We were introduced to the Mother General (on our knees) who said some kind welcoming words. After we left that office we were ushered into the back of the most beautiful chapel I had ever seen. As the Eucharist shone down on us from its golden monstrance, I found myself echoing my father’s words, “God help me”.
Then we were outside in the garden on this lovely June afternoon. The parents and guests of the new postulants were trying to appreciate the sumptuous repast set out for their enjoyment. Many mothers were clinging to their daughters tearfully. I could really understand it. While I had graduated college and taught a year, most of “my crowd” (as we were designated) hadn’t even graduated high school. There were over 90 of us – planning to be accepted by the Order after the six months of the postulancy. . .I regarded it as a forever commitment, not just a try-it-out-and-see kind of venture. But that wasn’t the case for all. I heard many a parent (mostly the fathers) saying, “You just call me if you don’t like it here and I’ll come and get you right away.”
Well, we all start new ventures in our own way. As I had no parents or guests with me, I was passed and introduced from one group to another until there was a familiar face. A sweet girl whom I knew from Florida before she entered, rescued me and we had a pleasant time catching up. She was looking forward to December and getting the habit. It grew late and the nuns went off to prayer, the postulants on sort of a sightseeing trip were led up the grand staircase to the dorms on the third floor.
Sunday, April 11, 2010
Friday, April 9, 2010
The Beginning
Chapter One
Excited but regretful, I put out my last (maybe forever) cigarette as we taxied up the tarmac in Dearborn to deplane. I put my feet back into the white heels I had chosen for this blue and white Jonathon Logan dress and slinging my bag over my shoulder, I joined the line of passengers hurrying through the exit.
It was easy to spot the two women sent to “collect” me. I could see their familiar white habits (long gown, elbow length “turtle neck” collar, over the scapular, the glimpse of the black belt hung with pencil case, case for the pocket watch and full length rosary beads) immediately.
I had hoped my sponsor at Barry College would have had someone I knew from the Motherhouse, but these nuns were, though kind and welcoming, strangers. We had to hurry, they said as we got into their car as they both had appointments at the Motherhouse. They talked to each other, with an occasional word to me, all the way to Adrian, Michigan, the home of the Motherhouse of the Adrian Dominican nuns.
They drove up to the entrance of the beautiful gothic building and ushered me into a side parlor. I don’t think I ever used that front entrance again until I got the black veil and went out to my first mission a year and a half hence.
It seemed like hours that I sat alone in that parlor. It was at least one until another young woman and her parents were led there. Her name, I discovered was Eunice and her parents had come to be with her until the last moment.
I found myself beginning to ask myself what in the world did I think I was doing? I badly needed a cigarette.
We sat and made awkward conversation, she, her parents and I. Father was falsely hearty and Mother had to keep blowing her nose and wiping away the tears. Eunice looked even more uncomfortable than I felt. I thought she must want to just say her farewells and get through the next hours.
Finally, a young nun came and rescued Eunice and her family and it wasn’t long before my “guide” arrived. I had seen this nun around the Sacred Heart Convent in Ft. Lauderdale although I knew she taught at the high school. I had been a lay teacher at the elementary school there for a year and knew many of the high school nuns by sight.
I don’t remember her name, but it seemed time was of the essence again and I was hustled out of the parlor into a large room with a long table running through the center.
My suitcase was opened, the postulant outfit arranged on the table and my blue Jonathon Logan was changed for the black skirt and blouse, and the hose. The few words I remember from my dazed state were “Hurry and put your shoes on!” Mother is waiting to go back to her office. You and Eunice are the last ones she has been waiting for.”
While I was outwardly respectful and kept a pleasant face, I wondered whose fault it was that I was late! I didn’t imagine those hours of getting familiar with that parlor. As you can see, right from the start I wasn’t the meek and mild candidate I was supposed to be.
We went through the halls as quickly as I suppose the nuns were allowed to travel and arrived to meet the Mother General. She was a kind-faced nun whom I knew to be the sister of the Monsignor who had baptized me when I became 21 at St Patrick’s Church on Miami Beach. I had spent my senior year there at St. Patrick High School. Much against the wishes of my parents, I was a convert. And very much against their wishes, (holier than the church as converts tend to be,) I had decided to be a nun.
And, this was why while Eunice had her parents with her, I had no one. I was completely on my own and felt it sharply.
Excited but regretful, I put out my last (maybe forever) cigarette as we taxied up the tarmac in Dearborn to deplane. I put my feet back into the white heels I had chosen for this blue and white Jonathon Logan dress and slinging my bag over my shoulder, I joined the line of passengers hurrying through the exit.
It was easy to spot the two women sent to “collect” me. I could see their familiar white habits (long gown, elbow length “turtle neck” collar, over the scapular, the glimpse of the black belt hung with pencil case, case for the pocket watch and full length rosary beads) immediately.
I had hoped my sponsor at Barry College would have had someone I knew from the Motherhouse, but these nuns were, though kind and welcoming, strangers. We had to hurry, they said as we got into their car as they both had appointments at the Motherhouse. They talked to each other, with an occasional word to me, all the way to Adrian, Michigan, the home of the Motherhouse of the Adrian Dominican nuns.
They drove up to the entrance of the beautiful gothic building and ushered me into a side parlor. I don’t think I ever used that front entrance again until I got the black veil and went out to my first mission a year and a half hence.
It seemed like hours that I sat alone in that parlor. It was at least one until another young woman and her parents were led there. Her name, I discovered was Eunice and her parents had come to be with her until the last moment.
I found myself beginning to ask myself what in the world did I think I was doing? I badly needed a cigarette.
We sat and made awkward conversation, she, her parents and I. Father was falsely hearty and Mother had to keep blowing her nose and wiping away the tears. Eunice looked even more uncomfortable than I felt. I thought she must want to just say her farewells and get through the next hours.
Finally, a young nun came and rescued Eunice and her family and it wasn’t long before my “guide” arrived. I had seen this nun around the Sacred Heart Convent in Ft. Lauderdale although I knew she taught at the high school. I had been a lay teacher at the elementary school there for a year and knew many of the high school nuns by sight.
I don’t remember her name, but it seemed time was of the essence again and I was hustled out of the parlor into a large room with a long table running through the center.
My suitcase was opened, the postulant outfit arranged on the table and my blue Jonathon Logan was changed for the black skirt and blouse, and the hose. The few words I remember from my dazed state were “Hurry and put your shoes on!” Mother is waiting to go back to her office. You and Eunice are the last ones she has been waiting for.”
While I was outwardly respectful and kept a pleasant face, I wondered whose fault it was that I was late! I didn’t imagine those hours of getting familiar with that parlor. As you can see, right from the start I wasn’t the meek and mild candidate I was supposed to be.
We went through the halls as quickly as I suppose the nuns were allowed to travel and arrived to meet the Mother General. She was a kind-faced nun whom I knew to be the sister of the Monsignor who had baptized me when I became 21 at St Patrick’s Church on Miami Beach. I had spent my senior year there at St. Patrick High School. Much against the wishes of my parents, I was a convert. And very much against their wishes, (holier than the church as converts tend to be,) I had decided to be a nun.
And, this was why while Eunice had her parents with her, I had no one. I was completely on my own and felt it sharply.
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