Introducing Seekers

Seekers–Women who create new life stories day-by-day

Seekers are women who live in a world of frequent change. They live away from their families-of-origin, feeling confined by family expectations. They focus on the present, and search across age groups and cultural communities to find alternatives that strengthen their sense of independence.

Over the next few weeks I’ll tell the stories here of two Seekers: Joan, a long-time Californian, born into a family of wealth, who from the age two has faced the death of many family members, including her parents and Eva, a Yugoslavian immigrant who moved away from her family, friends, and country early in life and now living alone in California. Having known disruptions since childhood that have left them often on their own; these women tell stories that reveal their independence and curiosity about new possibilities. I will also tell how their survival stories have affected mine.

Joan–a woman who keeps walking on wobbly knees

I have known Joan for twenty years. A mutual friend, who thought that Joan’s experiences with loss would help me with my husband Ron’s illness, introduced us. Joan was a great comfort to me. She listened to me, witnessed my distress, and offered me respite in her home. I escaped from my misery by listening to her stories of adventures around the world. After Ron died, we traveled together, and I shared her excitement at discovering new places.
When Joan enters a room, it is hard to miss her strong features in a face tanned by the sun. Her intent, dark eyes are lined at the corners from laughter. She exudes simple elegance with well-cut grey hair and clothes made of light-colored cotton, usually accented with bold silver jewelry. When approached, her face opens into a broad smile. She listens and laughs easily, her short, wiry body vibrating with energy. At seventy-nine, she still moves quickly, if a bit more stiffly than before.

Since her early childhood, Joan has experienced deaths of close family members; in the wake of these deaths she has lost and found herself many times over. Like a plastic pop- up doll, when punched down, she bobs right back up again. As a horse trainer, public health administrator, mountain climber, traveler to remote places, psychotherapist and spiritual seeker, she has developed a life of intention. She is still planning the next trek, even as walking becomes more difficult.

Joan should have lived the comfortable life of a child born into a family of wealth, but her childhood was filled with loss and loneliness. When Joan was less than two years old, her parents, and brothers left her at home with a nurse and went on a luxury liner for what was supposed to be an extended tour of Europe. Joan looked young and sad as she remembered and told me this part of her story:

“I have few memories of that time, but I remember, or maybe I’ve just seen pictures of me, held up by my nurse. I see myself waving and crying at the station, as my parents leave for New York where they will board a ship for Europe. In my mind’s eye, I see their large trunks being loaded onto the train.

“I know my parents came back early from their trip because my mother was ill. She had stomach cancer, went right into the hospital, and died soon after they returned. Before she died, my mother was sent to a place called Dante’s Sanatorium, where people were supposed to go to rest. It was where I had been born. It’s odd that I was born in the same place where my mother went to die.

“In spite of all that happened, I think I was fine even after my mother died, as long as my nurse and my grandmother Banna lived with us. I was fine until Rose Bell moved in.”
When speaking to me about this Joan sat up straight in her chair shifting from reverie to agitation. I saw the anger on her face. She was far away from the present moment, back to a time when she had been young and alone.

“I remember the day my father told me that Rose Bell, his new wife, was coming to live with us. It was less than a year after my mother had died. We were sitting in the downstairs parlor. He told me that Rose Bell was moving in and Banna was leaving. I feel myself sitting there, saying nothing, knowing at three, that my world was changing. I don’t think I cried, or said anything. I just sat there.”

Joan’s voice trailed off. Almost as an aside, she added:

“I think I was a lost soul then. When hard things happened in my family, the rule was not to talk about them. Certainly, difficulties were not spoken of in front of me. If the grown-ups spoke of something important they spelled their words so that I wouldn’t understand. No one spoke about anything hard, and certainly not about my mother’s death. I just didn’t know what was going on.”

A photograph of Joan at three years old hangs on her bedroom wall today. The picture shows a beautiful child who looks terribly sad. Joan found this photograph in a box not long ago and decided to put it up so as not to forget about this little girl, a part of herself that she has neglected sometimes. As she becomes more vulnerable and dependent with age, this part of her needs care and attention. When she has failed to nurture herself in the past, Joan has become overwhelmed or depressed. She tries to remember to keep this little girl in mind.