friends and family

Encounter with a stranger I never saw again

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The woman was sobbing as they rolled my gurney into the hospital room.  Her curtain was pulled so I couldn’t see her, but her sobs would have been heartbreaking had I not been in a state of euphoria.

I had just given birth to my miracle baby.  It was a miracle we conceived him.  It was a miracle when I sensed something wrong and went to my OB’s office.  It was a miracle my OB was out of town and another doctor with much smaller hands ended up tying the knot in the cervical cerclage stitch that closed my cervix and kept me pregnant.  It was a miracle that I was in labor for 9 weeks and the drugs kept me pregnant long enough for him to be viable.  It was a miracle that he was born 9 ½ weeks early and suffered little complications.  That’s no big deal now, but in 1985 that was a miracle.

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Visiting and Revisiting the Ghost of Who I Was

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If I were to put on Wind Song perfume, I would remember that once upon a time I was 16 and insecure and made shy by circumstances that changed my life dramatically on my 15th birthday.   The circumstances, really, are not important.  One just needs to know that I was uprooted, again, and moved to a locale where I knew no one and no one knew me.  That was not a new experience, but these new kids were not military brats.  They did not welcome me with open arms.  They were not unkind.  I was simply someone they didn’t know in a tight-knit community at an age where one doesn’t really socialize outside their tribe.

I had no tribe. I was invisible.

I did have the third floor of a brick house as bedroom to myself.  As do teenagers, I spent hours holed up in my attic.  The princess in exile in the tower.

I can slip into the steaming hot water of the claw footed bathtub and wash my hair with Herbal Essence shampoo.  Luxuriating in the warmth and comfort of the water while tears silently slip down my face.  Another lonely day is about to begin at school.  More than a year’s worth now. 

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Donnie’s Wake

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Donnie talked about Pocahontas County all the time. Camping there. I wasn’t interested. We were neck deep in converting the barn and my whole life was a primitive camping trip. I didn’t think I needed to wander into the Wild and Wonderful to experience more awkward cooking attempts and uncomfortable sleeping arrangements. My life was full of such.

She continued to wax poetic. Lyrical, an ode to the Williams River and I told her I was sure it was beautiful. But declined.

And then she was diagnosed with breast cancer. And then it metastasized before we were even able to process the news.

She wanted a last trip to the river. And we agreed to go along.

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Dirt and gravel and ruts and prayers

/ wvfurandroot / 1 Comment

“My road is dirt and gravel and ruts and prayers, it’s terrifying in the winter and so beautiful your heart hurts in the fullness of summer.”

I wrote those words for a digital essay I did about my house.

The same road I hate in the winter, I love this time of year — particularly early mornings when the mist is still settled in the lowlands and the tall grasses sparkle in the light of rising sun. Inevitably, there will be deer with their fawns. I forget that deer are not a daily occurrence for all folks. Beautiful creatures and the little ones too make your heart hurt with their youth and beauty. There are rabbits and I can hear the peepers in the pond. If I’m lucky, the flock of wild turkey will make an appearance. They are so ugly they are beautiful – especially the Old Tom who has lived a pugilistic life to keep his harem. He struts with pride and the ladies and their young’uns follow.

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