IN PERICULO MORTIS

By Nancy Gilbride Casey

On 7 October 1961, I nearly died.

Just five days old, I was nursing in my mother Ann's arms. Exhausted, she likely dozed off, and did not realize that I was choking. My father, Joe, passing by the bedroom, noticed I was turning blue, snatched me from her, resuscitated me and saved my life. The story goes that I was rushed to the hospital by police car, and miraculously survived.

Somewhere in the midst of the chaos which spanned mere minutes, another thing happened: My mother baptized me.

When I reflect on the shock and panic, the fear and dread that must have been present in those few moments between my Mom, my Dad and me, I am stunned that my mother had the presence of mind to act.

What water was nearby? What words did she say? Was my brother Tim there? The details are lost to me now.

Knowing that her mind flew to that act, in those scant minutes, tells me so much about her faith. That while she cared for my mortal body, she also cared deeply enough about my immortal soul, that she took that power into her own hands. Baptizing me was a given.

While I occasionally heard this story growing up, I also have a written record of it. My baptismal certificate states I was baptized on 7 Oct. 1961, "In periculo mortis."1 A Latin phrase, meaning, "in danger of death." It wasn't until I read and understood the words as an adult, that I realized how close I came to dying that day.

My baptismal record, extracted from the original record at St. Charles Borremeo, Parma, Ohio, in 1967.

In later years, as Mom would tell this story, she would chuckle about going to the priest shortly afterward to make sure that her baptism of me, in her words, "stuck." It was her way of making light of that dangerous day. The priest assured her it had.

On 12 November 1961, my maternal uncle Thomas Kozlina and my paternal aunt Margaret Gilbride, were named my godparents, in a ceremony at St. Charles Borremeo in Parma, Ohio. I wore a beautiful little white gown and cap. My brother, grandparents, aunts and uncles were there, I'm sure. And the family likely celebrated afterward, as always, gathering for food and drink at a nearby home.

But my only baptism—the one that counted—happened in the bedroom of a little house in Parma, a gift of love from my mother.



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1 Nancy Gilbride baptism certificate (1961); issued 1967, St. Charles Borremeo Church, Parma, Ohio; privately held by N Gilbride Casey [Address for Private Use].