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...
