Thursday, August 21, 2014

Photographs of the Dawning of Self


Last evening I riffled through a box of old photographs that date back to the early twentieth century. There were great-grandparents, Grandma Ready and O’Mara, Mom and Dad, my brother and his family, friends, as well as myself. Among those photographs I found some from early 1967 that show me during the first few months after I left the convent as well as one from the month before I left and a couple from a year later. Today, I’d like to share these with you.


         Here’s Sister Innocence in November 1966—a month and a half before I left the convent. I was teaching high school students in the Mount Academy and this is one of the Asian students. I had weighed 118 pounds from the time I was in grade school. But during those final months of 1966, I lost about 15 pounds and was the thinnest I’d been since fifth grade.
         Wearing the clothes of my pregnant sister-in-law, I left the convent on Christmas Eve, 1966. The following two photographs show me two days later at a party she and my brother gave for the family. In the one below I’m standing next to my cousin-in-law. I’m not sure what article of clothing I’m holding.



         In this second photograph I think I’m examining a half-slip my brother and his wife gave me as a Christmas gift. As I’ve said in earlier postings about this time, I did a lot of acting for a few weeks. Acting surprised. Acting happy. Acting interested. Longing always to be home with my mom and dad in their house where I didn’t need to act.


         In Dayton, where I got my first post-convent joy, I first lived at the Loretto Guild where I met four women who befriended me. In the early spring of 1967, the five of us moved to a house near Dayton University. My sister-in-law was due any day and so would soon be needing her spring and summer wardrobe.
         With the encouragement of my new friends, I bought myself dresses and shoes to wear to work. They were excited for me and wanted to take photographs showing “Sister Innocence” in her new finery. Below are pictures of me in one dress after another. These were taken outside the two-story home we’d rented. It was on a residential street where many students lived.







         On my face you see smiles that are real. I was no longer acting. I’d settled into life beyond the convent. Friends enriched my life. I enjoyed my work as an editor at Pflaum Publishing. I was going to movies, concerts, plays, dances. I had a library card. I traveled successfully on the city buses. I knew where to shop. I was being invited to the homes of co-workers to meet their families, play with their children, and enjoy tasty home-cooked meals. 
         I was taking a class on the novels of Charles Dickens and George Eliot at the University and writing papers that were garnering good grades. This was proof, I thought, that my mind was working well and that I hadn’t lost my ability to craft sentences. In a word, I was happy.


         That summer I traveled home to visit my family. This is a photo of me at Lake Jacoma in Blue Springs, Missouri. My family and I did some fishing there and then sat on the grass to enjoy a picnic with some of Mom’s famous potato salad. I note in looking at all these photographs that none of them show me in shorts. It took many years before I bared my legs by wearing pants that came above my knees.


         Finally, here is a winter 1967 photograph of me at my brother’s home in Independence. My hair is different; my smile is different; my whole demeanor has changed. This is what time and good friends and loving family can do for someone who has been deep into the abyss of depression and has—by some great grace—decided to live.
         Last night, while viewing these photographs that show in their own way a resurrection, I thought of Robin Williams. My heart aches for his pain and for the forlorn darkness of mind and heart and spirit in which he must have been living. May he now know the truth of himself and know, too, the meaning and worth of his life and the joy he brought to so many of us. May he know that he was and is a gift from and to the Universe. Peace.

40 comments:

  1. The photos that your friends took are beautiful, Dee. Your dresses are so pretty. You are lovely. What a gift to find friends who could help you enjoy the world. I've been thinking about Robin Williams a lot. I'm sad, of course, but now I'm starting to think that some good might come from his death because a number of depression deniers will finally realize that depression exists and it can be a terminal illness. I don't think many people actually choose suicide. The illness chooses for them.

    Love,
    Janie

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    1. Dear Janie, your last sentence pretty well sums it up. Thank you. Peace.

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  2. I love that you found, and chose happiness. And the help you had to do so.
    And yes, my heart hurts for Robin Williams and for all of the people who battle this soul-sucking illness. And I hope that Janie Junebug is right.

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    1. Dear Sue, just today I read several our columns, from the US and from Great Britain, in which the columnist wrote about his/her depression and what it was like. So what Janie said is already happening. I just hope his opens the eyes of readers everywhere as well as the insurance companies to seeing depression as a disease. Peace.

