The Adventures of the Determined Storyteller: Navigating Grief and Loss Through Story

A lone figure stands at the edge of a dark abyss uncertain of what to do but knowing that the call is there and she must follow. She knows she is not alone, others have taken this journey before but she has never seen this place, never known this depth of darkness and she is afraid.

This is where I stood almost one year ago today, knowing that I must face the fears of a potential illness, already deep in grief after the loss of my dog, my mother and my father within months of each other. With no family to support me, except my wonderful significant other, now I faced a biopsy and needed to make a decision. I did what I had to do, I made the leap, and I wanted my friends to know where I was going.

That is how the Determined Storyteller, an alter-ego, an avatar I had created to make writing about the mundane chores of housecleaning interesting to my readers, became a hero for me and for them. I couldn't leap into the dark and fall into an unknown place, but she could. I couldn't face the monster in the cave that said its name was cancer, but she could. And as the D.S. traveled that path and took the hero's journey, she took me with her and all of my friends joined in the battle to save me and to inspire themselves for their own battles.

Please join me and the Determined Storyteller in a four hour intensive workshop of self-discovery on the hero's journey. March 18, 2011 at Sharing the Fire in Warwick, Rhode Island. To register for this experience: http://www.lanes.org/index.php?option=com_content&view=article&catid=19:site-content&id=128:preconference

The Adventures of the Determined Storyteller: Results

The Determined Storyteller was quite an imposing figure as she strode into the chasm, but not because she is larger than life or overly muscular. It was because she wore the Robes of Transformation and did not walk alone. There were angels and orbs and friends and other women who had come that way before her.

She finally reached the cave where first she had met and slain the monster that called itself cancer. There cowering in a darkened corner she found the thing that those dwelling near had called her to route. It was small but still it threatened. Suros, a new and stalwart friend came to the DS' side and together they pulled it from its hiding place. Three days they examined it, three days they questioned it and finally with less fight than fear it spoke in the tiniest voice "I am BENIGN."

And there was much rejoicing!

A New Chapter in the Adventures of the Determined Storyteller

The Determined Storyteller fought the monster that called itself cancer and won. But with the caveat that this monster has many faces and may return. Thus she has once more been called to the edge of the chasm. Those dwelling in the regions of the cave have called her to vigilance once more and she must face the darkened path in order to find the light of knowledge.

Today, the Determined Storyteller sits, legs crossed, deep in meditation as she prepares for her journey to the chasm tomorrow. She will take angels and orbs and the Blessed Sword but this time she will not leap into the chasm, so the Towel from Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy will not be required. Instead she will walk with strength and power into the darkness wearing the Robes of Transformation she won in her last journey. And Deb, Laura, Deirdre, and Rannveiger will guide her. She is in good company.

It will be days of travel to the Pool of Knowledge and then the D.S. will see what journey is laid before her.

The Determined Storyteller in the Battle Against the Cave Monster: Postscript

The Beginning:

The journey began as the DS gazed over the edge of a dark chasm trying to decide whether to ignore its call or take the leap. This was the day my doctor told me I needed a core biopsy for a lump found in my left breast during an annual physical. I had one previously and they are very uncomfortable, which in my opinion is an understatement. The last one was negative and the doctor who viewed this current mammogram said she felt I could wait and see if there were changes next time, but if it were her she would get the biopsy. A friend had just died of breast cancer and I wanted to let my friends know what was happening. The DS decided to leap.

The Traveling Companions:

As the DS plummeted from the cliff side, a friend stepped in to give her the Towel from Hitchhiker’s Guide tho the Galaxy explaining it could become whatever she needed. It became a parachute and acted as bandage and cape throughout the story. This is when I realized the story might be a powerful tool for keeping friends gently abreast (pardon the pun) of the situation without alarming them, to allow them to play a healing game with me, and to help me sort through my feelings and fears in the same way I use story to help others do so.

Throughout the DS’ journey, friends came forward with gifts and blessings including, a platinum breastplate, the Blessed Sword, a magic shield, a basket of glowing orbs, magic torches, an army of angels and themselves. Not only did the DS use these valuable tools, but I loaned them to others as they were needed. One friend whose mother was diagnosed with breast cancer was loaned the shield, another who faced a difficult situation was loaned the sword and so on.

