Thursday, January 29, 2015

Rebecca and the Apple Pie Factory

When I started writing again a couple years ago, I wrote stories about each of my kids. Here is Rebecca’s.



One day as Rebecca walked on the OU campus, she noticed one of the campus squirrels running up a tree. “Oh hi pretty,” she said as she drew closer.

Suddenly, the squirrel disappeared.

“Whoa! Where did he go?” Rebecca asked. She had walked around the other side of the trees, towards the woods.

Suddenly the squirrel’s head popped out of a tiny door that was on the tree. He beckoned to Rebecca to come closer.

Oh, this is just too strange, Rebecca thought. I know I didn’t sleep too much last night, but I was sure I was awake and not dreaming just a minute ago.

“Chatter, chatter, chatter, chatter,” the squirrel said, sounding a bit impatient. He was beckoning Rebecca to come to the tree again.

Okay, why not? Rebecca thought. She walked up to the tree, and bent down to the little door. The squirrel had disappeared again. Rebecca put her eye up to the hole and gasped. Suddenly she felt herself being sucked forward an pulled through the hole in the tree. “Ugh!” she groaned as she landed very gently.

Rebecca looked around. She was sitting on a leaf covered floor, of what honestly looked like a room inside a tree. Light was coming from above, through branches. Around her sat a couple dozen squirrels. When she looked at them, then looked at herself, she realized that she had shrunk to be the size of the squirrels.

Okay, way too much coffee recently.

One of the squirrels opened its mouth to chatter, and Rebecca realized she could understand the squirrel’s speech.

“Hello, Miss,” she said. “We are sorry to disturb your day.”

“Call me Rebecca.” If they were going to be part of her dream, they might as well be friends.

“Okay, Rebecca, and I am Berry Root. We need your help.”

“Sure, whatever I can do. But it has to be fast. I’m on my way to an econ test, and my Mom will get really irritated if I don’t pass the test.”

“We need you to carry a basket of pies to Sunny Days.”

“The restaurant across the street? Wait --- carry pies?”

“Yes,” Berry Root, who was doing all the talking said. Rebecca thought that the squirrel lady seemed very formal and prim.

She went on. “We have a continuing competition with another squirrel family two trees to the south. We have had the contract to prepare apple pies for Sunny Days for 87 years, and—”

“Whoa!” Rebecca interrupted, “That restaurant hasn’t been there 87 years.”

“No,” Berry Root admitted. “For only 64 years. Before that we had the contract with a bakery which sat on the same property.”

“You made pies for a bakery?”

“Yes,” Berry Root continued, seeming just a little irritated with the continued interruptions.

“I’m sorry,” Rebecca broke in again. “What is your pay?”

“Oh, the most delicious nuts, bread and cookie crumbs, tiny cake bites.” She licked her lips. “But, let me continue, to get you to your test on time. We have the contract; have had it for 87 years. But this other Squirrel family, the Acorns—” her nose twitched with disgust at the name, “have always tried to take the contract from us. If you don’t help us get today’s pies there before nine o’clock, and the other family finds out and gets their own pies there earlier, we could lose the contract.”

“Ummm, okay.”

The proper lady took a deep breath. “You see, right now we have only two boys who can carry the basket up to the restaurant. Last night, when they had only been on the way up a few minutes, one of the boys slipped and fell, dragging the basket of pies down and breaking quite a few of them.”

“Oh, that’s awful,” Rebecca said. “Is the boy going to be okay?”

“Thank you, yes. He was not seriously injured.”

“But, excuse me, I thought you said you have two boys who can deliver the pies. Don’t you still have one who can do it?”

The proper lady squirrel took another deep breath. Rebecca could tell that she was trying to be patient. “Yes, but you see, there have to be two boys to carry the basket at the same time. It is too heavy for one to carry it alone. If there are not two, the contract strictly says that there must be a human to deliver the pies.”

“Ooooohhh, I see. So that’s why you need me. But, please tell me, have you ever had to use a human before?”

“Yes. My grandmother told me that fifty years ago they had to use a human.” She pursed her lips in a disapproving way. “It was a professor. And my understanding was that he did not want to help and complained and worried through the whole process.”

“I see,” Rebecca said. “Well, of course, I will help if I can. Will the second boy come with me and help me?”

