I was a child who was told by a 2nd grade teacher that I was “not good at art.” I took that as gospel. I couldn’t draw a straight line with a ruler. In fact, it became the long running family joke.
In 1995, at age 35, I suffered a ruptured brain aneurysm. At the peak of my game, I was knocked off the playing board altogether. I made a journal of the events during my 6+ month recovery. As my looks began to transform back to my “old self,” after being a “zipper head” due to the major craniotomy required, I longed to put the dreadful experience behind me. I just wanted to go back to “normal.” As an acquaintance said the other day, the only place she has seen “normal” is on a washing machine! That’s another story. I did the old fashion way of copyrighting, mailed my manuscript to myself, tossed it in a plastic storage bin, and moved on for over a decade. I thought, someday, I’d write a book about my incredible experience. In fact, my mom suggested once or twice a year that I “get right on that!” I wasn’t quick to act.
Seventeen years passed. Photography had been a long time hobby, but now I was using it therapeutically and even promoting it some. Through a series of divinely inspired events, I had the good fortune in 2010 to be the featured artist at our local, Lauritzen Botanical Gardens. This is a big tourist destination, as well as, a generously supported local attraction. Maybe, I was an artist after all? Thirty-six pieces of my photography, framed, wrapped canvas, presentation board, and note cards filled the gallery for six weeks. It was an unexpected thrill of a lifetime!
One image held a feminine statue that I captured. On that piece, I overlaid a poem that I wrote. At the time, a woman named Marty, a new acquaintance, was kind enough to attend my showing. When she saw the piece of art with the poem, she said, “I didn’t know that you could write, too!?” I explained that I had written a lot of poetry in my life and even had a manuscript that someday I hoped to make into a book. Marty suggested I might be interested in her writer’s group and extended an invitation. At the time, my mind was with this art phase. I hadn’t planned on making writing a priority. I asked her where the group met, just making small talk. When she told me, you could have knocked me over with a feather. The monthly meeting was practically across the street from where I lived! Odd coincidence? A couple of months later, I attended my first “Fine Lines” meeting.
The people in this group were teachers, former teachers, creative writing students, and English majors; Marty was in fact a retired teacher. She devoted most of her life to the service of special education students. The editor was David Martin. I thanked him, after the first meeting, for allowing me to “sit in,” but didn’t think I was qualified to be there. He disagreed. He said, “Stick around. I think you have a story to tell. Write first. Worry about the editing later.” For about a year, I did that. David signed his email reminders for our meetings, “Write On.” The combination of that and my mom’s 17-year prodding, eventually led to me writing and publishing that book. The child who “would never be artistic” was now a published author and a photographer. It’s funny how life works. The release of my book raced around the world in this technology age and led me to hosting an Internet radio program called “Recovery Now,” which is broadcast worldwide. My book was released toward the beginning of 2012, and the rest of the year unfolded like a red carpet of adventure. Author events, book signings, radio appearances, and tons of email occupied my days. The whirlwind I encountered was nothing I could have anticipated.
Without Marty, that connection would have never happened. She and David were two of the first to read my manuscript, for a cursory edit. Both shared ideas that enhanced the final project. When they were done and I had “polished the apple,” the manuscript went to the final editor and was released as a book. From that moment on, my life changed one more time. Bucket list items I didn’t even know I had were met.
Writing the book opened the door to a group of people worldwide with whom I never would have otherwise mixed. One survivor communicating with another is one of the most effective ways to heal the spiritual and emotional trauma that comes with life-threatening illness. I gained more insight in nine months of meeting these folks online than I had in seventeen years of dealing with the medical profession in person! Being able to share our experiences gave us strength and hope which made us all stronger.
We were enthusiastic going into the holidays. We had our ancient bathroom remodeled, and it turned out beautifully. Admittedly, all the action of the year left me feeling worn out. The rush of the holidays from Thanksgiving to New Year’s, on top of the everyday stress, can bring me to my knees if I let it. I made a conscious effort to stay in the spirit of Christmas, but the fun of searching out that perfect gift for someone special, is still a joy. Even if I have to fight a crowd to do it, the season dictates the challenges.
In the early evening of December 23, I received a phone call from my friend Casey. She told me our mutual friend Mikki, a chaplain, had run into our friend Marty at a hospice. She was a resident there now. I was shocked.