The Call of the Hero:

The hero is reluctant, does not want to be a hero or take on a difficult task, only an adventurer thrives on this. But the DS knew what must be done. I missed my friend’s burial to get a biopsy on January 29th. I decided this was the best way to honor her life. I can only hope her family felt the same. Her name became the DS’ rallying battle cry "Rannvieger!"

This day was the same day as my sister’s birthday and also a horrible day for my family as my father was rushed to the hospital. The DS was drawn from her own calling to try and save her father. Bands of angels and her army went with her as the powers of darkness tried to distract her from the monster she must later face, perhaps to allow him to gain strength in her absence. She fought valiantly to save her father from their grasp, once to actually have believed him safe, but alas she failed. My father never recovered from his illness. He died March 13th, just three days after my surgery.

Nemesis:

My diagnosis came back positive for cancer on February 3 and the DS now heard the monster’s roar from inside a cave "I am Cancer and I will destroy you!" She now knew the monster’s name which could aid her in destroying him but it was name feared far and wide. I knew I had to talk about this journey because I felt cancer was so scary it had to be brought into the light of day to understand and defeat it.

Mentors:

I was fortunate to have a nationally renowned surgeon in the field of breast cancer, Dr. Stephen Edge. The DS entered the cave and met the Healer Edge who made her lay prone near a healing pool (my scans and tests) and gave her assistance in fighting the monster. He was my surgeon on March 10th and the surgery vanquished the monster beautifully. The delays caused by missed appointments to care for my dad did not allow the creature to grow beyond Stage 1 and .9cm.

But The Edge told the DS that she would have to face yet one more trial. She would need to decide whether to enter the Cavern of Fire (chemo) or just the Cavern of Lightening (radiation), which was a must. After meeting with Dr. Edge (surgeon), Dr. Levine (medical oncologist) and The Khan of Lightening (Dr. Kahn radiation oncologist) I discovered that there would be only a 2-3% benefit to having Chemotherapy. Of course I didn’t want to lose my hair but friends had already offered help with hats and the hospital has a resource center to help. I had already become determined to be the "Crazy Hat Lady" but the effects of chemo on the rest of my body was scary, to be honest.

The Finale:

After discussing the doctors’ recommendations and statistics with Thomas, we both agreed that a 2% benefit was not worth the trauma, especially with no cancer found in the surrounding tissue or lymph nodes. It would have been a completely different story had the DS not been given a choice, but she was. She entered the Cavern of Lightening on May 3 and was not heard from after that until she emerged. This is very significant because although the hero has traveling companions, there comes a time when she must face the journey alone.

Entering the Shadow Lands, prologue:

On September 10, 2009 our 18 year old dog Merlin died. He’d been sick with the effects of age for a couple years. Thomas had been carrying him up and down stairs and our living room had been a dog kennel with drop cloth and sheets on the floor. We knew it was only a matter of time but when we found him nearly unconscious one morning, it was unbearably sad. We rushed him to the SPCA and there surrendered him at their back door to be put to sleep. My heart was broken. He was such a large dog and a huge presence in our home and in our lives. He went everywhere with us. I am still crying as I write this but there really hasn’t been time to finish this mourning.

November. I was bringing the larger pond fish into the basement tank for winter when the oldest one, a koi named Big Fish decided to take the "Big Journey" on his own. This is a phrase given to me by a friend and I love it. It helped me feel better, for you see when I went outside to get another fish, Big Fish pushed through the screen covering the tank and landed on the basement floor. By the time I came in it was too late. I blamed myself for not placing the screen tighter. I had raised this 18" fish from a 2" fish and he was 15 years old. I know it probably seems odd to put so much importance on a fish in the light of all else that happened after that, but at that time it was significant. He was the largest and oldest and actually used to eat out of my hand. Another big presence in my life was gone and it was a death I could have avoided.

I now look back and realize that Big Fish’s passing was a harbinger of what was to come. I would be stripped of all the big presences in my past life, but my relationship with Thomas would become stronger than ever.

December 12, my mother died. Like Merlin, my mom had been ill for some time. She was on oxygen but a strong willed woman who wanted to keep living. She was frail however, and I had been saying goodbye to her for three years. I was ready for her passing. Of course, I mourned her death but it seemed easier to accept. I do miss her very much now and cry on and off, especially at those moments when a Mommy is needed. I have really come to understand the different roles Moms and Dads play in our lives, or at least in a woman’s life. I imagine it might be very different for a man.