“That’s the problem. You see, in order that we will have another boy to help carry tonight’s basket, that boy is busy all today, training another boy to go with him. But, we have a younger boy who knows the pie route, and will be able to show you exactly where to go.”

“Oh, well – will I be able to carry it by myself?”

“Yes,” Berry Root said confidently. “Although you have lost your normal human size, you still have your normal strength.”

I hope so, Rebecca thought, flexing her hands and arms. “So exactly how do I do this? And what if the other squirrel family sees me and follows me?”

“My grandson, Nut Root, who will be accompanying you, will be able to hear if anyone gets near. He knows good hiding passages along the way.”

“Okay,” Rebecca said with some uncertainty. She didn’t want to be like the professor and be too much of a complainer and worrier. “And how will I take the pies up? Will I bring them through the same little door I came in by?”

“Oh, no!” Berry Root said, shaking at the very idea. “The pies are already the size they will need to be for selling at the restaurant. Would you like to see where we make the pies?”

“Oh, yes, very much!” Rebecca said.

She followed Berry Root through what seemed like a number of underground passages. They stopped at a little door made of bark, and Berry Root pulled it open. “Come right in,” she told Rebecca.

Rebecca stood and stared with amazement at the room and the work in front of her.

The room was filled with tables, counters, and stoves only a few inches tall.

On some counters, three squirrels worked with tiny rolling pins to roll out one pie crust. Then carefully, together, they lifted the crust, laid it on the pie pan and crimped the edges.

At a stove, two squirrels stood, one on either side of the oven door, with tiny hot pads on both their front paws. They open the door and lifted out a freshly baked pie.

The smell in the room was wonderful. Rebecca’s stomach growled, and she remembered she had not had breakfast.

At some tables, squirrels worked on making the pie filling. One squirrel sliced the apples and dumped them into the bowl. Another took what looked like a tiny measuring cup with a long handle, measured some sugar out of a low container, and dumped it into the bowl. Another squirrel held a bottle of cinnamon and shook it over the bowl.

At another table, Rebecca noticed that young squirrels were being taught how to make the pies. An adult stood by, carefully watching as the little squirrel cut the apples into slices. The young squirrels who measured the sugar and cinnamon had to jump to add their ingredients to the bowl. Jump, shake; measure, jump, pour; jump shake; measure, jump, pour.

Rebecca smiled, trying not to laugh. It was all so carefully and perfectly done.

“Would you like a piece of one of the pies which have just come out of the oven?” Berry Root asked.

“Oh, please, I would like one very much!”

A lady squirrel at one of the stoves cut a slice and laid it on Rebecca’s hand. She had to blow on the piece of pie, and she burned her tongue a little, but it was so yummy!

“Oh, this is wonderful!” Rebecca said.

“Thank you, thank you,” Berry Root said, bowing slightly. “Now here is the basket of pies.”

Rebecca had noticed some squirrels carefully loading pies into a tall picnic like basket. They had to climb small ladders to reach the top of the basket. Now they pushed it toward Rebecca and Berry Root.

“Rebecca, these are my daughters, Tiny Root and Chubby Root. Chubby Root is nut Root’s mother.”

“Hello,” Rebecca smiled at both the young ladies. They bobbed their heads shyly.

“So Nut Root will show me where to go, and then what?” Rebecca asked Berry Root.

“The pie shoot is just the right size for the pie basket to fit into. The wheels on the basket fit right into some grooves in the shoot. You line the basket up inside the shoot and lift it slightly. At the back of the shoot are steps for you to climb. You put your feet onto the first step, and lean back to put your hands under the basket. Then you climb up, pushing the basket up ahead of you.”

“Ooooohhh,” Rebecca said with a little gulp. “That easy, huh?”

“That easy,” Berry Root agreed. “When you come to the top, the basket will push open a small trap door and the basket and you will slide out onto the floor of the restaurant kitchen.”

“And then what do I do? Do I pick up your payment goodies and come back down to you here?”

“No, no. We will get our payment in a few days for the week. It’s safer for Nut Root to hurry back by himself, and try to avoid the Acorns. You just go outside and hurry on to your test. And take a pie out of the top of the basket as a small part of our thanks. We put in an extra one for you”

“Well – thank you. It was very nice meeting you.”

“Thank you so much, Rebecca. And this is my grandson Nut Root. Please hurry now.”

