life IS fragile

Last night I signed into writing.com to catch up on my mail.  A shudder vibrated through me as I read a message from Karen: “There is no good way to share this with you. One of our members ­­­­­passed away on Sept. 11.” 

I have been a member of writing.com for less than a year and I don’t know people very well—except for rixfarmgirl.  Rixy is one of those gems of a friend who is new in my life—someone I know will become a forever friend.  And now, she is only a memory.  I am stunned, shocked, numb, and so sad. 

The way writing.com works is, you post your own writing to be reviewed and you review the writing of others.  One of my essays caught Rixy’s eye, she saw potential in me and began to mentor me.  I consider her my anchor at writing.com—and even though she is no longer alive, she will continue to be my anchor.

Rixy was a retired English teacher and published author and in her retirement continued to encourage and mentor other writers.  She gave meaty constructive criticism that is worth its weight in gold.  Forgive me, Rixy, for mixing my metaphors and clinging to cliches—sadly I’m not writing for perusal of your reviewing eye.  (Oops, “sadly” is one of those pesky adverbs you wont let me get away with!  And I’m starting this sentence with “and” and putting this in parentheses—also one of your pet peeves!) 

With Rixy’s encouragement, I signed up to take a writing class in the writing.com New Horizon Academy.  I am taking “NaNoWriMo & the 30-Day Novel,” which begins in October.  Rixy was to be one of the instructors.

I signed up, in part, because Rixy was one of the instructors.  Also because I thought it would be a great way to s-t-r-e-t-c-h myself as a writer.  Every day I question, “What have I gotten myself into?”  NaNoWriMo is short for National Novel Writing Month—and I not a fiction writer.  However, I hoped that, under Rixy’s tutelage, I could be successful.  The goal of NaNoWriMo is to write 50,000 words in 30 days.  Gulp…

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I responded to the e-mail about Rixy’s death, asking if there was anything I could do to help.  Karen responded, “If you want to help, you can do your very best in the NaNoWriMo course. That would mean a lot to Rixy.”

Rixy, I will be writing for you!  And if a novel evolves, I will dedicate my very first novel to you.

I CAN SEE THE SKY - November 10, 2007

"I saw a star,
I reached for it, and I missed.
So I accepted the sky.”
Scott Fortini

On Sunday afternoon, I attended a tree planting ceremony in memory of my friend, Mary Knipp, who died of breast cancer last December. Actually, I missed most of the proceedings because I missed an important turn and ended up miles north of where I was supposed to be. I arrived as people were taking turns shoveling dirt into the hole. It’s a nice tree—a tulip tree. Mary would have like that, I’m sure.

“I have a book for you,” Betty, Mary’s mom, said to me. I found it among Mary’s things. It’s about grace and I want you to have it.” I love books and I went home and immediately dove into its pages. Well, not immediately. I again got lost because I was lost in thought…

This morning, the backhoe is back next-door. Occasionally, I peer out the window to keep track of the progress as my neighbors’ house is scooped up in pieces and loaded into large dumpsters. As much as I have not liked looking at their beautiful house in ruins, at least a part of them was still there. Now almost all signs of their having dwelled there are gone. It’s an empty lot and I feel empty inside. I hate that feeling of not being able to turn back the clock—like we did last Saturday. If only this, if only that…maybe the house could have been saved. No use in wishing on a star. Sigh…

I rescued the stone turtle candleholders off their deck, lest the backhoe grab them and gobble them up. One is in perfect condition, the other a little crispy around the edges, but useable. I still have such a strong urge to rescue bits and pieces of their lives. Kind of silly, perhaps, but it’s my way of helping them salvage something, anything. In truth, it helps helpless me feel a wee bit helpful.

Loss is such a huge theme in my life these days. I’ve been focused on how I’m losing neighbors but I now realize, with John and Donna’s house gone, I can see the home of my NEW next-door-neighbors. I think I’ll bake Charles and Loretta some bread and go introduce myself. This also seems silly, because we already know each other—but I still think I’ll do it, just for fun. It’s nice to again see lights on “next door.”

Attending the tree planting drew me back into my writing about Mary’s journey (“Saturdays with Mary”). I reread a portion of Lance Armstrong’s book (Every Second Counts: My Journey Back to Life by Lance Armstrong and Sally Jenkins) about his grueling encounter with cancer. Sally Reed, a fellow cancer survivor who lost her house in a fire, told Lance, “My house is burned, but we can see the sky.” (God is always drawing me back to books at strategic times—and I think this is one of those times!)