A few weeks before at a luncheon, Marty mentioned that her vision had been a little blurry. She said she would need to make a doctor’s appointment soon to have it looked at. Then the holiday rush started, so it wasn’t unusual to miss our regular social club meeting. I was absent for a couple of weeks getting things done, so I hadn’t taken note that Marty was not there as well. Mikki told Casey that Marty had cancer. Casey assumed I knew this when she called and wondered if I had details. My mouth fell open in shock. No, I didn’t have any details.
I called for Marty at the hospice. We had a cogent conversation. I asked her what the heck happened. We always had a direct, no nonsense relationship. She told me that she had gone to the doctor about her eyes. She was hospitalized for about five days for tests. In the course of three days, she had gone completely blind. Even Mikki hadn’t noticed that. The two of them had been alone in the room, and Marty’s eyes were tracking Mikki’s voice. Marty had gone directly from hospital to hospice, when it was determined that she had a malignant brain tumor and was pronounced terminal. No passing go, no going home. That was it. The sudden, cold, hard truth washed over me, as I knew it had with her a couple of weeks before. She was philosophical when I asked her how she reacted to the shocking news. “What are you going to do? We all have an end. My only regret is that it can’t just be over now. The idea of sitting here blind, just waiting to die is quite unappealing.” We discussed the “Death with Dignity” law that had passed in Oregon and Washington State. We agreed it was a pity that wasn’t one of her options. She would ride this train to the end. We prayed that it wouldn’t be a long, painful ride.
I was about to go into 48 hours of concentrated family Christmas festivities. Marty didn’t have any family. No siblings or children. How do you close a conversation that is supposed to be ending with “Merry Christmas” under these circumstances? I asked Marty if she would like company or prefer her privacy. She told me she would like company, if even for short periods of time. So be it.
Marty and I now shared affiliation with two groups. One was the Fine Lines writer’s group and the other a social group. I had access to email addresses for about 40 people from the combined groups. I sat down to write a short, pointed note to Marty’s friends. No one had known, so she spent her first week in the hospice alone. She had no way to access phone numbers and couldn’t see to use the phone if she did. The first week must have given her time for the news to fully sink in, but she said she had felt abandoned. Now, it was time to begin the ritual of good-byes. I hit “send” on the emails and then made a few calls. Marty spent few moments alone from Christmas Eve, the next day, until she passed on January 8. I went to see her on the twenty-sixth with a few close friends. We rubbed scented lotion on her hands and face. Sally brought a rose. I peeled off a couple of blood-red petals and slipped them into Marty’s fingers. She rubbed the petals gently then raised them weakly to her nose. The fresh smell of the flower and the softness of the petals made her smile. I went to see her a few more times, but there came a point that she was no longer present. I knew they were working on Marty from the other side now, preparing her soul for the journey home. I knew others would continue to gather, but I said my good-bye.
Four days before she died, my friend Sally grabbed me aside at a meeting. She said she had been to see Marty the day before. She sat in the room for thirty minutes with no words spoken. Marty seemed to be vacant. Suddenly, her arm went up, and she clearly said, “What a hellion!” Sally drew nearer with a start. She asked Marty if she saw someone she knew. Marty replied, “He’s so handsome but has always been a bad boy.” She smiled and drifted back off. Sally said the drugs must really be getting to her. I smiled. I had a near death experience during my ruptured aneurysm. I told Sally what I believe 100 percent to be true. This man who Marty saw was a “familiar.” It was someone important to her at one time, who had “crossed over.” Now, he was back with her to help her cross over. Sally thought about it for a minute, and then the understanding registered on her face. She told me she was glad to hear me say that. She believed it wholly, now thinking back on how the exchange had gone. In a few days, Marty vacated her human existence and flew away with the angels.
Marty was a teacher her whole adult life. Though she had been retired for quite some time, she was teaching all the way to the end. In her life, she could be thought of as eccentric. In her death, she was still a teacher. This time she was a teacher of grace. It’s a new year for all of us, and she will be missed. I thanked her for being a “bridge” person in my life, who led me to Fine Lines. Without her help, I may have never written the book that changed my life and that of others. Marty is acknowledged in the front of my book with four other people who helped with the initial attempts at getting my story formulated into a book. Within one year, three out of five of those people have been afflicted with serious brain conditions. I don’t know what to make of that? We are all bonded in more ways than I realized, and I believe in a universal connectedness whether we’re in the human existence or the spiritual realm. Marty is just a memory away, with her sometimes flashy sweaters, sequin shoes, array of eclectic jewelry, her deep tan, flowered hair adornments, and that big smile as she whipped about town in her convertible. Marty lived a lot of life in that dash between her birth and death dates.
Until we meet again. Blessings, Marty.
Here is a link to Kim’s book In a Flash