Rebecca took a deep breath and started pushing the pie basket ahead of her, following the young squirrel Berry Root had just introduced. The basket was much taller than her, but it slid very easily ahead of her.

Nut Root was small and young-looking, and very shy. He hurried ahead of her and didn’t seem to want to talk.

Suddenly Nut Root disappeared. Rebecca panicked. Whoa! What should she do now? But in a second, he poked his nose around the corner to the right. “Ssshhhh, come here Miss Rebecca,” he whispered.

She followed him into another hallway, then again around another corner.

“What’s wrong?” she whispered.

“The Acorns are coming. Please stay quiet.”

Rebecca couldn’t help poking one eye around the corner to look. Another group of squirrels was walking very quietly down the hall they had just come down, heading the same way they were going.

“Don’t they know where the shoot is?” Rebecca asked.

“Yes, but they don’t know we didn’t make it last night. They can challenge our contract if they find out.”

So much for a little squirrel to worry about, Rebecca thought.

Three more times, Nut Root pulled Rebecca into a side passage while the other squirrels passed by. There were many turns in the route, but finally they seemed to be where they were supposed to be. The Acorns were not behind them; Nut Root had managed to lose them on the way.

They were at a doorway opening in the wall, and Rebecca could see steps a little farther in.

“Thank you, Miss Rebecca,” Nut Root said.

“You’re welcome, and tell everyone I had a lot of fun.” Rebecca wished she could hold the little squirrel and snuggle and kiss him, but she was sure that would be against his dignity.

Rebecca took a deep breath. Okay, here we go. She pushed the basket into the doorway of the pie shoot, and was surprised at how quickly and easily the wheels fit into the slots on the sides. She pushed, and it also slid up easily.

She put her feet on the first step and started the move. Berry Root was right, it was an easy trip, and pretty quick.

Suddenly Rebecca could feel the basket breaking through the door above. Then again, she felt like she was being sucked through the opening and plopped gently onto a floor. She quickly covered her mouth, so that she would not groan out loud. Next to her stood the pie basket. Looking at it and then at herself, Rebecca realized she was her normal size again.

When she looked around, she realized she was in the kitchen of a restaurant. There were big stoves, counters, and sinks all around. A man stood at one of the stoves with his back to her, stirring something.

Very quietly, Rebecca stood up and looked for a door out. When she found it, she quickly opened the picnic basket and took out the top pie. She moved through the door and found herself standing in the alley behind Sunny Day.

Was it a dream? Had she been sleep walking all the way here? She did hold a pie in her hand. She hoped she hadn’t stolen it.

Rebecca saw something sticking out of her pocket. She reached down and pulled it out. It was a tiny wooden rolling pin. She shrugged and headed off to her econ test.

Friday, January 16, 2015

Punky

This was a story I wrote when our kids were small. I remember Rebecca really liked it. I enjoy finding some of my old stories, both to discover the different things I wrote about, and to see how I’ve grown as a writer.

There was a scratch at Mamma and Papa Dog's door. "Who is it?" Mamma asked, without getting out of bed.

“It's Punky," said their youngest pup's voice.

“What's wrong?" Papa asked.

"Is it time to get up yet?" Punky asked.

"No, Punky," Papa said. "Mamma and Papa haven't even gone to sleep yet. Go back to bed now."

"But I'm not tired," Punky whined.

"But we are," Mamma said. "Go back to bed, Punky."

Papa waited until they had heard the weather report, then turned off the TV. "Will you turn the light off, Mamma?" he asked.

“Nope," Mamma said, tucking all four paws under the cover.

Papa sighed, got up, and turned off the light.

As soon as he'd climbed back into bed, there was another scratch at the door. "Yes?" Papa said.

“Can I have a drink of water?" Punky asked.

“No, Punky," Mamma said. "You've already had enough drinks tonight. GO TO BED."

"If you wake up in the middle of the night," Papa said, "You can have a drink then."

 [1]   Papa shook his head, his ears flopping back and forth. Then he laid his head down and sighed tiredly. "I hope he gets to sleep soon," he said.

Mamma thought she had only just closed her eyes when the door scratching came again. "Huh?" she said sleepily.

"Is it the middle of the night yet?" Punky asked with a whimper.

