On December 29, 2023, I ran away. Seven years I’ve lived in a very rural and impoverished community, and have felt such sadness, loneliness, and joy, and moments of grace. I’ve gained two more grandchildren, lost one family member, found a small circle of friends, and I’ve been able to focus on what I love which is writing. This road has brought me to studies of my Faith; I’ve discerned that my Gift of the Holy Spirit is creativity and in particular, writing.
I’ve
been writing for decades but it has been for the sheer pleasure of it. In the early days of my writing, I shared it
on blogs and photography became its constant companion. But, one day in 2017, I found myself in a
different world from anything I ever experienced. My writing started to form a purpose and
eventually, for 18 months, I wrote for a weekly newspaper writing about my
observations of my adopted world and its contrast to everything I knew. Eventually it took the form of a book, “A
California Girl Meets the Bootheel”, and readers, especially the locals, loved
seeing their world through my eyes rediscovering, if you will, their world that
they took for granted. Their normal was
not my normal.
With
time, a new rhythm of life asserted itself.
I accepted that ease of movement, both literally and figuratively, would
not be mine anymore. Healthcare matters
became a serious issue. Beyond one primary physician none were near at hand. Every healthcare matter necessitated a trip
to somewhere else. Recovering from
illness and injuries was not easy; choices were limited. Physical therapy was, literally in another
state. One other unexpected change that
hit me here was my inability to orient myself. To this day, I get lost. Everywhere, it is flat. A wrong turn can send me across the river
into another state, down a gravel/dirt road and onto a levee, or heading north
when I thought I was heading west. As a
consequence, I rarely drive anywhere by myself.
Relying on my GPS will not necessarily get me going in the right
direction. It’s just that rural.
So, on
December 29, 2023, I ran away. Our son
lives in Indianapolis with his wife and I desperately needed to revive my
spirit. I had things to think about,
write about, to reorient myself to.
After seven years, my place in the world was beginning to feel on solid
ground again. It really never did feel
that way, truth be told, but now I wanted it and with the grace of God, it
started to be mine. I had this idea that
two weeks in Indianapolis, Indiana with my son and daughter-in-law would open a
floodgate of possibilities. I intended
to Uber around Indy while Q and Erin were at work. There was a coffee house to explore and write
at. Shops that I had absolutely zero
access to at home or anywhere near home waited for me with open arms. I would be refresh, revitalized, made
new. My husband would be a very happy
man when I returned home. But, you know
what they say about making plans? Life
happens. And, life, did indeed, happen. I had plans. God wagged His finger at me.
My trip
to Indianapolis has become a testing ground for patience and humility. My right leg was aching badly on the morning
we left for the six hour drive north. A
nagging headache started to reassert itself and would not subside. My knees chose
this time to rebel and my balance became compromised. My intention to call my doctor for an
appointment when I returned home moved up quickly to visiting a sports medicine
clinic in the city. And. Of course. I tripped on the way into the examination
room injuring myself to the point that I now cannot walk safely without a
walker. Now into my fifth day of
hobbling around, I find myself reading my Bible, my catechism, my inspirational
books, reflecting on the “why now” question, and just generally being grateful
that I’m in a situation where I’m safe and well-cared for. My husband, God love him, would have done all
that my son and daughter-in-law have done and I’m relieved that it all happened
here so he could wrap up some important matters of his own without having to
deal with me on top of it all.
All the
drama of Wednesday afternoon and the big trip that landed me with a walker was
topped off by snow overnight. This, of
course, created a whole other series of possibilities. Would it snow more? Would there be ice? Was I to be housebound so early into my
sojourn? The angst was real but oddly
enough, so was the joy. The snow was
unblemished, beautiful, a source of sheer comfort and delight. The snow did silently melt away but it took
about 4 days. In that time, my knees
relaxed and strengthened and with great care, I can go outside and up or down a
step/curb to go to and from a car. But,
there will be no Ubering for me. I must stay
put if family isn’t around. And the
worst part is that I had one plan that I have not mentioned here. I was going to go on a two night retreat at a
local Catholic retreat center. That, as
well, is off the table. But it’s not so
bad. Work time for them means much time
I can spend with writing, which was my objective at the retreat center. Hence, I can still achieve my objective,
I’ll just need to do a work around. God
had other ideas. These knees need to be
fixed and He forced me to look at that while still affirming that writing for
Him to share to others was still in my plan.
