Category Archives: Hope Matters

Hope Matters, memoir-writing

Finding My Hope in Philly: A Memoir Moment

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Posted by Kathleen Pooler/@kathypooler

” 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

 

How does hope work in your life?

 

Hope through faith is a powerful theme in my life and in my memoir-in-progress. Sometimes, it wavers though and I need a little boost. My weekend in Philly with Susan Weidener and the Women’s Writing Circle proved to be just what I needed to get that boost.

 

When Susan invited me to present a workshop on journaling for the Women’s Writing Circle, I was honored and excited for the opportunity. I had taught many nursing workshops in my career but this would be my first writing workshop. Boy, was I in for a treat.

 

Susan and I met on LinkedIn –therein lies the power of the internet for making meaningful connections– when I shared a blog post on using fiction writing techniques in memoir. I was intrigued by one of her comments about standing in your truth and decided to read her memoir, Again in a Heartbeat which I loved for its gripping honesty and universal hopeful message of life after loss. Then I read the sequel, Morning at Wellington Square about finding one’s purpose after a loss, which I also loved.

 

When I learned more about the Women’s Writing Circle and Susan’s work with helping women find their voices, I visualized myself being a part of the group. My memoir-in-progress is about all the self-defeating detours I took because I hadn’t found my voice. I was 43- years-old when I did. Better late than never.

 

In the meantime, I was planning a trip to visit my 96-year-old aunt in a Wayne, PA nursing home and was running into one snag after the next.

 

Before I knew it, Susan had invited me to co-facilitate this workshop that was near my aunt’s nursing home.

 

It really does pay to dream.

 

Friday, Susan picked me up at the Paoli train station –actually more of a pit stop with a small wooden platform and a few folding chairs. But I noticed, it even had a library:

 

Library at Paoli,PA train stop
Library at Paoli,PA train stop

 

 

We drove to see Aunt Glenna at the nearby nursing home and had a lovely two-hour visit:

 

 

Visiting with Aunt Glenna

 

The workshop was on Saturday and I was excited to meet the women in person as I felt I had already “met” them through their engaging and poignant stories and poems in The Slants of Light anthology which will be launched in the Spring:

 

Cover for Slants of Light Anthology, available soon.
Cover for Slants of Light Anthology, available soon.

 

The workshop was filled with heartfelt sharing and writing. As a teacher, I have always been amazed at how much I learn and grow through the process of teaching and this workshop was no exception.

 

After discussing journaling tips, the healing benefits of journaling and journaling tools, we split up into pairs, wrote from writing prompts then shared our writing with our partner. After lunch, we gathered in the circle to share our writing with the entire group.

 

Next to a vase of coral-colored roses, a cylindrical white candle  burned atop a lace-draped small round table in the center to honor the sacredness of our words and stories.

 

As I listened, I experienced heartfelt connections to the stories of the other women. It was a testimony to the power of women’s voices in sharing, connecting and healing.

 

Susan and I at the Women's Writing Circle Journaling Workshop 2/23/13
Susan and I at the Women’s Writing Circle Journaling Workshop 2/23/13

 

I have mentioned the heartbreak of a son who struggles with substance abuse, a story that is always close at heart. So the prompt I chose during the writing exercise which led to this letter to my son, B was “One reason I get sad is” …

…sometimes knowing you are still struggling with who you  are and where you fit  into the world. When I visualize you, I see your many talents; your sensitivity; your dark, dancing eyes; your generous heart.

I see the four-year-old boy who shared his dripping orange popsicle with his little friend, Becky while the two of  sat at the end of the driveway one hot summer afternoon.

I see the seven-year-old rascal at the top of the pine tree, waving your hands above your head, “Look Ma, no hands” as I watched in terror and frustration, trying to coax you down.

I see the kind and loving 10-year-old reaching out to hold the hand of an elderly nursing home resident during a school trip.

I look up at the gangly 13-year-old young man with the crackly voice before you darted off to joke and spar with your friends.

And I wonder, where did it all go so wrong?

What happened to that precious son of mine who now sits in his apartment, alone,and struggles day-to-day to make some sense of the life he hasn’t had? Who looks back at the lost opportunities and dreams and mourns his path?

With fierce mother love, I hang on to hope;

hope that you will reconnect with that little boy within who has so much innate goodness and worth;

hope that you will begin to see  yourself as I see you- healthy, whole and still filled with promise.”

 

After hearing my story and knowing I would be meeting B during a two-hour layover at Penn Station, the women of the Circle encouraged me to read it to him.

I wasn’t sure what I would do.

Although, we’d been in contact, I hadn’t seen B in thirteen months. He met me as planned and I did read him the story, after giving him a big hug and sitting across from him at dinner to hear his story.

My voice teetered a bit toward the end, especially when I read the word “hope.”

Looking at one another through tear-glazed eyes, my handsome, sober 37-year-old son reached across the table to touch my hand and with  a slight smile and nod said,

“I like it, Mom. I am hopeful.”

 

Hope multiplies when it is shared.

 

Thank you Susan and lovely women of the Women’s Writing Circle for helping me tap deeper into my hope.

 

Through my faith and with a little help from my friends, I did find my hope in Philly.

 

“Then you will call on me and come and pray to me and I will listen to you. You will seek me and find me when you seek me with all your heart.” Jeremiah 29: 12-13

 

How about you? Do you have a story of hope to share?

 

 

I’d love to hear from you. Please leave your comments below~

 

 

Announcement: Congratulations to Marlena Baraf for winning a copy of Lorenzo Martinez‘ children’s book, The Ballerina and Peanut Butter and Jelly Sandwich. Anyone one who wrote music for Captain Kangaroo, as Lorenzo did, has got to be good with children!