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  3. Dee, I love this series of photos showing your rebirth after leaving the convent. The relaxed and happy you in the final pictures is a million miles from the tense, drawn young nun in the first. I think you make an important link between your story and the tragic death of Robin Williams, who so sadly wasn't able to find the way out of the agony of his depression in this life.

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    1. Dear Perpetua, you know I posted that final picture because just the way I was standing was so different from earlier. I was both relaxed and happy. Peace.

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  4. I made a mental note of the pants and the smile, too. And in filing the note I said "The smile tells all; who cares about legs."

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    1. Dear Joanne, you're right!!!! But I'm telling you, I've come to love wearing shorts--not short shorts but ones that come to the tops of my knees. So comfortable in this hot weather we have here in Missouri. Peace.

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  5. Happiness is sure the way to be, just let the rest of the nonsense flow away. Too bad Robin Williams wasn't able to find it.

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    1. Dear Pat, a dear friend of mine--the artist who did the drawings for "A Cat's Life: Dulcy's Story--tells me often "to go with the flow." And that does make for an easier life. Peace.

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  6. These pictures do tell a tale of a journey you took from the convent into the world. I love that last picture! And yes, we are all feeling the pain of having lost another light in the world to depression, Thank you for finding your way and lighting that way for others. Peace to you, dear Dee.

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    1. Dear DJan, I, too, love that last picture. It was a "find" among all the photographs in the box of family pictures. Thank you for saying that I light the way for others. I think that's one of the true purposes of life--to do good in and for the Universe. You surely do. Peace.

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  7. You look so gorgeous and happy! :) Thank you for sharing these wonderful photos!

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    1. Dear Baiba, I was happy! Days came when I wasn't, but we all have our ups and downs. It's the holding on that counts and finding a reason to do so. Peace.

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    1. Dear Annie, yes, an awakening. Thanks for that word. Peace.

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  9. Good friends and a supportive family can help so much when dealing with depression. However, finding one's way out of the abyss is up to the person themselves. You had the strength to want to be well, poor Robin did not. His pain was too much for him to handle.

    I love all of your pictures, Dee. The one with you and your friends leaning against the car is my favorite. It could be titled, "Girls just want to have fun".

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    1. Dear Arleen, yes, his pain must have been overwhelming. What a burden to carry all his life--to be funny always. Peace.

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  10. It's lovely to see these old shots.

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    1. Dear LadyFi, I think that most of these photographs were polaroid and so the quality is not all that good, but still they make a point! Peace.

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  11. Peace, my new friend!

    Linda
    http://coloradofarmlife.wordpress.com

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    1. Dear Linda, thank you for your wishing peace for me. It's a gift we can share with others that can change the world. Peace.

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  12. Thank you for sharing these photos, Dee. It is amazing, isn't it, how much our photos can show about us in life? You look so much more content and a peace with life in the latter pictures. Your new friends were so pivotal in your healing.

    I can't imagine how you must have felt as you left the convent. Going from your habit to borrowed clothes would have been enough of an adjustment, I imagine, but, to have to wear maternity clothes! They sure didn't make it easy, did they? You give me so many things to think about from the sixties. I'm reminded of how far we have come - and how far we have yet to go.

    Your transition to the tragedy of Robin Williams is touching. Thank you.

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    1. Dear Penny, I think I wasn't clear about the clothes. I never wore maternity clothes. My sister-in-law first loaned me her regular winter wardrobe because she was wearing maternity clothes. Then in May, she had the baby--my third niece and my brother and sister-in-law's last child. So she was going to be using her regular spring/summer wardrobe. Thus, I ended up buying the second season of clothes. She'd given me winter; I bought summer!

      We have come a far ways and yet given what has just happened in Ferguson, Missouri, it's clear that racism is still with us and given what has happened in the Middle East right now it's clear that terrorism is here to stay for how long no one knows. But the barbarity of it is shocking. And so I say in the midst of this turmoil, "Peace."

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  13. 1967--my senior year began. I recognize the style of the dresses and the plaid pants! You had better glasses, though. I had the cat-glasses. You do look more comfortable in your own skin by that last photo. What a huge transition!! Huge!!