“My house is burned, BUT WE CAN SEE THE SKY.”

In the very same section, Lance says, “Any temptation I have to brood over losses is tempered by the knowledge that I can afford to lose just about anything except my life and the lives of people I care about.” Both John and Donna said something similar, even as we stood in my yard and watched the fire.

I’m lost in so many ways these days: lost it thoughts about a past that I cannot recapture; lost in an ongoing journey of grief in which I must let go of my brother-in-law, my friend, my mom, my neighbor, all of whom died in the last year; lost on the highways and byways that connect me to the present. My writing is a way of bridging the past and present and beginning to envision a future that is more hopeful. Mary, Lance, and Sally, and John and Donna, help me see the sky.

Lift your eyes and look to the heavens:
Who created all these?
He who brings out the starry host one by one,
and calls them each by name.
Isaiah 40:26

RISING FROMN THE EMBERS - September 29, 2007

If you were afraid that your house was going to catch on fire, what would you grab as you headed out the door to safety? I know what I would grab: my two dogs, Panda and Hope, my children’s baby albums, my wedding ring, the necklace my husband gave me as a wedding gift, my mom’s antique watch, our passports—and this laptop on which I am typing. I know this with certainty, because at 1:00 a.m. this very morning, I did just this.

“Linda. Get up!” My husband said with urgency. “John’s house is on fire!” Instantly I was fully awake and quickly dashing out the front door, as Rex called 911. As we hurried across our lawn into John’s yard, a firm voice instructed us to, “Stay in your own yard, please!” “We just want to know if they got out of the house!” my husband shouted from behind me. They did! John and Donna were safe and the fire department was already there.

There was little we could do, except be present with them as they watched the beautiful log home, that they and their five children had built together thirty years ago, be devoured by fire. John had heard the smoke alarm and wakened Donna. As they descended the smoke-filled staircase from their second floor bedroom, they were scared that they would not make it out of the house.

As I sit here writing, thirteen hours have passed since my husband woke me. There are still fire engines and numerous other emergency vehicles lining the street, and I can hear heavy equipment at work. A massive plume of smoke is still rising from the hole in the ground where three levels of rubble are piled atop burning embers. The heavy equipment is raising the rubble up out of the hole so firefighters can extinguish the remainder of the fire.

In the wee hours of the morning, our yard was teeming with concerned neighbors and John and Donna’s family members. We all stood helplessly watching their beautiful home disappear before our eyes. As one of the tall trees standing between our two homes caught fire and burning embers drifted over our house, I became afraid that our house would also catch on fire. Rex hosed down our roof while I dashed around inside our house grabbing a few things, in the event we should fall prey to the fire.

When the firefighters turned their attention on our home, hosing down the roof, I felt guilty that precious water was being diverted to our house while my neighbors’ house was engulfed with flames. That was when I realized that their house was beyond saving.

Surrounded my by neighbors, I thought about all the crises that our few families have dealt with during the last year. The protective denial I live with—that surely my family is immune to tragedy because, “those things only happen to other people”—was juxtaposed with the reality that cancer, the death of loved ones, fires, car accidents, job loss, divorce, and on and on, ARE a part of life.

There is no immunity, for any of us. But in the midst of strive, there is grace. God’s presence was palpable this morning, embodied in the love and concern of neighbors and in the dedication of the many wonderful volunteer firefighters.

So what crossed your mind as you pondered my opening question—what would you grab? I bet that, like me, you immediately thought of things that connect you to your loved ones. A home is so much more than four walls, a roof, and the things housed within. It is a throbbing heart full of memories of the past, experiences of the present, and dreams for the future. A home is a haven of love and security. Home is something we carry in our hearts and I have no doubt that John and Donna have all that they need to create a new family haven.

Crises are powerful reminders of what is truly important in life. Hug your loved ones today. Tell them you love them and how very much they are a gift of grace in your life. Don’t wait. And, please, make sure your smoke alarms are in working order!

For I know the plans I have for you," declares the Lord,
"plans to prosper you and not to harm you,
plans to give you hope and a future.
Jeremiah 29:11