I thought my sorrows would end here, and I do wish they had but when faced with the unexpected challenges of cancer and my dad’s illness, I did exactly what my parents and life experience raised me to do, stepped up to the plate as the Determined Storyteller.

Never in my wildest imagination did I expect to get cancer or lose my "big guy", my best birthday present, my dad. Still mourning for Merlin and Mom, I faced the greatest sorrow of my life, at least since losing my sister Pam at age five. When dad died I thought my world would end, and in many ways it did. It made me the oldest in the immediate family and placed me in the awkward position of being in charge of settling Dad’s affairs. I became the outcast and the outsider, and my heart felt like a stone.

After the long sleep, a Transformation:

About halfway through treatment, I was feeling pretty beaten down by everything that has happened to me. I lived in a kind of fog. It is hard to describe but it was like going through the motions hour by hour, day by day, looking for joy but just getting along. I was fortunate to have many wonderful friends who supported me and Thomas who was there all the time. They broke through the fog often, sending light and love to that shadow land, but still I felt like I was living a half life. Then one day it happened, Creator sent an angel by way of a fellow radiation patient named D (to protect her identity).

I wrote a blog about my angel and everyone has wondered what she said. Now I will tell you. It may seem trite and insignificant to you but at that moment of my need, it was huge. It was like a brilliant beacon in the darkness that burned away the fog, because I was feeling like a worthless being. I had given up important healing work because I myself needed healing. I had been called names and was starting to believe them because I was too weak to fight anymore. It is so hard to explain the pain I felt at that time.

One day D came around a corner and out of the blue, having never really spoken to me, looked into my face and said "There is a glow around you. You are such an amazing person.

She herself had been very ill for the first few days of her treatment which is why we really hadn’t spoken. When she said those words to me it was like a veil was lifted and I felt that light on my face. I acknowledged the power of this, of being kind to others never knowing when they may need it most. We spoke about this the following day and she told me how I made her feel wonderful too. We hugged and held hands.

So without knowing it, we had helped each other. Her illness lifted and I have never again felt that fog. The DS was shown her future in the Healing Pool. She would emerge in the White Robes of Transformation.

Journey’s End.

We, the DS and I, emerged from the Cavern of Lightening on June 23, 2010. There was an earthquake 250 miles north in Quebec just as I entered for the final treatment. I never felt the shaking but when I called home to tell Thomas I had finished he answered the phone.

"Wild Ride huh?"
"What?"
"We’re not talking about the same thing are we."
"No I was calling to say I just finished my last treatment."
"Congratulations! We just had an earthquake."

What a coincidence that is! And later I discovered that today, June 24, my ReBirthday is also the Nativity of Saint John the Baptist. I believe these are more than just accidents or coincidences, I believe they are Signo de Deo (signs from God) just as Big Fish leaving for his Big Journey was a sign.

Aftermath:

The hero finishes the journey and rebuilding takes place. Armies return to their homes where they find they too must rebuild. Weapons and armor are cleaned and laid to rest. Wounds are tended. Families reunited. But the Hero is changed. While others experience the joys of reunion, there is a melancholy surrounding the hero. She must come to understand this feeling of change, must learn to accept it and figure out its meaning in order to become whole again.

After the celebrations are over, after the feast is ended, the hero will retreat to a place where she can recognize herself again. The DS has spent so much time in the shadow lands, she is not certain what to do with the light.

She will continue to fight for right and against the dust bunnies of the world, but in what capacity? What will her life be now that the largest battle of a lifetime is finished?

The Determined Storyteller will have the courage to face other monsters but she wonders for the time being if she will just go through the motions of living or really take on life with passion once again.

I am sure the reader knows the answer already, but for now the DS, emerging from the cave in the White Robes of Transformation, has the glow of ecstasy in her eyes and has not yet come to an understanding of the path that waits before her. Yet, I have faith based on previous experience that she will find her way and follow it and that the path will take her to some place where the table has already been set. She will eat and she will grow, and she will be what all of her life has brought her to be, The Determined Storyteller.

Acknowledgments:

I wish to thank the friends who have traveled this journey with me and who have given their support, light, and prayers along the way. I hope you realize after reading this Postscript to the story, how much you really have meant and how much of it you wrote for me. And to Thomas, there is little I can say about your strength and love except that you are my shield, my armor, and my life’s blood. Thank you. And thank God.

