CHAPTER 1
Stepping into the Journey
Sometime long ago I learned that personal fear and anxiety come from not living up to your own potential. I think fear also slithers around inside those who do not know their life purpose, or may wonder about it but do not know how to discover it. Some are disconnected from their core essence, the Spiritual Source that provides everything needed to discover and fulfill the purpose for which we each came into this world. Some choose to NOT discover their purpose for many reasons. Others think their purpose is supposed to be of a singular dimension, yet they suspect and fear that it is so much more. This last meaning applied to me.
My first story sets the stage for the many experiences through which I traveled on my journey to discover more about God, life's conditions and meanings, and to understand myself with the truth of my own spiritual nature and its full purpose in my life. I could not have imagined just how complex, multidimensional, and multifaceted that evolutionary process would be. Since the age of five years I knew that I wanted to be a nurse, a wife and a mother, in that order. My life plan was supposed to unfold smoothly and easily according to the design that only an innocent, immature child's mind can devise. I was not prepared for all the complicated developments and detours to come.
I'll start at the very beginning. It was early January, 1946.
Being the first born of six children, I arrived as a "feet first" breech birth baby. Obviously, I was ready to get going in the world! In the patriarchal society of the 1940's, boys were supposed to be the ones in charge so it was preferred that a boy be a family's first born. In adopting this generational attitude my young parents, ages 20 and 21, fresh from the Navy where they had met and married, desired and expected their first child, born a year later, to be a boy. Mom told me that they hadn't even chosen a name for a girl. But there I was, a first born, feet first girl, ready to go! Right from the start I acquired my parents' expectation of being the leader and to always set good examples to everyone, especially to my future younger siblings.
By the age of 4 years I had two baby brothers, whom I eagerly and daily helped Mom care for. It felt natural for me to want to be Mom's little helper and to soothe and calm the babies. I was proud to contribute and learn from my mom to be responsible. All of this felt fun and comfortable then. I also began school at age 4 years even though my 5th birthday was 3 months past the cut-off date for school entrance. I vividly remember playing school teacher at home while pretending that my baby brothers, along with my doll and teddy bear, were my students. I felt quite grown up, indeed.
During my time in kindergarten our wonderful family dog became very ill and was suddenly taken away by the dog catcher, a title well known at that time. I clearly remember that event. My mom was sobbing as the man removed Teddy from our small veteran's home. We both stood at the door saying goodbye to our beloved family pet. I had no idea that he would not return. Of course Mom knew that he would die because he had the disease of distemper. My mom tried to explain this to me through her tears. It was my first experience with the meanings of death, loss and grief.
My fun role as helper to Mom shifted in that moment as I witnessed her grieving and mourning. She was always so busy taking care of us and our home and now she had to deal with this. Looking up at her that day I reached out to comfort my mother, hug her and somehow help her feel better. I had never before seen my mother cry or be so sad. Even at my young age I somehow knew that Teddy's loss was also representative of other unexpressed losses and suppressed pain that my mother suffered. All I wanted to do was be there for my mom and make her feel better. That day, at the tender age of 5, I instinctively knew that helping and soothing others would be my lifelong work. My Christmas wish from Santa that year was for a nurse's kit. He left it under the tree and I was thrilled.
As time passed two more brothers and a baby sister joined the family and I became even more responsible as the serious-minded older sister of five younger siblings. Starting at age 11, which was an eventful year for me, I was left in charge to babysit whenever needed. My sister had not yet been born and my four brothers were then ages 1 to 10 years. My role as babysitter did not sit well with my "age closest" brothers who thought I was bossy. In retrospect I'm sure that it is how I really appeared to them, yet the truth was that as much as I demonstrated feeling capable of being in charge, I was always scared. I wanted to do a good job, do it "right," especially to please my parents, and feel important and needed in this large family. I tried to figure out how to balance such responsibility with what I thought it meant to be grown up, poised and composed. It took some years of maturing for me to realize how my brothers must have felt at that time with a girl being in charge of them and telling them, with a dose of superior attitude, what to do and how to behave.
