Celebrations and hope

Ramona Behnke offered today's writing inspiration/prompt - to think about 'small celebrations' in our lives. Check out her thoughtful reflections on this theme, and read the comments on her post for links to other writers and their responses.

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June simply bursts with celebrations - so many weddings and anniversaries, graduations, backyard barbecues to kick off summer, end-of-year parties to celebrate happy conclusions of various clubs and activities. Often, there's special travel to see loved ones at this start to summer (all the more special after two years + of pandemic) and, of course, there's Father's Day, as well. Yes, June is a celebratory time. 

We were invited to a gala event in celebration of a special someone recently, a dear friend of our family. I'll keep the party 'anonymous' in the interest of sharing something a little deeper:

there was one invitee whom I was totally surprised to see, 

someone I knew in a wholly personal, emotional, confidential way, totally apart from this celebration, 

someone I never imagined running into there or anywhere again

though I had hoped and prayed I would.

Years ago, we had met in a time of parallel pain; we had met at a recovery program, both of us parents to a child with addiction. This recovery program was an extraordinary blessing, giving us space to share our hurt and the tools we needed to move forward. Every participant shared personal stories, with the assurance of anonymity. 

I was awash in empathy for everyone, but this one family's story is one that I held in my heart these many years. One evening during the support group, this parent and I had the opportunity to share more deeply one-on-one, and I felt a sad yet beautiful intersection of our grief. We listened to one another and 'held' each other in this time of fear and confusion. I know I reflected on their words many times over, in the months and years to come; I was lifted by their story. I realized then that it is no small thing to be alongside another in suffering; there is great power in this.

"Although the world is full of suffering, it is full also of the overcoming of it." Helen Keller

Over the years, I have wondered about their child. I prayed for their recovery. I hoped for strength for the family. 

Here, many years later, we cross paths again! In the midst of a completely separate and jubilant celebration! 

It felt coincidental, so happenstance, so wonderful.

(I have a friend who assures that a coincidence is the work of the holy - when you are surprised like this, believe in the mystery of something much larger than you. In the midst of this celebration, I did feel the holy.)

This person and I, we greeted each other like old friends, with a warm embrace. We met each other's eyes. With just a few tender words, we were able to impart how much healthier each of our children now was. We shared big smiles, and moved apart to chat and mix with others at the party, continuing the celebration at hand. I, however, basked in the second celebration of simply intersecting with them, again.

Recovery, 
my goodness, 
this is truly cause for celebration - 
one that, so many years ago, I could hardly imagine. 

I hope I have been able to impart how serendipitous and special this reconnection was to me. I have been smiling for several days now, ever since running into this person again. 

I am so aware of 

    the healing power of time, 

    the strength, fortitude, and perseverance of individuals, and 

    the iridescent and lasting beauty of interactions. 

You simply never know what the future holds, and 

how your presence might help another. 

Outcroppings

There's this point near the end of most hikes where I really need a helicopter to appear, dropping a rope ladder directly into my hands, and instantaneously whisking me back to my car, without another moment of delay. I need to be OFF the trail, softly seated, feet up, with a refreshing cold drink in hand. Tony likes to say "the first immutable law of hiking is that for every downhill there is an uphill twice as long," but I claim there is at least one other enduring law - the hike will move instantaneously, without any foreshadowing, from feeling "perfect" (oh my, this is beautiful! oh my, what a great day to hike! oh my, I am having so much fun!) to pluperfect (as describe in Oxford Languages, "an action - in this case, hiking - completed prior to some past point of time specified or implied"). My gas simply runs out. The hike is over, past tense, completed, before it actually ends.

Perhaps it is this act of hiking while exhausted, past the point of comfort, having to dig deep into some invisible reserves, that adds to the feeling of accomplishment?

We recently hiked Sugarloaf Mountain, a small but beautiful, local mountain. The day was absolutely gorgeous, with cool fall temperatures, bright sunshine, lovely breezes - a day meant for hiking, and we really did enjoy the outing, despite my concluding sensations of needing it all to be over. In the end, we had hiked some eight miles, though the original plan had called for three or four - thus my fantasy of a helicopter arriving. 

Long before exhaustion hit, I enjoyed enjoyed enjoyed. I love how hiking requires your full attention, that you be alert to where you place your foot - is it root? rock? shifting sand? The terrain is constantly changing, always varied. My favorite patches involve hearing the echoing thunk of each footstep on the ground, as if I am all alone in the world (and oh so capable). I love the natural surrounds, and find myself absorbing all these minute details - the way trees bend, a sudden burst of orange or red, the shape of rocks. Perhaps most of all, I love how my mind wanders, thinking of so many different and unexpected things. 

Who lives here?

Wild mushrooms

Some parts of this hike were tricky - climbing over loose and shifting rocks, trying to wedge my foot in a tight crevice, bending and lifting myself up and over ridges. At times, it seemed my hips and knees were going in different directions, certainly separate directions from my mind. Always, always, always, just when I needed it most, there was a perfect rock waiting for me - wide, flat, steady, strong, beckoning, allowing me to rest, catch my breath, regain my footing. We had a refreshing snack while sitting on a beautiful outcropping, and felt energized for the rest of the hike. 

I've been blessed with friends like this through the years, friends who popped into my life by surprise just when I needed them,  rock steady and strong, letting me catch my breath, giving me much-needed perspective. These friends were often temporary, "passers-by," appearing at different phases of life and not necessarily in for the long journey - I'm thinking of former colleagues, dorm-mates,  "I'm a new Mom, too," and "oh, your child's at this school, too?" - you know, friends of a time. 

Yet, still very, very dear in my heart. 

I found myself remembering each of them on this last hike - their wisdom and insight, their reassuring ways. 

