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Lesbian Stories
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Lesbian Female / 30
Finding My Loved Ones, Making Family And Children
I was born into a Mormon family, in a Mormon community. Lots and lots of kids. I went to nursing school and met Celine, only child of a physician and university professor. She grew up with nannies and private education. We were first year nursing school roommates. My dream was to return to my community, have eight children, and be a nurse to my extended family and community. What we had in common, was doctor fathers, and dreams of being nurses.
At the end of our first year I begged her to take me on a pilgrimage to Salt Lake Temple. She was a bit uncomfortable, a thousand kilometer drive, crossing into the US, two young women. We set out in her not so new car, our first ever road trip. Our first night at at a roadside motel, we took a room which had one bed. Not a problem, a year rooming together, we dressed for bed and cuddled together. Cuddled, in a deep hug, conscious what we were doing.
Walking around the Temple, with my Celine with me, so aware of what we had done, of violating every rule of my religion. But, the Band-Aid had been torn off, we struggled with our emotions. We drove back, and returned to our school, roommates in a full intimate relationship. How was I to reconcile my dream of being a nurse to my community and have eight children.
Celine met my parents, she met my community, not a Mormon. I met her parents, not refined from a private education, one from the broad plains of Saskatchewan, one from Montreal, an unlikely union.
We became nurses, went first to a secular hospital. We met a young doctor. He saw no problem with two young women, one a Mormon, one a sophisticate. Eight children? how about two? four? How about you? Celine was unsure of her answer.
We live in a small rural community, first doctor first nurses. Our children add to the census. Some bite their lip, others shake their heads, but when they need medical attention, a new baby, a work injury, they talk to us sharing their deep appreciation, embracing us as members of the community. It warms my heart, we are the nurses to our community, our doctor husband available for more serious medical issues. Our children, not Mormons, not sophisticated, growing up in their town, their community.
At the end of our first year I begged her to take me on a pilgrimage to Salt Lake Temple. She was a bit uncomfortable, a thousand kilometer drive, crossing into the US, two young women. We set out in her not so new car, our first ever road trip. Our first night at at a roadside motel, we took a room which had one bed. Not a problem, a year rooming together, we dressed for bed and cuddled together. Cuddled, in a deep hug, conscious what we were doing.
Walking around the Temple, with my Celine with me, so aware of what we had done, of violating every rule of my religion. But, the Band-Aid had been torn off, we struggled with our emotions. We drove back, and returned to our school, roommates in a full intimate relationship. How was I to reconcile my dream of being a nurse to my community and have eight children.
Celine met my parents, she met my community, not a Mormon. I met her parents, not refined from a private education, one from the broad plains of Saskatchewan, one from Montreal, an unlikely union.
We became nurses, went first to a secular hospital. We met a young doctor. He saw no problem with two young women, one a Mormon, one a sophisticate. Eight children? how about two? four? How about you? Celine was unsure of her answer.
We live in a small rural community, first doctor first nurses. Our children add to the census. Some bite their lip, others shake their heads, but when they need medical attention, a new baby, a work injury, they talk to us sharing their deep appreciation, embracing us as members of the community. It warms my heart, we are the nurses to our community, our doctor husband available for more serious medical issues. Our children, not Mormons, not sophisticated, growing up in their town, their community.