Making my duties even more serious were the facts that I was the daughter of a well known police officer and we lived five houses away from the Catholic Church and school which we all attended. That made the nuns and priests particularly alert to any infractions of the many rules that I, as the eldest child, was especially required to strictly follow. Corporal punishment, in both family and school environments, was regularly meted out especially for disobedience and disrespect. This was considered normal and necessary by the social patriarchy of that era. Phrases like "stop that crying or I'll give you something to cry about" and "children are to be seen and not heard" and "because I said so" were frequent commands. It was acceptable for neighbors and other known adults to become strict disciplinarians if they witnessed infractions of the rules. There was no getting away with anything!
When I was 11 years old we moved into our new home, built singlehandedly by my father to accommodate our growing family. He often had to supplement our finances with two extra jobs in addition to working rotating shifts at the police department. It was difficult on all of us and especially so on our mom, particularly because all of her family lived quite far away. Although Dad worked very hard, he had a sense of humor and would tell silly jokes. He taught himself to play guitar to relax. I loved when he played and invited me to sing along with him. I particularly enjoyed times when he played at family gatherings and he and I sang together.
My mother was very skilled in cooking, cleaning, sewing, mending and running a clean, well organized and functional household. Mom taught me to do all those things for which I am very grateful. We all had daily chores and time was not to be wasted in doing them. My mother had a wonderful talent for artistic design. This was evident all through the house, in her flower gardens, and in the clothing and Halloween costumes she made for us. Mom was always in motion. I don't ever remember her really relaxing. She didn't believe in it because she said there was too much to get done. As she worked every day in our home, Mom often sang along to the radio and I enjoyed listening to her. My parents had many friends with whom they would attend police department related social events. They were excellent dancers which I thought was wonderful and wanted to emulate. So Dad taught me to dance when I was age 11. Of course because of such busyness in our family there very few times my Dad and I could do this. However, my love of music, dancing and singing became my passions and continue to be so today. To me these all represent fun, freedom, creative expression and joy; feelings I longed to express more often in my youth.
Although I remember the music, the overall dynamic of our home was mostly serious with much structure. I knew my parents loved me and were committed to doing what they believed was right in raising me with strict rules. Still, I was a very sensitive and sentimental girl who very deeply felt emotions regardless of whether they were my own or another's, always feeling sorry for anyone who was sad or in pain or getting into trouble. I wanted everyone to be relaxed and happy. I took everything to heart, often being tearful at things others would not be, and feeling confused and misunderstood. I frequently felt stressed and hypervigilant, yet in that era children were not supposed to feel that way because they were considered care-free children. I had a visionary mind with different ideas about some of the rigid beliefs I was taught at home, in school, in church, and in society. I knew I was to follow the rules yet there were times as a teenager I tried to challenge some of those beliefs by asking pointed questions and trying to give my viewpoint with its rationale. I wanted to be listened to with my opinion being at least considered somewhat valuable. However, my comments were most often viewed as "talking back." Of course I did not think so, yet that trait got me into trouble and I was repeatedly chastised for it.
In John Bradshaw's book "The Family," the eldest child is considered the Hero Child, the one responsible for bringing honor and pride to the family. Of course I didn't read that book until adulthood, yet in my youth I automatically knew that was my top job. However, I wanted to expand that concept through new ideas that I thought would bring even more honor to our family.
One idea I had began with the fact that I loved and valued conversations. So I suggested that we have regular family meetings with us children being free to say (respectfully, of course) what we thought and felt about certain rules and punishments and be allowed to offer reasonable alternatives. Also, that we have calm, relaxed dinner times where we could be allowed to talk and focus only on each one's successes and good qualities. In presenting those ideas to my parents I was frustrated that my efforts to change things (in my mind, to improve things) were not welcomed. It was late 1950's and early 1960's. I was still the child, the rules were the rules, and I was expected to accept and follow them without question and without any expression of anger. This applied to school, church, and social situations as well. My failed attempt to step outside the box and become an open-minded progressive leader in the family was disappointing and confusing for me as an adolescent girl. I felt that there was some deeper part of myself that had been restricted and was longing to be known and expressed. It was something I felt was important yet as a teenager, I was unable to really put that into words. So I kept recommitting myself to be the good daughter who did what she was told and be the example setter to my younger siblings that my parents expected me to be.
I eventually realized that the rigid structure my parents held for us children really did serve a good purpose. It created a foundation of safety and capability in the world as well as an environment within which I learned important core values, such as belief in God, respect, honesty, dependability, accountability, and a good work ethic. I will forever be grateful to my parents for instilling those values.
