First Communion:Trauma and Happiness

I made my First Communion at Maryville, I was seven years old and as you might imagine it was frothed with anxiety and trauma. It was a cold January Sunday, but the weather was of no concern to me. I was singularly focused on the dress, veil and shoes I was going to wear that day. As I stared at the outfit laid out on my bed that morning, I couldn't help but wonder, was I going to look like everyone else, or could I stand out as the prettiest little girl on that day.

Weeks before I made my Communion, I asked my Mother if she would buy me a First Communion dress, veil and white patent and leather shoes; I didn’t want black patent and leather, I wanted to wear all white that day. She said she would and I was thrilled.

As the day approached, she had not bought or at least had not delivered the dress to Maryville. The day before my First Communion, Sister Madelyn came to me with some hesitation; it was one of first times she showed some emotion indicating she understood how I felt. She said “it doesn’t look like your Mother is going get a dress to you and we can’t wait any longer”. Sister Madelyn brought out these ugly, grey used dresses (they were once white, but soil and wear left them worn and grey) – she said “try them on and see which fits”. I tried them on and looked like the orphan I was. I was devastated. We settled on a dress and veil and I went to bed hoping the day would never come.

Late on Saturday night Sister Madelyn woke me up and told me my Mother had come to Maryville in a cab and had dropped off my dress; I was elated and relieved. The next morning Sister Madelyn woke me up before the rest of the girls showed me my dress, veil and black shoes… apparently the laws of winter prohibited the sale of white shoes which let my feet set the example for Michael Jackson sporting white socks and black shoes. They were the most beautiful clothes I had ever seen; I was as excited as a new bride. I brushed my teeth, being careful not to swallow any water, due to the laws of communion. I combed my hair into two layers of curls, put on my beautiful white dress, white veil, and white sock and… black shoes, oh well. I looked beautiful.

I walked to Church and waited for the ceremony to begin. The music started and all the boys and girls making their First Communion started walking down the middle aisle. As I started to walk down the aisle, I looked for my Mother, so wanting to show her how beautiful I looked. I finally saw her, and as our eyes connected, I smiled at her and for a brief moment my life was perfect.

Stranded.

When we first got to Maryville, Pat was in high school so was placed in the high school dorm, Sharon, Kathleen and I were in grade school  so the three of us were placed in Isabelle Hall together and Suzanne my four year old sister was placed in Mercy Hall, all by herself. I was so desperately trying to deal with my feelings I didn’t think to feel or understand how lonely and scared Suzanne must have felt. I was soon to see a demonstration of exactly how she felt.

The following Sunday after arriving at Maryville my Mother was allowed to visit us. The six of us sat on chairs outside talking; it was a beautiful sunny day.  I don’t remember any of the conversation but I do remember when it was time to say good-by to my mother.

As I saw my Mother say good-by and start to leave, I stood there motionless, too scared to do or say anything but Suzanne wasn't.  As my Mother started to walk away, Suzanne ran up to her, took her hand and said “OK mom let’s go”. My Mother said “oh no you have to stay here” but Suzanne persisted “no I am going with you!” and with that my mother let go of Suzanne’s hand and just walked away.  Suzanne began to scream and cry, then fell to the ground screaming and kicking her legs in to the concrete walk. Seemingly oblivious to the situation, my Mother just kept walking away.  A nun came over picked Suzanne up and tried to comfort her, but there was no comforting to be had; that time had passed – it was the most painful day of my life.