"Punky!" Mamma barked. "No, it is not! Go back to bed, and you better not wake up any of your brothers or sisters."

Punky was quiet for a minute. Then he whined softly, "But I'm scared to sleep by myself."

"You're not by yourself," Papa said. "There's five of you in that bed."

“But they're all asleep," Punky said. "I want somebody who's awake to lay with me."

Mamma growled a little and jumped down from the bed. She went and opened the door. Punky sat hunched in the hall with little puppy tears running down his brown nose. "Punky," Mamma said softly, "what are you scared about?"

"I don't know." He snuffled. "I'm just scared."

Mamma rubbed her chin against his furry little head. "Let's go back to your room, Punky," she said. "I'll lay with you for a little while."

Punky didn't wake up any more that night. The next day he was as cheerful as ever, bouncing around as he played with his litter mates. They chased and snarled and snapped each other's tails as they pretended to dog fight.

Scratch, scratch, scratch. Finally Mamma woke up. "What?"

"Are you guys asleep?" Punky asked, sounding tearful.

"Not any more," Papa growled.

"I had a bad dream," Punky said.

Papa got up and went back to Punky's room to lay with him. "What did you dream about?" Papa asked.

"That mean dog at the neighbors' house was chasing me, and he bit me real hard."

After Punky was asleep, Papa went back to bed and told Mamma about Punky's dream. "Maybe they better not play any more fighting games," Mamma said.

The next night Punky begged for Mamma or Papa to lay down with him as soon as he went to bed. "Your brothers and sisters are here with you," Mamma said.

"But I want somebody big with me," Punky whined.

"Punky, no," Papa said.

"Ah-ooooo! ah-ooooo!" Punky howled.

Finally Mamma lay down with Punky. "What are you so scared about, Honey?" Mamma asked.

"Mamma," Punky said in a whimpery voice, "Can any of those mean neighbor dogs get into our house when we're asleep?"

"No, honey," Mamma said.

"Are you sure? How do you know?" he asked.

"I'm sure, Punky. Our house is locked and very safe." Mamma licked Punky's nose.

"I'm still scared anyway," he said in a tiny voice.

Mamma just snuggled closer to him and stayed with him until he was asleep.

For the next few days, Mamma and Papa spent a lot of the nights laying with Punky so he could sleep. Finally one evening Papa said to Punky, "Son, we can't keep doing this. Mamma and Papa need rest so we can do our work in the day time. We need to sleep in our own bed so we can rest. We'd like you to try to not wake us up tonight."

When Mamma and Papa woke up that night, it wasn't because Punky scratched on their door. There was much more noise than scratching coming from the puppies' room.

Mamma and Papa jumped out of bed and ran to the noise. All five pups were in a tangled bunch on the floor, yipping, pulling at tails, tugging at ears, wrapping front legs around necks and squeezing.

"Stop!" Papa snapped.

They stopped.

"What in the world is going on here?" Mamma asked.

"Punky did it," Princess said, sniffing her nose at her little brother. "He woke us all up and started wrestling with us."

"Yes, yes, it was Punky," all the others agreed.

"Punky?" Papa said, "Why did you do that?"

Punky held his head down, his ears and tail drooping. "You said not to wake you up, but I was lonely."

"Punky, listen to me," Papa said slowly. "I don't want you to wake up anybody!" Papa was barking by the time he finished speaking. "Now all of you go back to bed, and I don't want to hear one more sound out of this room any more tonight."

The next day the pups were all quieter than usual. When Papa came home from work, he called Punky to come to talk with him. "Punky," he said, bumping Punky's ear with his nose, "I'm sorry I was so angry with you last night. I have something for you. I'd like you to try it, to see if it will help you sleep better at night."

"What is it, Papa?" Punky asked, his ears perking up.

Papa went outside, and when he came back in, he was carrying a big stuffed little boy doll in his mouth. He set it down by Punky.  The doll was bigger than the pup. "It's a toy boy for you to play with," Papa told Punky. "You can snuggle close to him at night, and talk to him if you get scared. Maybe you guys can make up stories together of things you could do together."

"Thanks, Papa," Punky said, looking at the doll with bright eyes.

Papa started to walk into the kitchen. Then he stopped and looked back at Punky. "Oh, and Punky?"

"Yes, Papa?"

"When you talk to him in the middle of the night, please remember to whisper."

