Finding the Sun Through the Clouds: Sharing My Journey

By Dawnmarie Deshaies

In this fascinating autobiography, Dawnmarie Deshaies gives you an in-depth look at her life from childhood to the present day. This book entails her life experiences, from tragedy and heartbreak to uplifting highs and celebrations. Since her diagnosis in 2012 with the autoimmune disease known as multiple sclerosis, Dawnmarie has continued to make it her life’s mission to spread awareness on this all-too-phantomesque disease. Every day, Dawnmarie lives to fight for all who have been afflicted by the terrible disease. Dawnmarie and the whole staff attached to the publication of this memoir hope to enlighten you with her firsthand experiences and knowledge. We hope you relate and admire her honest remarks, and hopefully, her message continues to grow and produce a following of warriors. Over fifty years of life experience have been compiled into this autobiography, and Dawnmarie gives you her life and all its incredible detail right here in the following pages. So, what are you waiting for? Open up and start reading!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Fulton Books, Inc.
• Release date: Sep 10, 2020
• ISBN: 9781646546046

Book preview

Chapter 1

Early Life and Misfortunes

My name is Dawnmarie Deshaies. I was born and christened in a tiny town called Old Town, Maine. My parents are John and Barbara Desjardins. I have one sibling, and his name is Mark. He’s four years older than I am. When I was at the age of two years old, my parents moved our family to a small town called Baltic, Connecticut; the population was only eight hundred people. My family and I lived a simple life. Both of my parents, John and Barbara, worked blue-collar jobs. Our lifestyle produced a simple outlook on how life should be. I was your average girl in a small town. I loved to draw and dream of what my life would be when I got older.

I went to school, played outside like any other kid. I loved music, especially Queen. I was naturally silly with my friends; we would ride our bikes and play outside for hours on end. I had one close friend, named Meg. As a young girl, I struggled with sickness and the constant rotating door of hospital visits due to my severe asthma. It seemed that everything inside the house and outside would attack me personally, often causing flare-ups with my asthma, suctioning air from my lungs. The constant threat and fear of losing that last breath. My parents did everything they could, from taking all my stuffed toys out of my room to putting an air conditioner in my bedroom window. The air conditioner seemed to help me breathe, especially during the winter and cold months. When my lungs began to feel crushing from constant attacks, my parents would admit me to the hospital. The doctors would put me into what they called the green tent. It was a plastic and see-through tent pumping pure oxygen to aid my breathing. They would also administer an IV into my arm and give me medications to make my lungs healthy again. I would usually be in the hospital for over a week at a time, in the cold and sterilized place.

I began to shape my world around the idea that everything was normal. I did what my doctors told me and followed my parents’ instructions to the letter. The next thing I had to go through was the dreaded allergy shots. Every week, I had to revisit the doctors for a continuing series of allergy-diagnoses formulating and even more disfigured version of a normal life.

Due to the constant hospitalizations, I missed so much school that I had to stay back in second grade. How awful it was for me to discover the cruelty of my fellow classmates. The constant bullying and humiliation for being held back due to illness. The innate hatred and cruelty bestowed in every human being surrounding me burned a hole in me so deep I was retreating into myself more and more. It became tough even to crack the shell of exposing myself to the world. I began to find solace in my imagination, and I began to express all my misfortunes onto a canvas.

Chapter 2

The Challenges of Being Different

I had a tough time learning and remembering things. Possibly because of the constant rotating medications being introduced into my system. Schoolwork was always a challenge for me, and I didn’t have the confidence like all the other children around me. I struggled with feeling alienated. I always had to ask for specialized help from my teachers on my classwork. This continued throughout my young formative years of schooling. As I was becoming a young teenager, I started to have a little more confidence in myself, growing older. These coming years were formulating to become some of the most tumultuous years of my life.

I found others like me, and we created our small circle of friendship. Unfortunately, cruelty and humiliation united us, because we were all made fun of for asking for extra help with our studies. What propelled the shame even further was my fear of speaking in front of the class. When I was asked to present, I would get so nervous and I would begin to shake that my voice shook and trembled as I spoke backward. The only thing I could hear was the endless laughter as I stood there defenseless.

Every day as lunchtime rolled around, my friends and I would all go out to the playground and the kids would make it a mission to come up to me and belittle me by calling me stupid, dumb, and brainless. I looked away in shame and cried a river, wondering how the world could be so cruel to a little girl trying just to live. Cruelty, as I have come to learn, is unfortunately inherent in the human psyche. Often, it is easier to give in and feed the beast, but turning away and showing your belittler compassion instead of hate will make the other hunger for the common ground.

