Terri Wallace's Blog, page 12

October…a Reminder

It is October, which means that everything is awash in pink.  While I am glad for the reminder–a reminder to slow down, to take care of yourself, and to never take things for granted–this year it all takes on a whole new meaning, a new depth, a new personal significance.

I had lunch with my old boss today, and we caught up some more on all his family has had to endure over the past few years.  For them, this glaze of pink hits close to home.  He admitted to me that it seems like their journey is nearing its end.  His wife is in hospice, and the best case scenario gives her two weeks…

Two weeks.

I can’t breathe. I peddle my words for a living, but the words seem so inadequate now.  I try to imagine what they are feeling, but I recoil from my speculations and gasp for air as I bat away the imagined shadows and darkness that seem to lurk everywhere.

Perhaps more than what comes afterwards, that final countdown of breaths terrifies me.  It robs me of any grace and strength and leaves me whimpering.

Perhaps I could manage a moment of courage, one final stand, but I don’t know that I could summon the day-to-day dignity that I see in others.  I don’t know that I could face impending death with the same bravery.

I wish I had words.  Words to lessen their pain, to offer them comfort, to build their strength, to ease their transitions…but I have nothing to offer but shared memories, a gentle squeeze of hand, and a steady voice while a once-vibrant life, so carefully built and tended to, returns to dust.

I found myself singing an old U2 song last night, and it has fluttered through my head all day today as well…

October / The trees are stripped bare / Of all they wear / What do I care / October / And kingdoms rise / And kingdoms fall / But you go on… / and on…

So as I try to find some way to honor this brave woman, I try to find some words to make sense of things…and I go on.

Better Make it Count

Lifeline…

There are friends who are our foundation, and those who are our touchstone. Foundation Friends are those who are so much a part of your everyday life that if you went more than a day or two without seeing them you start to lose your bearings. Then there are Touchstone Friends–those who you might only see every few years, just long enough to catch up on old times and new events before moving on again until the next time.

I had a call from an old friend today. Actually, I worked for him for about twelve years. He hired me to work in his office when I had just started college. He taught me about family coming first, about taking time to enjoy life, and about dropping everything for a friend. He taught me to not take life too seriously. Many days, he would throw open the office door and serenade me as he made his grand entrance, because it always made me laugh. He made work fun.

When I remember those years, I always recall how his wife and kids were the center of his world. He never missed a school play or wrestling match. He hid their Christmas gifts at the office. I would open a file cabinet and find a stuffed animal tucked away until he had time to wrap it and sneak it home.

When he called me today, his voice was warm…but weary. I asked after his family, and his response nearly brought me to my knees. His wife’s cancer had returned, and it was terminal

I wanted to do something…anything. I told him as much. “Pray,” he said. So I did. I do.

Still, it gnaws at me.

He was my touchstone. We saw each other every few years for lunch. We caught up, reassuring ourselves that the other was doing well, and then we were swallowed up in our own separate lives again.

Before, when I thought of him and his family, I felt young. It was as if the clock that recorded the moments of our friendship stopped ticking when we are apart. In this timeless world, his hair has less gray…his children are still young…and his wife is healthy. I am still in college, eager and optimistic.

Only…the reality is that his hair is likely more silver than I remember, his children are making their way in the world, and my own children will be thinking of college all too soon. Suddenly, I feel old.

His wife is only ten years older than I am.

Ten years.

What if my timeline were to end in ten years? What would I want to do before those last moments ran out? What still needs to be said? What lessons do I need to instill in my children while I still can?

But, if truth be told, we never know how much time is allotted to us…so I better make mine count.

It Comes When it Comes…

As the sun set on my 40th year…the best was yet to come!

For some reason, I anticipated that my 40th year would be “The Year of Change.”  I was certain that it would be Monumental!  It was more Meh.  Don’t get me wrong.  It was a perfectly fine year.  It is just that, well, nothing in particular stood out.  So, I soldiered on.  Because, really, what else can you do?

Then, right around the time of my 41st birthday, life went into high gear.  A day or two before my birthday, I threw caution to the wind and made my short story “The Collector” available on Amazon.

Then, a few days after my birthday, we sold our house.  A week after that, we signed a contract on a wonderful new house.  A few weeks later, school started and the kids were getting back to the grind.  I, however, was busy packing.  Then, the week after school started, we moved!

We have been busy unpacking, trying to find things, and trying to find the “new normal” that comes with any big transition.

In this whirlwind of activity, I didn’t have time to write any new stories, or submit any more stories.  However, there were still submissions lingering out there.  Waiting.  Biding their time.  I received a few rejections during this period of drama, but I hardly had time to even read them let alone obsess over them.

About the time we were finally settling into the new house, I was skimming over an email that I received from Spark: A Creative Anthology, and I was about to move it over to my “Rejections” folder when I realized that was actually an ACCEPTANCE!

New publications, new house, new outlook, and a new website…my 41st year will definitely go down in the annuals as My Year of Change.

It turns out, sometimes change comes when it comes–not necessarily when you are expecting it.  It turns out that events that we think will be huge milestones may be no more than a blip on the map, and what we thought would be ho-hum actually turns out to be HOLY SMOKES!

Maybe it has something to do with having faith, or believing in myself, or daring to take a chance.  Whatever it is, I am grateful.

So, here’s to change…and all the messy, scary, wonderful drama that goes with it!