The End

Despite what I'd experienced, overheard or witnesses, I was still hanging on.  It wasn't until it Sister Consuela decided that I was going to train to be a nurses aide that I knew the end was near.  It was then that the proverbial substance hit the proverbial fan. 

Some how having to train as a nurses aide was the last straw for me.  I could have easily handled the work.  After several years of crazy assignments, this assignment was too much.  It made me realize that if I was going to have anything left of myself, I had to get out and away from all that the convent was.  It wasn't what I wanted. Still, it was a heartbreaking decision.  Even though the people in charge treated me horribly, I was reluctant to let go of the idea of what could have been.  I was also reluctant to head out into the real world and face my fears. 

At Maryville, there was a lay nurse who was in charge of training the nurses aides.  She was an older women who was favored by the Sisters running the show.  It would soon be obvious why she was favored.  She was just like them.  She wore a prim little nurses cap that looked more like the kind of hat nurses wore in Great Britain during WWII.  I was sent into a small training room.  The nurse dropped a binder filled with information in front of me and began the training. 

She had no way of knowing that I had reached my end.  And, yet, she could have been a lot more compassionate.  I didn't complain and I did try to pay attention but the agony of yet another assignment was crushing me.  I sat and silently cried, occasionally wiping my nose and tear-stained face.  My tears only made her more intent until finally she said,  "I don't know what's the matter with you.  If you want to be a nun you've got to follow orders.  Straighten up and stop crying."
I tried to comply.  It's not my nature to cry publicly and certainly not in front of uptight old nurses.
I seemed not to have any control over the waterworks.  Finally, my nurse tormentor had enough, 
"That's it.  Get out of here.  This is pointless.  Maybe tomorrow you'll be able to listen."
"Thank you", I said.  I knew it was over.  There would not be a tomorrow.  I would see to that.  I wasn't going to sacrifice my identity to please someone elses idea of what a good nun was. 

I'd spent almost three years learning how fallible the Sisters were.  I heard the confessions of a pedophile priest.  I knew the bishop was a bald-faced liar and a rather unpleasant human being.  I knew that I was being tested and punished for reporting the unwelcome sexual advances of my superior.  She wasn't really my superior at all.   Confused and broken she had caused me great harm.  It was not the trauma of her advances, it was the inability to address the real issues, to treat each other with dignity and respect, to resolve conflict with one's sense of decency intact.  It was the Sisters failure to do the right thing and then act as if they had.  

This was not the place for me.    I doubted it really was the place for anyone.  Sin ran deep, a dark, invisible fault line that shattered my hope.   It was the hope that in running away from life,  I would somehow find myself and live a life of purpose and meaning.   That hope was gone.   My tears in front of the old nurse were my grieving its passing. 

The next few days were a blur.  I went to my superior at Maryville and told her I had decided to leave.  To my utter amazement, she was saddened and bewildered by my decision.  For the remaining days, I stayed with the Sisters, she treated me kindly and with none of the venom she has used earlier.  She asked me,  "Are you sure, you want to do this." 
My tearful reply was a solid, "Yes."
She told me she'd find out what needed to be done and then added,  "I didn't want it to come to this.  I hoped you'd stay."
I'll never know why she thought that treating me like she had would have encouraged that outcome.  Yet, her regret seemed genuine.  This only added to my sorrow. 

In the next few days, I was given a generous amount of money to buy some civilian clothes.  I'd lost so much weight that the clothes I brought when I entered hung on me.  I weighed a whopping 98 lbs.  When I found a tiny pleated skirt and a matching blouse, I hung them in my closet and stared at them, marvelling at the pretty colors, something other than black and white. 

Since I was not yet a final professed, the papers to dispense my temporary vows only need come from the local diocese and not Rome.  I was given $1000 and the American Heritage Dictionary that had been withheld on my feast day just a couple of months before.  My mother came on a weekday morning.  My younger siblings were still in school.  All the things I had in the world fit in one suitcase and a cardboard box.  As much as I knew that I was doing the right thing in separating myself from my convent nightmare, it was hard to leave.   I cried the entire hour and a half drive to my parent's home.  They weren't disappointed in me.  My mother had never liked the idea of my entering, although she was never very vocal about her feelings.  I always knew.  My dad was hopelessly proud but when things went wrong, he did not blame me.
He was angry at the Sisters, especially Sister Felicity who had called him at one point an asked him if he'd still take me in if I were asked to leave the convent.  He argued for my good behavior, saying that the problem person she was describing was not his daughter.  My "thanks, Dad" has been too long in coming. It still means a lot.

I had invested almost three years of my life.  I had fought the good fight against an enemy that could never lose.   The time had come to save myself.    Without the convent, I was lost, at least for a while.  For the first few years, I couldn't talk about my convent experiences without shaking uncontrollably.  I hadn't expected to be so affected.  It's gotten easier over the years but even now it still hurts a little.  I know I'd have made one hell of a nun.  This is not to say that I regret having married and having children.  My children are the most wonderful things that have happened to me.  Being a mom is something I wouldn't have wanted to miss for the world.  I just didn't know that when I was young.  It would take time and experience for me to see it. 

It's time to end my account, my remembering.  Remembering hasn't always been easy.  There are other things I could write concerning my convent experiences.  There was a wild ride on sand dunes with Captain Carl.  There was Waterville and Fr. Bickford.  There was the brutal battle with sunstroke.  There was the changing of habit into civvies in an outhouse.  There were dark days when the only thing to hang on to was God and even He seemed hopelessly distant.

And so, for now, I end the convent tales. Life in the present is demanding my attention.  I need to refocus on the Just 10 concept and nourish life in the now.    Today, I started on a novel.  It's time for a new chapter.  Thanks for reading.  Your comments and encouragement have meant the world to me.