The lanky red-head with the mop of curls came to boarding school in New Orleans from Demopolis, Alabama. Her mother was a Dominican girl and had fond memories. This precious child would get a Dominican education, even if it meant leaving home at a tender age. The dear nuns would look after her. Her Aunt Maggie (McGrath) and Uncle Ted Ray were in New Orleans; her cousin Margaret later, a spoiled only child; her grief as she packed for boarding school was leaving behind her cat, Tot. It never occurred had entered the convent in 1918, and would make her mark as leader. But Adelaide was, as she herself said to her devout and devoted parents that this self-willed, independent child was destined to become a nun. She was not studious, and Adelaide herself never thought she would be accepted. But God and Mother Mary Pius had other thoughts. Adelaide found herself praying with all her heart, and the secret dream came true.
When she was a novice, both parents had died and there was a modest legacy. She agreed with Mother Pius that her parents would be pleased to have it used for an arbor made from the stones left from Founders Hall, honoring St. Joseph in the ancient oak tree on the front campus.
At her golden jubilee, after thirty-nine years as a successful primary teacher in New Orleans and the outlying rural schools, including a tour of duty as principal, a young sister asked her "If you had it all to do over, would you do anything differently?" Sr. M. Patricia answered with her ready laugh, "Yeah. I wouldn't worry about a thing!"
She often recalled as her happiest years those as a young nun in Independence, Louisiana, where conditions were most 
primitive: sans indoor plumbing, hot water, and other creature comforts. The children were poor, and that was enough for her. In the summer catechetical missions which the sisters began in the early thirties she was among the first to volunteer. Teaching black children was her preference and her heart's delight, long before it was the "done" thing. In the early sixties she volunteered to go to Peru, but she was past fifty, and didn't "make the cut." She did get to serve the poor in New Orleans' Bethlehem House of Bread for a time, and that consoled her. Her heart of compassion was drawn to anyone in pain or in need. At 87, she was the oldest to attend the Dominican-sponsored workshop on "Healing Racism," and no one was more attentive. Her gift of reaching out to the helpless extended to a love for and 
understanding of animals. "I saw her tame a stray cat that was wild, until it became gentle enough to eat out of anyone's hand," said Sr. Jane Birrcher, then at St. Clare's in Waveland, Mississippi.
She was happy in Waveland, with her old friend and schoolmate, Sr. M. Dolores Godwin. Both were stricken with serious illness at the same time, and both were transferred to the motherhouse. Sr. Patricia found joy in being sacristan, remembering how her mother used to do altar linens with so much reverence. When her friend died in 1988, Patricia was grief-stricken; she longed for the day when God would come for her, but when the question eventually arose of transferring to the infirmary she resis
ted. She would "commute" to the second floor during the day, but tenaciously held on to her own room and her independence.
She was direct, honest, a private person, yet she loved people. She was sensitive, and not easily understood. She knew pain, yet she had zest for life. In December she roused all her energy for the van ride to see "Celebration in the Oaks," surprising everyone. When Sheliah Lyons, of the kitchen staff, wondered if she would like to come along for the ride home, about a mile, she was ready each evening after supper. She loved the lights, "the night life," as she called it.
Recently the Audubon Zoo brought a small collection of animals to the sisters at the motherhouse. When she had petted each one, and watched the keepers pack up and leave, she stayed behind in the dining room, all alone, radiant with joy. "I think I missed my vocation," she said. Her call was to find joy in God's creatures, and to serve his children who needed love.
When her time came to go home, on Ascension Thursday, God's hand was gentle, a grace we all would wish for. She asked for prayers for her soul.