That night, Mamma tucked the doll in close beside Punky. "Punky, remember if you really need us in the middle of the night, you can still come and get us."

"Thanks, Mamma." Punky laid his head on top of the doll's tummy.

"Have you decided what you're going to name him yet?" Mamma asked.

"I think I'll call him Joey," Punky answered. "I always wanted a boy named Joey."


Saturday, January 10, 2015

Peggy and the New School

This was one of the first stories I wrote when I started writing again a couple years ago.



Peggy was scared as she entered her first grade classroom. This was a new school for her, and she didn’t know anybody.

Mrs. Meyer, the teacher, asked everybody to introduce themselves. When it came Peggy’s turn, she croaked a little when she said “Peggy,” in a very quiet voice.

Some of the kids in the back of the room laughed. “It’s piggy. That’s what she said. She’s Piggy.”

Mrs. Meyer didn’t say anything to them; she was looking at her list.

Peggy ran out at recess, hoping to get far away from the other kids. But they stopped her. A big circle came around her. “It’s Piggy; It’s Piggy,” a bunch said. “Uh oh, uh oh, looks like Piggy wants to cry.”

When Peggy got home that night, she was crying again. “Mama, mama, do I have to go to this school? Can’t I go back to the old school?”

Mama sat down on the rocking chair and pulled Peggy on her lap and squeezed her tight.

“Tell me what happened,” Mama said to Peggy.

Peggy explained about the mean kids, and how they had bothered her.

“I’m sorry, sweetie. I wish that hadn’t happened to you. I love you so much.” Mama held her very close until Peggy stopped crying.

“Can’t we go back to the old school?” Peggy asked.

“No, we can’t honey. We’ll try to make this school work out better for you.”

Mama rocked quietly for a while. “You know Peggy, sometimes kids are mean, because they think that will make them look cool to the bigger, cool kids. Let’s pray for them, so they won’t bother you again.”

Mama prayed and Peggy felt better. “Let’s pray that God will show you new friends,” Mama said.

Peggy thought about Mama praying later when she was in bed. She didn’t want to pray for the mean kids, but she knew that when Mama did, that was something that made God happy.

The next day after school, Peggy came running into the house. “Mama, Mamma, guess what happened.”

“Yes, what?” Mama smiled, pulling Peggy onto her lap.

“The mean kids didn’t bother me today. They bothered a new girl. She has really thick glasses, and kinda a lisp. At recess, they made a circle around her like they did to me yesterday. They said, ‘Eli-tha-beff has big eyes. Let’s look at her glasses.’”

“Well,” Peggy went on excitedly, “Before they took her glasses, I ran in the middle of them. I yelled ‘You guys better leave E-lizabeth’ – I made sure I was careful with her name. ‘You leave her alone, or I’m going to get the principal.’ Mama, they looked scared of me! Like they thought I could really get them in trouble. They left Elizabeth and me alone!”

“I am very proud of you,” Mama said, squeezing Peggy.

Peggy went on. “I hugged Elizabeth and asked if she wanted to be my friend. She cried and said she’d never had a friend before. I was so worried I wouldn’t have friends, and here it is, just second day of school, and I have one already.”

Peggy squirmed around on Mama’s lap. ”And you know what else?”

“What, sweetie?” Mama asked.

“There’s another boy who I think the mean kids are going to bother too. He uses a wheelchair, you know, like Aunt Florence does. I’ve seen some of the mean kids looking at him. I’m going to ask if he wants to be friends with Elizabeth and me. Then we’ll have two to protect him.”

“Good idea, sweetie,” Mama said, and she had tears on her cheeks too.

That night after Peggy went to bed, she smiled into her pillow.

“Jesus, I know you want me to pray for those mean kids, and I’ll try to. But first I want to thank You for giving me one friend, and maybe another one.”

Sunday, December 28, 2014

Seven Around the Dinner Table



Benjamin reminded me of this old, loved saying of mine, “seven around the dinner table” on Wednesday night when we sat down for our traditional Christmas Eve dinner of chips and dip and cookies. It has been nearly a year since we all sat down at the table together, and Rebecca brought up that everybody might not be home for Christmas next year.

All the kids are adults now; Benjamin turned 18 a little over a week ago. So, even though it was pretty crazy here with everybody home, I cherished it.

