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My daughter is a nun.

What?! They still have those? Where does she live? What does she do? Does she wear that thing? Will she be home for Christmas? What made her decide to do that?

These are just a few of the reactions and questions we field as a family whenever the topic comes up. My other daughter and I think we should create a list of FAQs.

The answers to the above are: Yes. In Western Ontario, in a convent. In recent years she’s mostly been going to school, and also teaching children. Yes, she belongs to an order that wears a habit and veil. No. And as for why she decided to enter a convent, her answer would be “God.”

It certainly wasn’t my idea. At the age of 18, our daughter went off to university to become a veterinarian. It was all she had ever wanted to do. Things didn’t work out, though, and she began to pray. It seemed that God was calling her to a different life. She tried to run away from this for a while, but eventually began exploring different religious orders, going on retreats and attending “come and see” days. Did you know that nuns have websites? Me neither.

Eventually, she broke the news to me and her father. We were not thrilled. We encouraged her to return to school and get an education in something.

She went off to community college for a year and completed training to be a medical laboratory assistant. I prayed she would meet a young man. She met with a priest for vocational discernment.

Halfway through the school year, she had a very serious health concern. It turned out all right, but during the weeks we waited for test results, I made a thousand promises. Once I knew all was well, I told God he could have her. My husband and I also told our daughter not to be surprised if one or both of us dropped dead suddenly – we had repeatedly offered our lives in place of hers.

Our contact with our daughter is limited. We have one two-week home visit from her a year, three four-hour visits at the convent and occasional letters and phone calls. I may send as many letters and cards as I wish; she is restricted to two letters a month. She has been very busy lately, so it’s often just one letter. The phone calls are on the third Sunday of each month, plus an extra call on her birthday and our anniversary. There are no phone calls or letters during Advent, Lent or in a month when we have a visit.

Celia Krampien for The Globe and Mail

It took me a long time to accept my daughter’s choice. For the first two years, I cried after every visit. Whenever I heard that a candidate, or postulant, had withdrawn, I got excited. There was still hope, I thought, that our daughter could have a normal life!

Eventually, though, I realized she was truly happy. I gave up hoping for her heart to change, and began praying for my own heart to change instead.

Here’s another question I am often asked. Are you very religious?

I never know how to answer. I was baptized and raised a Catholic, but I stopped going to church in my teens. When I did decide to go back to regular Sunday worship, I went to a Pentecostal church. I’ve dabbled in other religions as well; in fact, I’m fascinated by all religions from a psychological and sociological standpoint.

I have to admit, though, that I don’t have the passionate love and unshakeable certainty about Catholicism that I see in others. I go to church, I pray and meditate; I still have the rosary beads my parents gave me when I made my First Communion in 1963; I struggle with doubt.

We have just finished our annual two-week home visit. As usual, it went too fast. This year was a little challenging for my daughter, because my husband and I recently sold our house and moved to an apartment. She worried about how it would feel to see us in different surroundings, but soon realized that home is where your loved ones are. We now live in the same city as our married daughter, so Sister and sister were able to spend more time together. We sat around the same old table, laughing over the same old stories and enjoying each other’s company.

On the last night of the visit, we went out for dinner. It happened to be a bar and grill, but we went early and sat in the restaurant part. We usually attract attention in public, but the few families sharing the space seemed not to even notice us. We had an enjoyable meal, and were quite fascinated by our surroundings: We decided to go out through the bar so we could have a look at another part of the beautiful old building.

As soon as we stepped into the bar, there was dead silence. We casually walked through, exclaiming over the brick and woodwork, and the deep, cushioned window sills. The silence continued until we reached the exit, when I heard a woman sitting a few feet away exclaim: “I told you I saw a nun in here!”

One of my biggest fears when my daughter became a nun was that her personality would change. I’m happy to report that, though her life has followed a path I never even dreamed of, she is still the same girl we raised. “One of these days,” she said, “I’m going to say: ‘What, you never saw a nun before?’ ”

We laughed all the way home.

Donna Slade lives in Kingston.