I told myself that I would start writing more. My blog has been sorely neglected (up until now). Several writers notebooks with pages waiting to be breathed on. "I'll get to it", is my usual response. Sometimes, though, the inspiration just hits you at the moment when you least expect it.
I just polished off a blazin' salad with baked fish. Although a glass of wine would have gone perfectly with that meal, I decided to wash it down with a cold glass of Tropicana Orchard Peach Punch (which happens to be on sale at Wal-Mart for $1.00). Yes, I know that's "country", but I like what I like. Plus, my mind is clear. But I don't intend to talk solely about what I had for dinner or the deals I catch at Wal-Mart. I guess it's my (covert) way of avoiding the subject, so bear with me.
I've refrained from writing about really personal topics on my blog. There's an open invitation for anyone to read it. Most of my posts are about my family or my life as a teacher. On the sidelines, I usually talk about basketball, although I don't usually post about that. I'm a totally different animal when it comes to basketball. I can't help it--I'm a fiend, at best! How I'll make it through the summer, I don't know. Perhaps a separate blog is on the horizon...(again, this was another attempt to get off topic)
Sometimes, though, the inspiration hits you to write about things that are really close to your heart. As my friend Tim would put it, "you're showing that you're human." I'm sure that we can all admit to wanting to purge our thoughts/emotions/feelings as a method of catharsis. Going "public" with those same thoughts is on a different level-there's a bit of vulnerability that goes along with that. This is probably why it's one of those human qualities that many of us try to conceal or keep close to our hearts. It gets easier with every risk I take (at least as a writer).
Right before my first year of teaching, I worked during the summer as a camp counselor. It was there that I met Michael. I just knew that he was "the one." For the first time in my life, it seemed, I knew what love felt like coming from a significant other. My memories will be very random: There was patience. Appreciation. Anticipation. Great dinners followed by hours of great conversation that just nourished the soul. Long evening walks. Countless hours of listening to GOOD music. The way he looked at me. The way he talked to me in hushed tones. The way I giggled or played with my ear to keep from blushing. Poetry--it was as if sometimes what we felt couldn't be spoken...we had to write it out. I was inspired in so many ways by his words that I HAD to write, too. Just for him. My heart would ache just thinking about how happy I was--I realized that love doesn't have to hurt. I would smile at the most random moments. Everyone around me sensed it. I'd never felt such a connection with another human being. The best part was...I didn't lose myself in the relationship or in him, as I had done in my past. I saw me...a different me, though.
So what happened? Although our friendship remains, the relationship eventually dissolved. There were differences that neither of us were ready to outgrow, or better yet, admit if we wanted to outgrow. I've come away knowing more about myself, though. There will always be a part of me that will give credit to him for inspiring me to love so freely--without any inhibitions. That's a loving friendship that many people spend their life chasing.
A few months ago, Michael shared with me that he is in a relationship and thinks that he has found the woman that he wants to marry. Even though I know with every fiber of my being that he is not the husband that God has chosen for me, I felt a little disappointed...as if I had failed at something. Then I remembered something that I would always tell myself: perhaps God wanted our paths to cross to give an example of true love and friendship. My friend Shawntay shared something with me years ago written by T.D. Jakes--he talked about sort of celebrating moments like this. Being thankful for seasons--everyone is not meant to stay in your life forever. I know that it's okay to celebrate love when it's here, but also it's okay to let it go when you have to. More importantly, I know that it's okay to expect love to make me feel a certain way the next time it comes around. My eyes and ears are open. My heart is ready...
Typically, I would try to find the best way to craft each line in my post--I worry about the audience that reads my blog. Because I'm simply "collecting my thoughts", I won't worry about the particulars if you promise to do the same :)) .
I guess I am human, afterall.
*Exhale*
Wednesday, June 15, 2011
Saying Goodbye
During the last quarter of the school year, I decided to have my class write personal narrative stories. One of the strategies that we focused on as writers was the technique of zooming in on a "small moment" in time. We studied how other writers craft small moments into longer pieces--sort of like describing a scene in a movie.