Rebecca was home from Iowa for almost a week. She made homemade guacamole as part of our Christmas Eve dinner, and she said she might have put a little too much lemon juice. Sarah, who is not crazy about lemon, said, “How did this happen?” Rebecca took back the guacamole she’d given Sarah. Murray gave Sarah his share, and she laughed. “Rebecca just took that away too.”

I said we should sing for the prayer, like we did sometimes when the kids were little. Murray started, “Oh, the Lord’s been good to me, and so I thank the Lord.” After we’d sung it once, Benjamin said, “Let’s sing it ten times.” Rebecca and I sang it a second time, but it fizzled after that.

Caleb lives at home, but with work and everything else he’s involved in, we don’t see him as much as we’d like. He was able to get off work Christmas Eve and Christmas day. When he’s in the house, someone besides me whistles a lot, and he whistles better than I do. He also got several different kinds of coffee as gifts from friends, and he shared them with us, which was a lovely Christmas happening.

After dinner on Christmas day, we all sat around the table opening our gifts. Our tradition is to draw names among the seven of us, then make gifts. That is always fun, and was often amazing when the kids were little.

Rebecca asked if we remembered the year she wrote her name on every slip of paper for us to draw names from, and I got mad at her. I do remember that. I drew her name, and then when she said, “Oh, I drew my own name,” I bristled. “Well, you couldn’t have, Rebecca, and I think you know how I know.” Then fortunately, before I could say more that I would regret, Sarah said, “We all drew Rebecca!”

This year, Benjamin gave Murray a CD with sound effects, including motor cycles, thunder, car races, and horse races. Murray made Ping-Hwei a wall hanging with his initials made with pennies. Ping-Hwei gave Sarah two VCR tapes of a couple of her favorite movies. She still loves to watch VCR movies. Ping-Hwei also gave all of us a huge box of chocolates, and he doesn’t even like chocolate.

Sarah made brownies for Caleb, and also wrote a poem, starting each line with a letter from his name. Caleb made a wall hanging for me with verses from Isaiah 9 written in Braille, listing the names of Jesus. I knitted a purse for Rebecca, and a sash for her bath robe. Also in the package I put two stone cookie cutters which have lain never-used around the house for years. One is a teddy bear and the other a barn with farm animals, “Because I live in Iowa,” Rebecca said.

Rebecca made cookies for Benjamin, but also, because she knows he loves sound effects, she recorded a bunch on a file for him. She made them on her cell phone, using her own voice. There were about seventy, including a bee, loud nose blowing, a car starting, our old talking microwave, a donkey, a lamb, a crow, and much, much more.

The kids are all moving on to their own lives, so we may not all be here next Christmas. As loud and crazy and sometimes argumentative as we all were, I thank God for the gift of seven around the dinner table this year. James 1: 16-17: “Don’t be deceived, my dear brothers and sisters. Every good and perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of the heavenly lights, who does not change like shifting shadows.”



Thursday, December 25, 2014

Did I write These?

These poems were accepted by magazines in the ’70s. “It’s Up to You and Me” seems pretty straightforward, but as I look at “I Can I Will,” I wonder if that was really me.


IT’S UP TO YOU AND ME

There are so many things God wants us to do.
There are so many things He expects from me and you—
To give to the poor, to open someone’s door,
So they can live eternally in a land that’s trouble free.

It’s up to you and me to lend a helping hand;
To spread God’s word all over this land.
To tell all about Him and teach His ways
So everyone can know Him enough to say,
“I give my heart and soul to Thee,
Who died for me
On Calvary.”


I CAN I WILL

People say I can’t do it, just because I can’t see.
They think since I’ve lost the use of my eyes, I’ve lost the use of me.
But I can do the undone and know the unknown.
I’ll walk up and down this world, and I’ll do it alone.
I’ll walk across the deep wild sea,
And I’ll do it with me for company.
If there’s something no one’s done, I’ll do it.
If there’s something no one’s been through, I’ll put myself through it.
So as you can see, there’s nothing I won’t try
To show this world before it dies.
Because I can do the same, and maybe even more.
So listen to me people, and don’t close the door.

Tuesday, December 23, 2014

After The Fall: Learning To Laugh Again

The following article appeared in the Fall 2014 issue of DIALOGUE, a magazine that deals with issues for people who are visually impaired — my first published work in thirty-four years!