With the constant humiliation and belittling, I forced myself to study harder and longer to prove that I am better, if not equal, to all the people chastening me. I had my favorite teachers who worked with me and helped me grow in my studies; they knew how hard it was for me to be in and out of the hospital all the time. Their sympathy and willingness to aid me helped me imagine that the world can be a better place to continue living in. The first spark of hope in a mad world.

One teacher, Mrs. Johnson, used to make me laugh no matter what emotional state I was in. I remember her saying to me one day, Oh, don’t listen to them, Dawnmarie. One day you will be amazing, and then they will wonder why they were so mean to you. She always helped me learn in a way that made sense to me. I really liked Mrs. Johnson’s work, and I could not help but admire her work with all the other kids struggling just like me. Thinking about my younger self now, I have made it a personal affirmation to use laughter and love to teach those around me.

Chapter 3

Treasured Memories

I remember every summer, we would go to Maine to see my grandparents and all my cousins. I loved this particular time of year. I had so many cousins I often lost count. I had my favorite cousins surrounding me and encouraging me to come to play. They were my best friends from afar. Their father was my mother’s brother. His name was Uncle Shorty, and his wife was Aunt Gretchen. They had three girls, Lisa, Tabitha, and Stacy. Every time we visited them, it was the best time of my life. All the activities we would do included playing hide-and-seek, singing You’ve Got a Friend in Me by Randy Newman, painting our own Monets, and climbing bountiful trees filled with fresh pine cones. We would go down to the corner store to get soda and candy, and on a scorching day, we would get ice cream. You name it, we did it. These were indeed some of my favorite times in my life as a young child. The endless groove from the music, the love for one another, and the incapacitating sugar rushes will never be forgotten. It was always hard to leave after our vacation had ended. I pondered, Why can’t the world be like this never-ending fairy tale?

I can remember we always had big family gatherings. My mother had three sisters and six brothers. My father had four brothers and five sisters. Honestly, I still have no idea how many cousins I had. All I remember is I loved every minute I spent with all of them. My summers were as perfect as a freshly bloomed sunflower; I was glowing with love and happiness. The pain of the school year being washed away with each giggle and laugh.

Grammy, my mother’s mom, was the cutest grandmother anyone could ever imagine. I would miss her so much every time we drove from her porch, waving my hands out the car window. Every time we were able to visit her in Maine, she would let me bake with her. The sweet smell of freshly made whoopie pies and cinnamon rolls from an old family recipe filled the room with this iridescent energy. Grammy was so funny. She had no teeth, and every time we would visit, she would always say, I am going to gum you to death, munchkin! Nom, nom, nom! I would giggle and hustle to the nearest escape, but she always caught me. She always made me feel so loved. I really miss her. While staying at her house, I always got to stay in the back bedroom. It was my perfect little haven. My mother’s father had passed away before I was born, so Grammy was my connection to my history. My mother is the youngest of her family; although she had a baby brother, he was the only one born in a hospital and he only lived for two days.

All my aunts and uncles had such a great sense of humor. I believe that to this day, it has affected me, to always be silly and fun-loving, because who doesn’t love a joyful spirit? When looking back on these memories, I see the big picture of how I began to formulate my self-image. Positive attracts positive, so spread your joy, because you will meet others who can share it with you.

My father’s mother was always fun, but more along the lines of Grace Kelly in the iconic 1955 film To Catch a Thief by Alfred Hitchcock. She really didn’t play with us very much; she was much more proper and would be socializing with all the adults. I never met my father’s father. He also passed away before I was born. I still thank God to this day for what he gave me growing up. I was blessed with two amazing grandmothers, numerous aunts and uncles, and the continually multiplying cousins. Oh me, oh my.

Every time we visited Maine, my aunts and uncles would ask so many questions about my brother and me. I believed they liked me better (wink face). My favorite aunt, Theresa, and her husband, Uncle Bob, were so hilarious. My uncle Bob would always say, Hey, baby girl, come over here so I can see how much you have grown. I would giggle and smile. Then he would always say, Pull my finger. So I did, and he would make the funniest fake farting noise. I could not help but burst into laughter—sometimes I even tinkled my pants. My aunt Theresa was always cooking and baking and still had so many pets, like birds, cats, and dogs. Her house had so many knickknacks, like ceramic angels, animals, and clocks. Her refrigerator was full of photos and artwork. I loved my aunt Theresa so much. She was always so funny and very affectionate to everyone. She would yell at my uncle Bob all the time, especially when he tried to sing over our favorite musician, Elvis Presley. That was so funny to me. He would always say, Woman, you need to find your place! and she would say, Come and make me. I believe this was where my sass and spunk originated from. Oh, how I was and still am a troublemaker!