 

This Week: I am also still over at Lorenzo’s blog with a guest post, ” Defining Moment: Where Will Your Memoir Begin?” and at Victoria Johnson’s blog with a guest post on “Creative Space”

 

 

 

 

Next Week: Memoir Author Barbara Techel will return to discuss “How Vulnerability Can Be a Beautiful Gift in Memoir Writing”, in conjunction with the release of her memoir, Through Frankie’s Eyes: One Woman’s Journey to Her Authentic Self and the Dog on Wheels Who Led the Way.

 

Hope Matters, memoir-writing

Hope Matters: A Memoir Moment

42 Comments

Posted by Kathleen Pooler/@kathypooler

“Hope is not the conviction that something will turn out well but the certainty that something makes sense, regardless of how it turns out.” Vaclav Havel, Disturbing the Peace.

Photo Credit: "Sunset" from dreamstimefree
Photo Credit: “Sunset” from dreamstimefree

Since the power of hope through faith is a main theme in my memoir-in-progress, I want to share some moments that have shaped my life and my story.

Hope can be as simple as wishing for a sunny day so you can go on a picnic or as complex as hoping for a peaceful transition in death.

As a registered nurse, I have had the privilege of caring for many dying patients over the years and have been witness to the amazing power of hope, even in death.

As long as we live, we hope.

Let me tell you about a patient I had when I was a young nurse and what he taught me about hope. His name was Mr. Jacobs.

Sacred Ground

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The dimly-lit lamp cast a shadow of itself on the wall as I approached my silent patient who had curled up in a fetal position, facing the stark white wall. The sadness was palpable. That twenty-nine year-old man was dying of colon cancer. I hesitated at the door to ponder how a young man, only six years older than I could be dying in that bed, his scared wife immersed in her own grief in the waiting room? What in the world could I say or do beyond my routine nursing duties? It was easy to take a blood pressure or administer a medication, but that young man was dying and I was his nurse. Twinges of guilt gnawed at me as I pondered my approach. Not too long ago, that young man was leading a normal life; going to work and coming home to play with his kids. I visualized him dancing at his wedding, laughing and hugging his wife. I thought of my own normal life and how I would leave work and return to a daily routine of doing laundry and going grocery shopping. Maybe I’d go for a walk or visit my friend, Maureen and we’d talk about what we were going to wear to the next party or we’d catch up on the latest gossip. All those things that seemed so important a few hours ago suddenly seemed so trivial and shallow.

As I reluctantly walked to his bedside, I heard his slow, rhythmic breathing, his dinner tray untouched on his bedside stand

“Mr Jacobs, I’ll be your nurse this evening. My name is Kathy.”

Slowly nodding in response, he opened his eyes and turned toward me as I stood by his bed. His hair was thick and black and his skin was yellow from the liver damage. He must have been a very handsome man during his healthy days.

Such dark, sad eyes.

“Is there anything you need right now?” My words echoed in my own ears and sounded so trite to me.

He hesitated, “My wife…she’s in the waiting room. She’s having a real hard time” His eyes welled up with tears.

I sat by his bed and touched his arm in response as we sat in silence for a few moments,

“Do you want me to bring her in so you can have some time together?”

“Yeah, but I don’t know what I’ll say to her”

“Hard to find the words at a time like this?”

”Yeah”, nodding his head

“Why don’t you just tell her what you are feeling?”

He slowly nodded once in response.

“I’ll go get her.” I stood up to leave, not having any idea what I would say.

As I walked into the waiting room, I saw his pretty young wife sitting quietly, staring blankly out the window. It was dark and the raindrops glistened as they tapped in rapid succession against the pane. Her blonde page-boy hair was neatly combed, every hair in place. She was trying so hard to hold it all together.

“Mrs Jacobs, my name is Kathy. I’m your husband’s nurse,” I said, reaching out my hand to hers.

“She put her head in her hands and began sobbing, “I can’t lose him. We have two young children at home. I just don’t know what I’m going to do without him”, streaks of mascara forming tracks on her cheeks.

I sat down next to her while she cried, knowing I could not tell her it would be alright, like I wanted to be able to tell her. I just listened.

After a few minutes, she stopped crying, wiped her face and tried to catch her breath

“Do you want to come see your husband now? I will go in with you”

She nodded as she stood up, straightening her red pleated plaid skirt and white pullover.

As we paused in the waiting room doorway, I took her hand and looked directly into her soft blue eyes,“It’s OK to tell your husband how you feel, to say whatever you need to say to him.”

We walked slowly to his room.

“Mr Jacobs, your wife is here.” I announced from his doorway

He was still in a fetal position facing the wall when I guided her over to the other side of the bed to face him.

“You two have some time together and tell each other whatever you need to.”

I left the room and said a silent prayer that they would say what they needed to say to one another. I had to catch up with the rest of my assignment, picking up trays, doing blood pressures and giving medications.

After about 20 minutes, when I went to his room to check on him, she was sitting on his bed, holding his hand in hers and they were both smiling.

She stood up, gave him a kiss and said she was ready to leave.

“It was good. Thank you for helping me walk into that room”, she hugged me as my eyes welled up with tears.

Such sacred ground.

The privilege of helping that young couple share and smile through their pain left me in awe. I could hear my own heart beating as I lingered until she reached the elevator. Wiping the tears from my eyes, I took a deep breath, humbled and changed by this encounter. Taking my assignment sheet out of my pocket, I reviewed the list of tasks and started walking toward Room 332 to give my next patient a backrub, very aware that no textbook or classroom could ever touch me like that.

It would be the first of many humbling and profound moments I would share with people in my care. These people would become my greatest teachers.

Hope Matters, no matter what…

How about you? How does hope work in your life?

 

Next week: Wellness Coach and Writer, Ted Cole will do a guest post on “The Power of Hope”

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