The apprehension of the suspect in the November killing of four University of Idaho students was both a relief, and an unlocking of memory I held firmly in that place of ‘long ago.’ I attended the trial of the man who murdered my sister-in-law, her husband and the couple who lived next door. March 8, 1980. Six children instantly parentless. Wesley Huntley was held at gunpoint by the neighbor’s oldest son until authorities could arrive. I remember the shocking phone call. The unreality of that truth. The aftermath and taking two stunned young nephews into our home. The arraignment and … [Read more...]
How To Find Hope After Suffering a Trauma
Trauma packs a powerful punch... This article on trauma was published by The Ethel, from AARP. So grateful to have been asked to write it for them. … [Read more...]
In the Balance
I have been haunted all week. I take news in tiny doses, so deeply does the pain of war, or race related massacre, or dear god, nineteen little children and two of their teachers, drop me to my knees. I couldn’t stop the kaleidoscope of images slamming into one another. Their child would not be kissed goodnight tonight. The teachers’ children motherless. The living children traumatized by unspeakable cruelty. A collective trauma, the ripple effect still lapping up against another, and another, and another life. When I feel hopeless – or helpless in this case – and wow, do I ever, I start … [Read more...]
Music
Music. It opens me. Enlightens me. Deepens me. Lifts me. Sometimes it splits me in two. I don’t recall weeping from the beauty of music as a child. I do remember needing it. Making it, first on an organ, then an Italian accordion to take to the African bush, next a guitar, and finally a piano; and singing it…usually from the back of my horse, or high in a tree. For a number of years following the tortuous process of bringing my children to safety, to sing was impossible. I used to say my heart had no song. But that wasn’t entirely accurate. It was more that if I allowed myself to sing … [Read more...]
Weaving Grief and Loss into the Fabric of Life
I recently slogged my way out of a series of losses. Though I talked of grief overlays, or cumulative grief, I didn’t address how one might do the work of addressing the presence of it in one’s life. So, let’s talk about overlays, a cumulative grief. Ideally, one would experience loss, talk about it, think about it, sob with it, write about it, process it: Repeat. But what does one do when grief upon grief upon grief stacks one on the other? Was I weak to falter under the load? Shouldn’t I be sturdy enough having spent a lifetime perfecting resilience to find it now? I ran aground early … [Read more...]
Unraveled
I want both my eyes. I want to see with the ease I did when both worked. To expect depth perception to remain constant. To see my wine glass and pour into it, instead of all over a countertop. One of my eye docs joked all I needed was a bigger glass. I want to stop attempting to round square corners by walking into them. To see the difference a stair makes. To watch a wall of water thrown by a surf boat and accurately gauge my SUP response to it. To stop saying “I’m sorry,” to someone I’ve just hit with my left arm as I pointed to something or turned into them because they weren’t … [Read more...]
How Big Is Your ‘But’?
Stella leaned forward, hands clasped, eyes filled with pain as she unfolded another layer of their troubled lives. James sat quietly as he listened, having chosen to be with us on retreat for the sake of their failing marriage. “We have stopped being kind to each other. Our words are harsh, our tone hard. When we yield a point or say ‘I’m sorry’ it’s taken away by ‘I’m sorry, but you make me so damn angry’ or ‘but you know I don’t like when you…’ or ‘I’m sorry. But was it really that big of deal? Because it doesn’t feel like that big a deal.’” Each partnership is unique, made up of who she … [Read more...]
At Risk? Pandemic Fatigue
“You’ve got this.” Oh how I wanted to believe it. Supported by my lion sister, who in a moment of deep need reminded me I could indeed handle what life was tossing my way just now. 2020 – the year of infamy for all of us. A pandemic with a death count today surpassing a quarter of a million fellow Americans; a political smashup with unprecedented actions on the part of a sitting president; families and friends unable to gather in love and friendship; proximity bans and restrictions casting a pall on everyday life as we knew it. I joked, as we masked up and isolated in March, that I’d … [Read more...]
Do You Have Leprosy? The Color of Skin
They pinched my skin, the tender underside of my arm, and asked if I had leprosy, their dark skin a sharp contrast to my own. Deep in the heart of east Africa we had been invited to open schools and clinics. Our family was the first white family this people had ever seen. They looked at my blue eyes and wondered if I was of the devil. We were an infinitesimal minority amongst a quarter of a million souls on that plateau. Though born in America, my formative years were spent in Ethiopia. My husband says I’m more African than American at heart. He’s right. But I had privilege even there, for … [Read more...]
A Sorta Eulogy
I am an orphan in fact now, not by design, though I was that as well. My mother died Friday evening. Hazel Elaine Smith (Ewing), 90 years old, who said a year ago she hoped she’d fall asleep and never wake up and was ticked as the dickens when the sun rose on a new day. Then she fainted and slipped away. I hadn’t seen her in over 30 years. Mom: beautiful, vivacious, outgoing, idealistic, smart, brave, adventuresome, softhearted, who loved my father obsessively. Therein lies the story. In childhood, Mom lived with her family in the mountains, where they skied to school. The eldest of … [Read more...]
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