Being the natural storytellers that they are, they did a beautiful job with their pieces! We spent the last week of the school year publishing. Normally, I would start the year off with personal narratives, but I decided to close the year with this type of writing. I'm so glad I did! There were pieces that made us laugh, some that made us cringe, a few that made us hold on to every little detail...I'm so glad that we spent our last days before summer sharing stories that are so close to our hearts.
The kids inspired me to finally pen part of the story about my stepfather's death. I've tried several times to write it in years past, but I couldn't bring myself to do it. More and more I saw them take risks in their writing...why couldn't I? I shared with them how hard it had been for me in the past to write about this topic.
This piece is simply a snapshot in time. It only describes the day (moment) that I found out about my stepfather passing away. I do plan to write about the accident, but this was my starting point. What started off as being a piece to model for my students in writers workshop became somewhat of a personal challenge for me--I'm glad that I'm able to refer to it as an accomplishment.
Saying Goodbye
When I was seven years old, I was involved in a traumatic car accident when my stepfather, Arthur Shubrick, fell asleep at the wheel and ran off the road into the path of another vehicle. My cousin Tabatha (who we call “Tapa”), only nine months older than me, was also in the vehicle. My recovery time in the hospital was nearly two months. Only a few memories about that experience are clear. I had probably been in the hospital for almost a week (it seemed) when I found out that “Shubrick” (as we liked to call him) did not survive the car crash. I think I will always remember that moment as if it happened yesterday.
My mom was visiting with Tapa and me. She was sitting on the edge of my bed as we talked. Her closeness always allowed me to smell the sweet of her perfume, even after she left. It was always easy for her to make us smile. That day, she brought in our favorite chips, Cheese Puffs. I loved the way they tasted, but after eating too many, I couldn’t feel my teeth come together! I had to use my finger as a toothpick! As we talked and told jokes to help us forget about not being home, the loud ringing of the phone brought us back to the reality of the cold hospital room. It was near my bed. Mom picked up the brown phone from the receiver and put it to her ear in slow motion. “Hello”, she answered in a whispered tone. “Uh, huh. Yes, I understand. Uh, huh.” I sat stone-still and chewed slowly, pretending not to listen to her conversation. After a few more “uh, huhs”, my mom thanked the caller and slowly returned the phone to receiver.
A few moments of silence passed. All three of us seemed to be frozen in position as if we were waiting on someone to pick up where we left off. The crackle of my mom’s voice made me nervous.
“Um”, she started, clearing her throat. “I have something to tell y’all.”
I started in on a new cheese puff, careful not to crunch too loudly. “Shubrick did not make it through the car wreck. He died.”
My mouth stopped moving. My tongue froze and pressed the cheese puff against the roof of my mouth. I felt it disintegrating on my tongue, getting soggier with every microsecond that passed—that’s how time seemed to pass. I forced myself to start chewing, but only to avoid saying anything. A painful knot in my throat would not let me swallow the cheesy blob with ease. After what seemed an eternity, the words my mom said made sense. I pulled my knees in closer to my chest to give myself a cradle. My mom moved in closer to me, but I couldn’t smell her perfume anymore. The room was stale and cold. I could only feel the coldness of the sheets against the goose bumps that covered my body.
“Are you okay?” my mom asked, putting her arm around me.
“Yes,” I lied. Tapa sat with tears in her eyes, motionless. I felt guilty because my tears were stuck somewhere in my body, which probably made Mom believe me about being okay. I wanted to be strong for her. “What happened?” I nudged on, barely able to get the words out of my mouth.
“Shubrick fell asleep while driving and crashed into another car…head on. He broke his neck after hitting the steering wheel really hard and the doctors couldn’t save him.”
I began to sob, uncontrollably. My knee-cradle fell apart. Mom cried with me as she pulled me in closer to her. Her words, “the doctors couldn’t save him”, stung. It hurt more knowing that I would never see the father that I longed for, ever again.