It's not surprising how my adolescent characteristic of talking and explaining in great detail, followed me into adulthood. I think it became an automatic default to do what I was denied in childhood. However, that trait with my accompanying exuberance, was sometimes annoying even to myself as well as to others, especially the "just give me the bottom line" folks who found my details exasperating. On the other hand, my keen sensitivity and caring made me an attentive and empathetic listener. All of this was very helpful throughout my adult career and is still true about me today ... the back and forth flow of talking and sharing, being quiet and listening. At times it can be a challenge to know exactly which to do when, depending on the person and circumstance. I don't always figure that out in the moment!
While growing up I always felt, both inside and outside the family, quite protective of my siblings and I very staunchly defended them to anyone who might have dared to be harsh to them or critical of them. My favorite part of being the older sister was when I played the role of nurse. Any bossiness I showed as babysitter-in-charge melted into nurturing comforter as I tried to tend to my siblings when they were sick or injured or needed support and encouragement. I most dearly and deeply loved all my brothers and my only sister who was born, much to my delight, when I was nearly 15 years of age. My love for all my siblings has only deepened over the years.
My desire to help people be comforted and heal continued to grow. I became a hospital volunteer "candy striper" at age 15 and loved it. That rewarding experience propelled me to enter nurses' training at age 17. There was simply no other career consideration for me, although I did at one time entertain the thought of somehow blending this with being a professional teacher or counselor. I didn't know it then, but that career merger was to happen much later in my life. Actually, nursing always involves a manner of teaching and counseling so really, I was doing it all along, being continually interested in the psychology of people as well as the physiology.
Through an accelerated program of 3 years training in 27 grueling months I gained some maturity, did very well in school and became a Registered Nurse. My goal to become a pediatric nurse was fulfilled in the very hospital where I had trained. I was thrilled! My childhood plan was unfolding as I had imagined. At just 20 years of age all was well in the structure of my life. I was a happily in love newlywed, married to a good man whom I had met during my senior year in high school while working at the local luncheonette. I loved nursing, had good friends, close family, my health, devotional belief in God, and a hope to become a mother in the following year. I believed I was all grown up and could handle most anything.
Taking care of children in the hospital setting was rewarding for me. Unlike most of my adult patients, the children possessed a general ability to recover quickly and resume their spunk and cheerfulness. It amazed me that they could be so sick one day and out enjoying the ward's playroom a day or two later. I've always loved the natural upbeat spirit and spontaneity of children and I interacted well with them.
In the mid 1960's a popular TV show, "The Flintstones," provided the backdrop for getting the children to participate in accepting the dreaded "shot." I would tell them that in order to make them well again I needed to give them a shot that would feel like a pinch or a sting. I would make it happen really fast and then it would be over. Of course the kids didn't want this shot so I made a deal with them. We would both shout "yabadabadoo" over and over just like TV's cartoon character Fred Flintstone, and see which one of us could yell the loudest. But there was one rule. They had to stay very still and not move until we were done yelling. It worked every single time. They got the shot and we had some fun shouting. This was always followed by a cheer, a hug, and a little reward which could be a story or extra playtime or an allowable treat. I was happy to be a nurse helping those young patients.
One morning while I was working in the pediatric department something unexpected and dreadful happened. There was no warning. A beautiful 12 year old girl had been admitted to the ward as my patient. She was very sick, frail and weak, with a persistent cough, intermittent shortness of breath, and needed oxygen to help her breathe. She was the adopted daughter and only child of devoted immigrant parents who were increasingly upset that after having three days of testing, their daughter was still without a firm diagnosis. Efforts to treat her symptoms by several doctors were unsuccessful.
I tried my best to comfort all of them and I earnestly prayed for a miracle recovery for her. I was sure I'd soon see her "bounce back" as I had witnessed in many other very sick children. Instead, she became more ill despite all the care given her. On the third day as I cradled her head to adjust her pillow and moisten her dry lips, this beautiful child looked at me with her soulful eyes and smiled. The next minute she became very limp and suddenly died in my arms. It was totally unexpected and extremely shocking to me! She had been a patient only three days and we needed more time to help her. Efforts to revive her by both me and the emergency team failed. I could not believe it! How could this happen? I felt devastated. An autopsy revealed aggressive lung cancer that had been hidden from x-ray view. There were no ultrasound or MRI tests in those days. It didn't make any sense to me that this 12 year old child could have lung cancer. Wasn't that an adult disease?
