne Cummings Lawson, Sp '85

In late August 1982, the fall semester of my sophomore year was just under way. I had a lovely roommate who shared my excitement. We spent the early days organizing our room, preparing for classes and reconnecting with the friends we hadn’t seen since spring. One day, my sweet father drove up from home for the second or third time that week to make sure I had everything I needed. He kissed me goodbye at the front door of Cobeen Hall and whispered reassuringly, “Don’t forget, Annie, I am always here if you need me.”

A few days later, I was in a peculiar funk. I was out of sorts, had little or no appetite, was uncharacteristically antisocial, and by the early evening I had decided that I was either sick or anxious and would just hope for a better day tomorrow. I remember surrendering to my frustration and falling asleep for several hours only to wake around 9 p.m. to the sound of my phone ringing. It was the residence hall minister, and he asked me to come to his office. At that moment, I began to spiral downward — both in a literal and spiritual sense. Although the residence hall minister did not tell me why he needed to see me, I knew in my heart that something was very wrong.

I tapped on his door, and it opened to reveal my beautiful mother seated on the couch. Normally I would have been elated to see her, but the look on her face told me the truth that my body had been preparing me to accept. My funk was not because of sickness or anxiety after all. I truly believe it was my soul cleaning house and my spirit calling me to rest for one last time before taking on the daunting task of reinventing myself. Setting aside her own grief, my mother calmly and lovingly told me that my beloved father had suffered a massive heart attack and died earlier that evening at the age of 56. My body, mind and soul froze at that moment as the life I once knew changed forever. She held me close, and we sobbed as softly and politely as we knew how.

The rest of that night was a blur. I felt like a baby bird that had fallen from its nest. As I stumbled to my room, I felt different from everyone around me — whether they were complete strangers or my closest friends. I gathered my things to go home while a flood of questions filled my head: How much should I take? How long will I be gone? Should I call my adviser? Did it even matter? Nothing really mattered without my dad. I left Cobeen in a daze, squeezing my mother’s hand as a hopeless, fatherless, crumbled teenage girl.

Since the first day I arrived at Marquette, I always had an aversion to the Bursar’s Office. The previous year my father had instructed me to sign the promissory note when I got to that part of the registration process. I think he was still trying to figure out how to pay for this wonderful thing called college that his little girl had dropped into his lap. I had never concerned myself with our family finances, and signing those notes was my first indication that maybe my financial situation was less than ideal. But after my father’s death, I experienced firsthand just how tight things were for my family financially.

The month prior to his death, my dad delayed paying the premium on his life insurance so that he could make the tuition payment to my brother’s high school. Our lifestyle, modest as it was, now was in great jeopardy, and, sadly, that included my future at Marquette. In addition to planning a post-Labor Day funeral and the countless other responsibilities of a grieving widow, my mother was also tasked with communicating with the Office of Student Financial Aid to determine my options. I remember seeing her seated at the kitchen table, her fingers fumbling through the Rolodex and then dialing the number. She knew she had to make that call, but I’m sure, like me, she was afraid of what she would hear. After several conversations, the instructions given my mother were explicit: “Send her back.”

I don’t know exactly how Marquette did it. But it happened. And my Marquette homecoming was the single most defining moment of life. Even though I returned to campus with a heavy heart, I had a place to plant my feet. Marquette pieced together a financial aid package that worked for me, and though I was now solely responsible for the remainder of my own Marquette tuition, I found enormous consolation in the fact that I could stay. I was safe. I was loved. Best of all, I was back in the place where my father had left me.

I soon learned that I was a recipient of a Breadwinner Scholarship, to which Josephine Mashuda was the primary donor. This scholarship was founded for students who lose a parent while enrolled at Marquette. I was, and still am, so grateful for that generous gift.

Shortly after I learned about the scholarship, I received a call from the university president’s office inviting me and several others to be Father Raynor’s guests at a Breadwinner Scholarship dinner. About 10 of us students gathered for an evening of prayer, conversation and a good meal. We didn’t know each other, but our broken hearts connected us. Father Raynor asked me to share my story with the group. I can’t tell you what words came out of my mouth that night, but I distinctly remember feeling confident I had done an adequate job without crying in front of such impressive company — and that was good enough. Walking home that night, I realized that I was chosen to be at that very place at that very time and with that very burden. I embraced God’s plan for me. And so my healing journey began.

By senior year I felt normal again and trusted that I could once again find happiness in my life. I was secure in my faith and was blessed with a marvelous circle of friends. On graduation day in May, when we were asked to stand and acknowledge our parents, I turned to my mother in the balcony of the Varsity Theatre and waved. Tears of joy streamed down our cheeks. We had done it — she, my dad and I. Marquette had cradled my fall and given me a safe place to travel during the most painful journey of my life. Marquette taught me how to triumph over grief. On my Commencement day, I completed what my father delivered me to Marquette to do.

So now, after 25 years, I hope it’s not too late to simply say thank you to Marquette for keeping your promise to me. I have celebrated all that Marquette blessed me with on my journey. I have made my greatest dreams come true. I have been happily married for 18 years and am privileged to be the mother of four amazing children. I enjoy a successful and meaningful career, and I live my life as a committed Christian servant.

I am happy. I am fulfilled. I am all that you told me I could be.

I am Marquette.

Since the Breadwinner Scholarship was established in 1980, more than 250 students have received financial assistance from the fund. Learn how you can support scholarship aid.