Being the natural storytellers that they are, they did a beautiful job with their pieces! We spent the last week of the school year publishing. Normally, I would start the year off with personal narratives, but I decided to close the year with this type of writing. I'm so glad I did! There were pieces that made us laugh, some that made us cringe, a few that made us hold on to every little detail...I'm so glad that we spent our last days before summer sharing stories that are so close to our hearts.
The kids inspired me to finally pen part of the story about my stepfather's death. I've tried several times to write it in years past, but I couldn't bring myself to do it. More and more I saw them take risks in their writing...why couldn't I? I shared with them how hard it had been for me in the past to write about this topic.
This piece is simply a snapshot in time. It only describes the day (moment) that I found out about my stepfather passing away. I do plan to write about the accident, but this was my starting point. What started off as being a piece to model for my students in writers workshop became somewhat of a personal challenge for me--I'm glad that I'm able to refer to it as an accomplishment.
Saying Goodbye
When I was seven years old, I was involved in a traumatic car accident when my stepfather, Arthur Shubrick, fell asleep at the wheel and ran off the road into the path of another vehicle. My cousin Tabatha (who we call “Tapa”), only nine months older than me, was also in the vehicle. My recovery time in the hospital was nearly two months. Only a few memories about that experience are clear. I had probably been in the hospital for almost a week (it seemed) when I found out that “Shubrick” (as we liked to call him) did not survive the car crash. I think I will always remember that moment as if it happened yesterday.
My mom was visiting with Tapa and me. She was sitting on the edge of my bed as we talked. Her closeness always allowed me to smell the sweet of her perfume, even after she left. It was always easy for her to make us smile. That day, she brought in our favorite chips, Cheese Puffs. I loved the way they tasted, but after eating too many, I couldn’t feel my teeth come together! I had to use my finger as a toothpick! As we talked and told jokes to help us forget about not being home, the loud ringing of the phone brought us back to the reality of the cold hospital room. It was near my bed. Mom picked up the brown phone from the receiver and put it to her ear in slow motion. “Hello”, she answered in a whispered tone. “Uh, huh. Yes, I understand. Uh, huh.” I sat stone-still and chewed slowly, pretending not to listen to her conversation. After a few more “uh, huhs”, my mom thanked the caller and slowly returned the phone to receiver.
A few moments of silence passed. All three of us seemed to be frozen in position as if we were waiting on someone to pick up where we left off. The crackle of my mom’s voice made me nervous.
“Um”, she started, clearing her throat. “I have something to tell y’all.”
I started in on a new cheese puff, careful not to crunch too loudly. “Shubrick did not make it through the car wreck. He died.”
My mouth stopped moving. My tongue froze and pressed the cheese puff against the roof of my mouth. I felt it disintegrating on my tongue, getting soggier with every microsecond that passed—that’s how time seemed to pass. I forced myself to start chewing, but only to avoid saying anything. A painful knot in my throat would not let me swallow the cheesy blob with ease. After what seemed an eternity, the words my mom said made sense. I pulled my knees in closer to my chest to give myself a cradle. My mom moved in closer to me, but I couldn’t smell her perfume anymore. The room was stale and cold. I could only feel the coldness of the sheets against the goose bumps that covered my body.
“Are you okay?” my mom asked, putting her arm around me.
“Yes,” I lied. Tapa sat with tears in her eyes, motionless. I felt guilty because my tears were stuck somewhere in my body, which probably made Mom believe me about being okay. I wanted to be strong for her. “What happened?” I nudged on, barely able to get the words out of my mouth.
“Shubrick fell asleep while driving and crashed into another car…head on. He broke his neck after hitting the steering wheel really hard and the doctors couldn’t save him.”
I began to sob, uncontrollably. My knee-cradle fell apart. Mom cried with me as she pulled me in closer to her. Her words, “the doctors couldn’t save him”, stung. It hurt more knowing that I would never see the father that I longed for, ever again.
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