Mon coeur fait mal
Writings about the life of Emily Deshotels LaHaye, by her daughter-in-law Susan Dupré LaHaye
As I keep my head down working towards my copyediting deadline next week—instead of my own words, I’ll offer you those of my grandmother, Susan, better known as “Mommee”.
Mommee and I have always shared a love of words, and in 2019 when I was helping her compile her decades-worth of writings into a book (Lessons From a Fig Tree: Memories and Meditations of a Cajun Grandmother, LifeRich: 2020), she shared with me this work, which has haunted me and my own project ever since.
Written the year after my MawMaw Emily’s death in 2006, on what would have been her 93rd birthday, this imagined dialogue illustrates the tension of enduring faith in spite of a life plagued by unimaginable loss. Mommee, of remarkable Catholic faith herself, conjures the exchange—taking place over the course of her mother-in-law’s lifetime—as the Lord calling to check on his child. More than that, she shows us MawMaw through His eyes (and her eyes): a woman of duty, strength, wildness, and beauty. And in the end, when her job is complete, He takes her home.
Listening to God Celebrating Emily on Her Ninety-Third Birthday
An imagined conversation between God and Emily Deshotels LaHaye, over the course of her life, written by her daughter-in-law Susan Dupré LaHaye
Oh, Lanse Gris, back-country home near Nezpique Bayou,
where is my little one, “Tam,” who played on the porch and loved my brown woods?
Where is she who felt deeply my seasons’ change and cared so tenderly for my small creatures?
Lord, this day she is gathering nuts with her brothers, then shucking corn for the chickens in the soft evening light.
Oh, Mémère Atile, Oh Pépère Marcellus,
where is the dearest daughter who helped you rock your twins?
Where is she who dreamed of pretty dolls and big sister Verdie’s ruffled petticoats?
Is she sweeping the kitchen, or planting mustard seeds, this little one—trés capable?
Oh, no Lord. Today she rides horseback with her cousin Luther. They will return, tout de suite!
Oh, Mémère, Oh Pépère,
where is your flashing eyed beauty?
Your brunette schoolgirl who sees well the good and the beautiful—she who works hard to make them her own?
Where has she gone?
Oh, Lord. She’s out dancing with Aubrey—we think he has won her heart. Soon she’ll become his wife!
Oh, Aubrey,
my favored one, your loyal young wife—where is your helpmate today?
Dear Father, her housework is complete, the gardening and the cooking as well. My country girl is fearless and full of energy—even with the livestock! But Father, what do I see? She’s making plans for someone new, little ones—please make them bright. Please make them strong—all three!
Oh Emily, my Emily,
I know that you have seen Me in your garden, tending wisps of greening life.
And in your orchard picking fruit, in the field hands when you cooked and carried food to them.
You loved Me in your tiny chicks and ducks, in the plump pillows and featherbeds you made after plucking Aubrey’s kill in the Platin.
How many feathers does it take to make one pillow, Tam?
Oh, Emily, so dedicated to home and family you have been that you built your own of work and love!
I see you now, my precious child, I love you. I made you!
Emily, you have seen Me in your children and your grandchildren—clipping wee baby fingernails and toenails, making rice balls on highchair trays, scrubbing tiny necks and ears, wiping noses, wiping tears.
You have cherished your blessings well!
I see you clearly Emily, dear. I made you. I love you. I call you by name. You are Mine.
Oh Emily, my Emily, where is your Aubrey, your friend and your spouse?
Oh Lord, someone took him, many long years ago. I pray every day that He is with You in some restful place, where I will go too, when You call. Long has it been, and lonely, but I know he is there. So, I wait. I know You are there, so I wait.
What delight You must enjoy with Mémère and Pépère and my cinq freres in that Kingdom You built for us all. Lord, do You sing old French songs with them sometimes? Or play a little bourrée like we used to in the outdoor kitchen? I often think of my beloveds who dwell with You there—my Glenn and his Smokey, my Tot and her Kaye, and tiny sweet little Alex Scott.
Dear Lord, some days are so hard. As the song says, “Mon coeur fait mal.”
Oh Emily, my Emily,
in all these years your little ones have grown, filled with love and great skills.
They work in My vineyard serving others—just as you did.
Now, they bring their precious treasures, your thirty-three “great grand ones” to kiss and embrace you; and yes, I know—you still find Me in them.
Great has been your service to Me, to your people, your kith and your kin.
Bless you Emily dear!
I see you now, no longer young, straight, and beautiful—hands on your hips, just ready!
Your eyes have grown dim, your legs just give way. Sad as it is, this is the way of all life.
I see your withered self—so, so tired and sometimes confused.
My Emily, you’re waiting for Me. I am here, with you still.
Now there are no babes to scrub, no chicks to tend, no clothes to wash or to stitch.
There’s no bread to bake, no leaves to rake and then to burn in the autumn dusk with your youngsters.
You can still smell the smoke and the fresh wind of the season’s change.
There is gold in your memories, girl!
Please take heart in the strife—hold this mystery, your life.
Although I know it must be grievous when those small brown pecans that you so loved to pick, to crack, and to peel—even they slip away from your weak fingers’ feel.
My child, trust Me in the pain as you did in the joy. I am here. Rest in Me, Emily dear.
Oh Emily, my Emily, my good and faithful servant, your working and loving and suffering speak of your faith.
So much goodness we have shared, my child, since you were that beloved little one rocking Ed and Be’s cradle on the porch in L’anse Gris.
Rest now, my little one. Remember the great love you gave and were given as you followed Me. I, too, know so well that difficult journey of tears and of loss.
Dearest One, hear me. Take my hand. I made you. I love you. You are Mine.
When Mommee’s book came out in 2020, Emily’s grand niece Valli and her husband Dagan Soileau of Parish Road Media beautifully captured her speaking about the project. You can watch the video here:
Jordan, thank you for bringing back Susan's beautiful testimony of writing. Her words touch my heart deeply and inspire me again as she does you and all who read or hear them. What a legacy we've received and must pass on. You are doing just that.
Thank you! My heart needed to see Dr Wayne& ms. Susan & to hear her speak once more. She had wonderful cathocism classes. She was my spiritual counselor for a short period