Losses and Gifts

I have no memory of June 28, 2012. The calendar tells me it was a Thursday. Family members tell me that after I came home from work, my husband, my son, my daughter and I went to our friend Laura’s house to deliver “happy birthday” treats. We entered her house by the side door, and I don’t remember if I knew that. What I definitely did not know was that the stairs to the basement were right there.

I don’t recall what I was doing with my cane at that moment. What I do know is that when I catch my 17-year-old son—who is also blind—under-using his cane, I tell him, “The last time I didn’t use my cane properly, I ended up in the hospital for six weeks.”

I know that in some ways, it’s a blessing that I have no memory of the next several weeks. However, my youngest daughter, Sarah, gave me a treasure by keeping and sharing a journal which filled in many of the details of that night and the weeks that followed.

The ambulance arrived in four minutes. My husband, Murray, sat beside me on the basement floor, holding up my head to help me breathe more comfortably. Then he went with me in the ambulance to the hospital.

Laura, Sarah, and our oldest son, Ping-Hwei, dashed to the high school to get our youngest son, Benjamin, who was at band practice at the time. Afterward, a neighbor drove Laura and the kids to the hospital. Murray called our other son and daughter, Caleb and Rebecca, who were not at home that night, and told them they should probably come to the hospital, too.

Sarah says that the doctor told them that night that things could go either way for me. He asked for permission to drill a hole in my skull to put in a monitor for my brain pressure.

Murray says they became close to a lot of the other people in the ICU waiting room. Sarah says she spent much of that first night crying, and one of the other girls in the waiting room sat with her and Caleb and talked with them as they waited. I am told that I first spoke three days after I went into the hospital, saying that if they didn’t take the gloves off my hands, I would cry.

I understand that the kids, friends from work and friends from church paid me a lot of visits. Murray says that Caleb sat with him in my room many days. Murray remembers telling me once that he came early every morning, stayed until I fell asleep, then went home and came again the next morning. Apparently, my response was, “That seems like a raw deal for you.” Rebecca continued to work at her out of town internship during the week, but she took the bus home to see me every weekend.

The first thing I remember about being in the hospital was when Caleb brought his dog guide, Esther, to visit me. I remember hanging out of the bed, reaching for Esther. She kept coming to me, frantically licking, and Rebecca, laughing, kept pulling her back a little.

Moving Forward

Of course, I wish it had never happened. But I thank God for many things, mainly that I survived and that I recovered as well as I did. Mostly, I thank God for what has happened to the relationships in my family. Between my husband and me, my husband and the kids, the kids and me—they are all so much stronger. No, not perfect, but so much better.

What’s the fall-out? I lost a great deal of hearing. I have many problems with memory and much difficulty finding the correct word.

For several months after I came home from the hospital, I still had occasional falls — scary for me, and my family. Even now, I have trouble with balance, but I haven’t fallen in quite some time.

I never had expert orientation and mobility skills, but I used to take the city bus to work for many years, travel easily around my work building, and got around at home with no trouble. Now, I seem to frequently lose my place in my own house.

It often feels strange to find myself at home during the day instead of being at work, but it’s growing on me. My goals have changed. When I was a rehab teacher, my favorite part of the job was teaching Braille. Several years ago, I started a course to become certified in Braille Transcribing through the Library of Congress and received my certification last spring. I am now working on a course to become certified as a Braille Proofreader. It comforts me to still have Braille as part of my professional life.

And, I cranked up my writing career again. When I was a teenager, I had some short stories and poems published in several magazines. Then for more than 30 years, with college, work and raising a family, I found little time to write. I always said I would take it up again when I retired. After my accident, when I could not go back to work, I decided that it would be silly if I didn’t use this time for writing. Over the last year and a half, I’ve written four novellas, which I am still adding to and editing.

I’ve also joined a writing group, which provides monthly online writing classes, webinars and—my favorite—a critique group. We share our writing and offer each other suggestions, resources and encouragement. I am having a lovely time.

I have told my husband that unfortunately, he didn’t get the benefit of my personality changing a great deal. That often does happen to people who have brain injuries, but seemingly not to me, though I often feel I enjoy life more. A friend at work used to tell me that he loved stopping by my office, because I always made him laugh. These days, I’m doing a great deal of laughing again myself.