Of all the things I have learned in life about love, the most important lessons were learned from within the walls of a hospital.

Years ago, my mom suffered a heart attack that landed her in the intensive care unit at St. Joseph's Hospital. Her prognosis was grim and during the five weeks that followed her heart attack, she declined rapidly. The hallways and waiting room of the ICU became increasingly familiar. Families and friends of other patients became daily companions as we struggled to get through the endless hours and days of waiting.

We were all there because we loved someone. We would all rather have been anywhere else in the world, and yet there was nowhere else in the world we would be.

On her final day on earth, I remember a moment that has forever touched my heart. I am certain Mom knew she was dying. I remember the look of sadness in her eyes and the touch of her hand as if it was yesterday. Through her labored breathing, she tried to smile and reach out to her precious grandchildren for what she knew would be the last time. And then she managed to whisper the words I will never forget, "My Therese ... please be okay without me. I will pray for you."

My mom was an amazing, devoted Catholic woman. At that moment, I was sure her thoughts would be focused on the pain of her Cross, her imminent death and her intense desire for salvation. Instead, she put herself aside, as she had done thousands of times before, and her greatest concern was for me.

That is love.

In the fall of 2001, I was diagnosed with cancer in my bone marrow. The oncology unit and waiting rooms became a familiar place for me. In her book, "Where God and Cancer Meet," Lynn Eib writes of the stories of faith that she encountered as a cancer patient. I have been blessed to experience many such stories first-hand.

There, in the oncology waiting room, all lives meet on common ground. It doesn't matter how much money you have or what your job title is. Cancer has a way of breaking down the walls that keep mankind divided.

Stories are shared and prayers are prayed. There are moments of sadness and suffering, moments when tears fall and no words can take away the pain.

I remember one young couple whose eight-year-old son was diagnosed with a malignant brain tumor. The doctors tried everything they could, but on this dark day the parents were told there was nothing more that could be done to save him. The parents returned to the waiting room and through their grief shared with some of us what they had been told and asked for our prayers.

At that very moment, a woman in her late sixties entered the room. The look of radiance and joy on her face was stunning. She spoke the words that everyone in the room yearned to speak themselves, "I am cancer-free! I made it!"

And then, with tears streaming down her face, the mother of the eight-year-old boy stood up and embraced the woman. No words were spoken, but the presence of God was felt. Even with the weight of this Cross of losing her child, this young mom was able to reach out and touch another human heart.

That is love.

Recently, a priest friend of mine shared with me a beautiful story of a friend of his who had lost his wife. They were married only a few years when she was diagnosed with an aggressive form of cancer. After she was diagnosed, she lived only one short year.

Many young husbands would become bitter and angry at God for taking away their wife. But instead, this young man told the priest, "This past year has been a whirlwind of hospitals and doctors and illness ... and I would not trade a minute of it for the world. You know, Father, my wife's illness drew me closer to her and to God in ways I never thought possible." Somehow, this man was given the grace to be able to see beyond the pain of his Cross and to find God present in his suffering.

That is love.

There are moments in life that are illuminated with grace. Moments when everything in this world of suffering makes a triumphant sort of sense. There is this incredible discovery that the reality of the Cross in our lives also brings the triumph of love over pain. And over death.

I think that is why I have always loved Michelangelo's Pieta. The image of the broken Savior in the loving arms of His Mother explains love to me more than any other image. It reminds me that suffering and love are inextricably tied. We are called to love and the cost of love is suffering. The cost of love is the Cross. The irony is that it is only by embracing the Cross that we can be fully illuminated by the grace of love.