    Depression and hopelessness and feeling like you don't belong anywhere...so sad when I heard about Robin. I agree--he must know now how he touched so many people's lives in a positive way. :) You have, too, Dee. And still are every day. *hugs*

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    1. Dear Rita, at one point I had really large-framed glasses--circles almost. But I can remember the "cat-glasses." I truly was more comfortable in my own skin by that final photo.

      I like to think that both you and I are living our lives in such a way that we are being hope for and in the Universe. That we can, with so many others, reach out to pass on peace. Peace.

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  14. You are an excellent, as most of us with difficult childhoods learned to be, but in your expressions and body language two days after leaving, there seems to be so much shock and sadness and hope and discomfort that appears to ease once you are on your own and working and enjoying the company of friends. How fascinating to see pictures of you during that critical transition! And how great that you had support from family and friends along the way -- though it was, by definition, a very solitary journey within.

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    1. Dear Kathy, it's true that the journey is solitary and that's why we can never know I think the burdens and sorrow that others carry within them as they shop at the grocery store and we both walk down the same aisle. Or sit by one another at a movie theaters or pass one another on the sidewalk. To me people are holy mysteries before whom we must kneel so as to embrace the wholeness of humanity. Peace.

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  15. I can't imagine having to "act" to get through life. I am just so very happy that you no longer need to fake the happy face and that life now has pleasure instead of darkness. Those friends were the wonderful therapy.I hope you are still in touch.

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    1. Dear Arkansas Patti, yes, life is now filled with contentment, but truthfully it's taken years to get here. As to those friends, I'm still in touch with one. Peace.

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  16. What a revelatory journey these pictures are. It is easy to see the evolution just by the expressions on your face and your body language. What wonderful family and friends in your life that brought you healing and restoration.

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    1. Dear Shelly, I have been blessed throughout my entire life with wonderful friends. I count you among them. Peace.

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  17. Wonderful photos, Dee. Thank you for bringing your thoughts around to Robin Williams' tragedy, because in your caring words for him is the essence of relating to one another in the human race (which affects everything else), and therein lies hope. For my part, I pray for him (and for you, too, of course). Joy and love to you today.

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    1. Dear Deanna, more and more, daily, I see the Oneness that connects all of us--rather in Syria or Ferguson, Missouri, or here where I sit in front of the computer. Peace.

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  18. Hi Dee, Love seeing the old pictures... I'm sure the Robin Williams death brought back memories to you also... Depression is truly a rough disease --and I have another blog friend whose daughter (who suffered from Depression) took her own life a couple of years ago... This is still extremely hard for that family... I hope that mental health will finally get the attention it needs in this country...

    Thanks for sharing your photos. What a beautiful lady you were and ARE.
    Hugs,
    Betsy

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    1. Dear Besty, yes many memories did come back. I'm saddened to learn of the death of the daughter of one your blogger friends. I think that those left behind after a suicide deal with so many, many mixed emotions. Grieving has to be so difficult. Peace.

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  19. It’s fascinating to read how you slowly came to life, a whole different person from the previous one.

    I am glad that you found good companions along the way.

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    1. Dear Friko, ah, I like those words about coming back to life. I think we can look at that as both reentering what was going on around me and reawakening within to possibilities that do not end in dead-ends. Peace.

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  20. What wonderful photos, Dee. I'm so glad to see how you quite literally transformed during a time of such transitions in your experiences. I think you must have a very special connection to the sadness and loss associated with Robin Williams' death. I think his suicide has shaken the world. He reflected humor and lightness, but his eyes so often looked sad to me. I, too, truly hope that he has found the peace that was so elusive. I think you have chosen happiness, and that's an amazing thing coming from all you experienced as a much younger woman. I love hearing about your life, Dee. Keep the stories coming! :-) Debra

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  21. Dear Debra, it's only now as I read what I've written and read also the response to each posting that I begin to realize that a transformation truly did take place. In the beginning it was quite evident and then the change slowed and became much less evident. It took me from the age of 30 to around 73 before I ever become really contented within and without. It took me that long to realize that that who I was was fine. I didn't need to shape myself into someone else, more pleasing to others. And it took me until I began to write this blog--at age 75--to truly begin to appreciate my mother and look at things from her point of view. And yet those years that spanned 30 to 75 were filled with experiences that brought finally home. Peace.

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