This, truly, is a gift of hiking - the memories tapped and released, to savor once more.

Tony & I at the summit

___________________

It's Tuesday and I am participating in the

 Slice of Life.  

Thank you, Two Writing Teachers, for nurturing teacher-writers!

SOL20 Slice #15: Gifts of song

I am participating in the
 Slice of Life Story Challenge (SOL20).  
All participants are sharing stories about moments in their lives, writing 
 every day for the month of March 2020.
Thank you, Two Writing Teachers!

We found out the day before, the memorial service inside the church was cancelled. The repast to follow, also inside, was cancelled. There would be only a brief service in the cemetery, at the gravesite. The widower, although only in his 60s, has a serious chronic medical condition, making him vulnerable to coronavirus; it simply wasn't wise to go on with the traditional service. At some unknown later date, we will all be back to normal, and we will celebrate her again.

There we all were, maybe 50 of us?, gathered underneath a popup canopy at the top of a hill in the cemetery, on a very chilly afternoon. The service was perfunctory. The chaplain's voice was monotone, dull, artificial; he was going through the motions, following a scripted ritual; it was clear - he didn't know her. Everyone was pretty quiet, lost in their own thoughts. As a result of the thin fabric of my dressy clothing, the shade of the canopy, and the all-consuming sadness that permeated the air, I was shivering...I simply could not get warm. I worried about my husband, seated right at my side; he's only a very few days into recovery from surgery. We were determined to be here, we needed to support our dear friend; our immediate complaints were minor compared to the pain she had dealt with all her life, living with sickle cell anemia. She lived 68 years...that is a beautiful thing. No, not long enough, yet she never imagined a long life. There is that. 

I remember her exclaiming, 

"I never thought I'd see 40! Praise God!" 

"I never thought I'd see 50! Praise God!" 

"I never thought I'd see 60! Praise God!"

The chaplain concluded his prayers and invited people to say a few words about her. There was silence all around. No one moved for a few moments. Then, the 30-something year old son of another good friend stood up in front of us, hands over his eyes, trying to shield tears, and he choked out how she had always been so kind to him. He was so visibly sad, a woman moved from her seat and handed him a tissue. Someone called out, patiently, comfortingly, "take your time, it's okay."  He continued, sharing that he had known her all his life; she was friends with his parents since before he was born...he would see her at his parents' parties, and she was always patient and loving, always asking after him, interested in him. With regained composure, he said, "I want to offer a song." Then, he let out the most beautiful a capella rendition of Deep River, his deep baritone voice bursting out of his fragile being. What a gift, that song! 

I think this is what is meant by a moment of grace.

So beautiful. 

And grace wasn't over.

One woman let out the most heartfelt sob, at the conclusion of his song. Others, clapped. I heard an "Oh, my!" 

Followed by a moment of silence, as if people were processing the miracle that had just occurred.

Then, a Ghanian woman - the older sister of our deceased friend - began to sing, in her native language. I have no idea what was being sung, but it began quietly, like a whisper, and then rose in volume and beauty, and other women joined in with her, harmonizing. This radiant song filled the air for many minutes, another extraordinary gift of song, from the heart.

Through song, the service shifted from something ordinary and formulaic, to a very personal remembrance of this loving woman, this woman we loved.

What a blessing to have been present for this.

What a blessing to have known my friend.

I still have doubts

I am participating in the
 Slice of Life.  
All participants are writing about one moment, one part of their day, 
on Tuesdays.
Thank you, Two Writing Teachers!

I have a dear friend who is spending lots more time on writing, now that she is retired. All of her writing is private, just between her and her keyboard. I've told her about my blogging, trying to encourage her to share her voice with others. Recently, when she visited me, we sat together and I brought up my blog on my computer and showed her several of my entries. She quietly read a poem I had written and then said decisively,

"You should end the poem in the exact way you began it...see these two lines here? You should repeat these at the end."

Ouch!

It surprises me that her minor critique bothered me so. I guess I have a very, very thin skin. Honestly, I do not like criticism. Even criticism presented kindly from a dear friend. It stings. It cuts. It hurts.

In a split second, all these ugly thoughts went ripping through my mind -

CONDESCENDING - How can she possibly know what she's talking about? She's never blogged before!
DEFENSIVE - That was a draft poem, not one I have finished. Plus, hasn't she missed my point? Doesn't she see the point of the poem?
PERPLEXED - Why did she think she should be editing my work when I am simply sharing?

I said nothing and immediately tried to clear that blogpost off the computer screen and move to another, while quietly seething.

Unfortunately, she persisted.
(NEVERTHELESS SHE PERSISTED!)

She said, "No, look, read these two lines...think what the poem would look like if you repeated these lines - it would be great."

I stopped swallowing my voice and replied,

"Dear friend, when you read someone's writing - especially mine -give compliments only, you should share what you LIKE about my writing."

She continued, "but..."

I interrupted her interruption: "No. No 'but,' please, no. Just stop. I am showing you my creativity. It hurts to have your only response to my writing be a critique."

Then I shared with her about a book talk by Jacqueline Woodson this past summer, which I had the delight of attending. Ms. Woodson shared so much wisdom about writing, and touched on this very thing. She - the author of so many award-winning books - said about her writing,

"I still have doubts."

I found those four words so comforting. Ms. Woodson said that whenever she shares her writing with others, she says "Tell me what you LOVE about it."

I'm not sure my friend understood just how vulnerable I feel about my writing. I know she believed she was helping me. We sat in awkward silence for a bit, and then I closed the computer and we went for a nice long walk together.

I feel so aware of all the flaws of my writing, the last thing I need is an echo chamber about these.

I wish that I had asked her,

"What do you like about this poem?"