My aunt Theresa would always let me do her hair and paint her fingernails. I simply loved the feeling of being wanted and loved. This made me feel important. She would always give me my own room to sleep in because of my asthma. She had an air conditioner in there, and it would help me breathe better. I never knew why it helped me breathe better, but she was always caring for me in those little ways. Aunt Theresa would always be painting; she had a small art gallery upstairs. I loved that and thought it was the coolest room in the house. I loved painting and drawing, and she would always say that I was a great artist. She always encouraged me to paint and draw every time I visited. Sometimes, I wish those humble summers would last forever, because I was able to laugh, play, and be me when we visited Maine.

On my dad’s side of the family, I had favorites too. Aunt Franny and Aunt Anne, Aunt Sue, and Aunt Tessie were all so cool. My aunt Sue and uncle Mac lived in Connecticut as well. We visited my aunt Sue often. She was always so sweet and kind. I loved all my aunts and uncles. Having a large family was nice because we always had someone to visit and catch up with. My aunt Dell lived in Connecticut. She married my mother’s brother. My uncle Dicky would always stop by our house on his way home from work to pee and get coffee from our house. He was a junkyard junkie and a massive hoarder. His van always had so many treasures in it, from chairs, tables, and just plain old junk. Every time we would visit them, which was often, my aunt Dell would be making the most beautiful wedding and birthday cakes. I remember loving to visit her so much because of all the excellent food and delicious smells of fresh-baked goods. We always had Thanksgiving dinner at their home because, let’s face it, who doesn’t love a home-cooked meal from scratch? She was the best cook ever—I will place money on it every time. My aunt and uncle had a big house, and they had two sons and two daughters. I would always stay in the house and visit with my mom. When I wasn’t having an asthma attack, my mother would let me go outside to climb the trees with my cousins and their friends. Ah, how I miss the smell of those fresh pines! We would play hide and seek, and the best part was their basement because it had so much junk in it that you could disappear for hours. Sometimes I would even get scared because of all the little creaks and hollow noises. I loved playing with them. We would sing and laugh for hours. We would ride bikes around the small town where they lived, and they also had a pool, so when summer rolled around, we would always visit and swim.

Alas, even with the endless joys of summer, my illness was still lingering in the background. The doctors simply told my mother and me it was just my allergies. I hated those words because they seemed like an excuse at that time for something wrong with me.

Chapter 4

Not Everything Can Be Perfect

Both my parents smoked cigarettes, so that didn’t help my breathing back then. Smoking was a part of the culture; it was thought to be filled with nutritious vitamins and minerals. How things have changed. I still, to this day, have never touched a cigarette in my life. I always felt different from all the kids around me, from my friends to my cousins. I was the sick child, the little wilted flower no one wanted to pick. In and out, in and out. The emotionless hospital and the isolated green tent were the second home I was used to. I wanted to be able to do a breath. It was a time of constant rotating medications. When the hospital would send me home after a week, my lungs felt better, but my mom would always be worried about me. I worried about her.

Every time I would have an asthma attack, I would have to go into my bedroom to breathe better. Some days, my mom would take me out shopping at the mall because they had air-conditioning and that meant we didn’t have to pay for it. And sometimes she would let me pick out clothing and we would put it on layaway. My mom would go in the store and make payments until it was all paid for, and when that happened, it was like Christmas to me. I would have new clothes and shoes. This was before they had credit cards—they had layaway. To me, this seemed normal. Both my parents worked so hard to make ends meet. I remember when my dad had lower-back surgery and he was out of work for the longest time. We had our family car repossessed, and that made things so hard for my mom; she was working double time to keep a roof over our heads.

I can remember eating fried bologna and bologna sandwiches with chips, and my mom always had Pepsi soda in the house and TV microwaved dinners, to be honest. My mother wasn’t an excellent cook, and she didn’t have the time to cook. My mother worked so hard all the time and was so tired from working hard that when she got home, she was utterly exhausted. We just made sandwiches and had microwave dinners.

My best friend, Meg, always had the newest and most beautiful clothing, and her mom stayed home and took care of the house. Sometimes her mom would make me a dress. I really liked hanging out with Meg. We also went to the same school. We both made the cheerleading team together. We loved it and felt like we were fitting in with the other girls. I began to perceive that some aspects of self-confidence began to flower.

