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| The Hail Mary Diaries: Synopsis |
Initially, as a child if I had been asked what I felt my future would hold, I wouldn't hesitate to say I would be a woman who made it her goal in life to marry and rear a family. How would I know that I would grow to find my priorities suddenly shifting.
In the eyes of many, I was perceived as one who had it all -- a privileged childhood, marriage, kids and then suddenly, it was apparent that I had become someone who realized too little too late that they haven't gotten what they truly wanted from life. On the heels of two painful divorces and four children, as the woman who had previously looked forward to a contented life of domesticated bliss, I made the selfish decision to set out to explore the world and seek out my own true destiny.
Often dreams and plans do not materialize as one envisions they might and this is now painfully evident. Happiness avoids me, I am severely depressed with my third marriage, and I often spend an enormous amount of time crying in the isolation of my parked car in strip mall parking lots. My days are consumed with panic, grief and confusion. I have come to experience the complete eradication of everything I ever believed I was supposed to be.
It is painfully apparent that I must quickly stop feeling sorry for myself and find a way to recover from all of this, I know radical steps must be taken, as at age fifty-seven, there isn't much time nor space to find out who I really am and what I really wanted from life. It rings painfully true that is now time to stop flying by the seat of my pants and develop a plan for the first time in my life.
By now you may have pondered how I came to the decision of choosing "The Hail Mary Diaries" as the name for tormented memoirs of my life. After the decision to get serious and finally begin this blog, I pondered various names as I lay in bed drifting off to the safety of sleep. It became obvious that although I often do not attend mass for years at a time; however, not a day goes by that I do not pray to the Blessed Virgin.
The Blessed Virgin Mary, sometimes shortened to the Blessed Virgin or the Virgin Mary, is a traditional title used by most liturgical Christians such as Roman Catholics, to describe Mary, the mother of Jesus Christ. Since the first century, devotion to the Virgin Mary has been a major element of the spiritual life of a vast number of Christians, primarily in Catholicism, myself included.
My Mother was raised devout Catholic and although she married my Father in church, she never attended mass during their fifty-nine year marriage. As of this day, my Father is a member of Freemasonry a fraternal organization that arose from obscure origins in the late 16th century. He deemed the introduction of religion into my childhood my Mother's duty.
Soon after I was born, I was baptized Roman Catholic. I don't remember going to church until age six when my Mother enrolled me in Catechism Classes, to begin preparation to receive First Holy Communion at age seven. T
At age fifty-seven, I still have vivid memories of how my devotion to The Virgin Mary began. The day of my First Holy Communion at St. Rose of Lima, Sister Mary Catherine gave all the girls a small white vinyl purse which contained a rosary, scapula's and a picture prayer book. This became my one of my prized possessions for many years to come. I was particularly enamored with the cover of the prayer book which portrayed the image of the Blessed Mother bathed in what my seven year old mind perceived as the glowing light of heaven. Her arms were outstretched and she wore beautiful robin's egg blue robes with a white veil. When gazing at any photo or statue of the Virgin Mary, I realized a feeling of peace.
As an only child, I was often left to amuse myself for hours on end. My parents and I lived in the country on a two acre lot where my Father's sister and husband had their home. My Aunt and Uncle were never blessed with children. Across the road was a farm where a young girl my age and her older brother lived and occasionally, I played with them.
More often than not was left to amuse myself. While alone in my room, I often prepared an altar on my night stand. I would kneel on the carpet between my two twin beds and read my prayer book. My favorite prayers were those to the Blessed Mother.
My Mother and I never returned to mass on a regular basis after my communion. My education as a Catholic was limited knowing how to bless myself and reciting the Hail Mary, along with the other prayers in my little book. I imagine my Mother felt her obligation was fulfilled as a result of assuring my successful completion of the First Communion ritual.
As a child, I was frightened by the prospect of burning in the eternal fires of hell as a result of missing Sunday mass and Holy Days. My childlike rationalization was if I prayed on a regular basis, I would be spared the misery of the devil welcoming me at the fiery gates of hell.
to be continued......
I had a bronze crucifix which I propped up against the lamp on the night table.
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