Chapter 5

My First Job

I had my first job at Penny’s, a store in Norwich. It was convenient being so close to home. I would work after school. I was fifteen years old. I grew up knowing you had to work hard for your money and to never take things for granted. Seeing how all my other friends’ moms stayed home to take care of the kids would make me blue, knowing that my mother had to work so hard. She worked in a warehouse job doing screen printing by hand with other working women. I would ride my bike down to her work after school because I really loved watching all the colors spraying and splashing the yards of canvas, turning the seemingly endless rainbow barrage into the most wondrous clothing. There were so many giant rolls of fabric with thousands of different prints ready to be shipped out to clothing companies, and my mother was one of the many women who worked for hours and days creating such beautiful pieces of fabric. The designers should be lucky to have her employed, for without her, the prints would be just blank canvas.

I love my mother. She always told me how to work hard for a living even when you didn’t want to work. Her hands would be swollen from hard labor all day in an unconditioned, hot factory. The smell of paint in the air stained her hair and skin, bringing home a mixture of scents. These factories never had to air-condition, and with all the women working so hard, it made me wonder how it is that until these last few years, women are now getting the right to work in a proper workplace. When I would visit my mother at work, every one of her friends would always tell me I was going places. This beautiful regard baffled me back then because I never really imagined or knew what they meant. Having been raised by my mother primarily, I constructed my own thoughts on work ethic, and my mother was the cornerstone for that belief. Thank you, Mom, for making me realize that if I wanted something, I needed to work for it. Your persistence is a gift I still hold on to today. Even growing up with asthma, I never made an excuse for it. It was just something I had to deal with. Put a smile on your face and work hard. I learned this very early on in my life because I didn’t want to be different, so I would always smile and push through whatever was going on in my life. I just wanted to feel normal, and many years later, I learned normal isn’t always the best choice or option.

Chapter 6

High School, Young Adulthood, Emerging Phantoms, and Dreams

As my adolescence continued, I attended Norwich Academy of Fine Arts. From the age of thirteen to eighteen, I was influenced by this school in ways that helped me make the most of my life during this time. I went to work after school every day. I liked my job because I was making money for myself, but I loved everything about school. My passions resided in learning. I treasured all my fine art classes, and I had my favorite teachers instructing these classes. I felt alive painting. My inspiration for designing a love language in my own artistic fashion pushed my imagination to the limits. I began to imagine myself as one of the masters of impressionist and Renaissance art, like van Gogh, Monet, and da Vinci. While studying the work of the masters, I picked each individual detail that I admired from so many artists and developed my own art style. I created beauty with a black canvas, the art that poured from my fingertips striking me with emotion with each stroke. I poured everything into my art. The good, the bad, the ugly all represented aspects of my being expunged onto the canvas. My three favorite artists are Claude Monet, Leonardo da Vinci, and Vincent van Gogh. I always enjoyed reading their history and admiring their lifeworks. Could it be possible that I can create my own legacy of design? I hope to share my art with the world so you can see me for who I am. My mind is as beautiful as my body.

From admiring their works, I promised myself and my teachers that I will make it to Paris one day to self-actualize my belief in becoming a master by studying the physical copies existing in the art capital of the world. They would always smile and say, I hope so, Dawnmarie. Your work needs to be seen and admired. To this very day, I still have some of my old drawings and painting from school, and my mother still has some of her favorites as well.

Art classes made me feel so alive and vibrant. I had a special bond with all the art students. The constant influx of shared ideas and discussions on different techniques boosted my creativity always to continue developing new pieces of work. My classmates and I still hung out together. We had lunch together and always did things on the weekends for school projects for art classes. I began to achieve As in all my classes. From working hard in my studies and out of school to keep a B+, I managed to stay above to average grades with a 3.0 all four years and worked twenty-five hours a week as well.

Of course, some of you are probably wondering about my early love life. Well, I dated the same boy for over five years. His name was John. I honestly thought he was the person I was going to marry; he even gave me an engagement ring after I graduated from art school. He was all I knew between school, working, and everyday life.

After graduating from school, I moved out of my parents’ home and got my own apartment. There weren’t any jobs in the art field and I had to pay bills, so I started working in New London, Connecticut. I worked at the mall full-time, and before I knew it, I was an assistant manager. My career was moving fast. I was promoted again to a larger store as the manager after just six months. I was engaged to John, but I knew deep down inside I wanted more in my life. I had dreams of still being a princess taken away by a knight in shining armor, and he wasn’t taking my breath away from the way I needed it. His dreams did not resonate with me, and I didn’t want to settle for anything less. It was hard breaking up with him. First love is a confusing game. It’s a maze of discovery and contemplation. Which choice should I make when I have an engagement ring on my finger but I cannot imagine a future with this person, so he obviously could not be the one? He was my only boyfriend then. I lost my virginity to him,