Trying to Understand How People Become Disappointed

I have been working with At-Risk Youth since 1994 and the following is also a prt of that work and the book I am writing about mentoring at-risk youth through story.

In my work with at-risk youth, I have developed four principals for successful negotiation. They are Judgement, Expectation, Trust/Respect, and Presentation. These are the things we take to the table when trying to reason with others and also when trying to understand our relationships with them.

Expectation: What do we hope for ourselves, the other person, and the relationship?

I think it is safe to say that most of us hope not be hurt in any relationship and that the relationship will be long-lasting or at least successful. But what we hope for in the other person is really the tipping point. We do seek others with common interests, viewpoints and even the same ethics, but what do we do when we have not chosen the relationship, such as in a family? The other person may have been raised with similar beliefs and traditions, but it may be that over time they have developed their own ideas and customs, even gone far astray of what was traditionally taught in the family. In this case, do we throw the "baby out with the bath water?" How do we cope within these more complex relationships? What happens when we discover after many years of being in a relationship, the other person has changed for better or for worse? It’s a difficult question.

So where to begin. Well, it may be simpler than you realize. Begin with safety first. Are you safe, physically, mentally, emotionally, and even economically? If yes, then the next step is to begin with you. Begin with how you think, not how the other person acts. In other words change what you can control.

The first thing we need to do when we are learning to dance with another person is learn the dance steps for ourselves. Make sense? Getting along in a relationship is like dancing. You learn the steps and then sometimes you move together, sometimes you dance the same steps and sometimes you move apart, yet the movement make up a beautiful full and complete whole. Would you expect anything else from dancing? So why expect anything else of your relationship.

Allow your dance partner the space they need to be who they are. Don’t expect anything else of them and you won’t be disappointed. The exception is when dealing with someone who just doesn’t try to keep up or move with you. In this case it may be necessary to stand off and watch them dance from a distance until they move toward you, leave the dance floor, or just get another dance partner. But in most cases, if you approach a safe relationship without expectation, your partner will approach you in that way too.

This doesn’t mean you won’t find sadness in those times you drift apart. You will because you are a caring loving individual. But you will also find great joy in those times you come together, if you make up your mind that you will be joyful and focus on those positive moments. Attitude makes a big difference.

*Note. Expectation in this context does not mean the same as standards. We should set high standards for our success and that of our children. This acts as motivation and does not have anything to do with our acceptance of their failures. People fail. People learn. People can improve, but the definition of improvement is what we are talking about when we discuss expectation in this article. Does improvement mean that another person is only acceptable or successful to us if they do as we do, do things the way we would, think like us? We need to weigh the value of our lives with or without others in terms of what we are willing to have or sacrifice for that relationship.

More on Judgement, Trust/Respect and Presentation in the next posts.

Balance by Spencer Pope

My great grandfather, Spencer Pope, was an entrepreneur in New Berlin, New York and wrote poetry and prose for the New Berlin Gazette. I have the full collection of his writings and opened to find the following titled "Balance."

Balance by Spencer Pope, May 25, 1933

The Sun was made and sheds its heat and light upon the earth;
But its continued intense radiance will sere and blast
the very life its power gives, and so the clouds are hung underneath
to veil the earth and protection give to life.

We are given pleasures and joys in our short human lives,
Which like the Sun can sere and stunt us from ambition’s aims
And so the clouds of grief and pain are interposed with them
To bring us back to stern realities and more sane thoughts.

The raven’s song is dismal croak, the meadow lark’s a song of joy
Continued, either one can pall, yet both have place on earth.
There’s things that crawl and things that fly, but if all crawled or flew
Congestion would obtain and rational balance be gone.

God’s balance is not upon one single thing, but as a whole
It’s not ordained that one should know or do all things in life
But what is given us to do, we should strive to do well;
That there be some to learn and some to teach, is in God’s plan.

And those that now can teach are those who one time had to learn.

My Soul's Home

The Catskill area is where my family is rooted. My great great great great great grandparents settled there from my mother, father, and biological father's families. These roots are very deep and many family members still live there or are buried in the region. Every time I work there, it is like going home, comfortable, soothing, real. I get to return there to work June 12 and 14.
June 12: Oneonta Storytelling Festival featuring Laura Simms, Marni Gillard, Lorna Czarnota, and Susan Trump.
http://thedailystar.com/communitynews/x433575145/Area-storytellers-sought-for-festival/print

My recently deceased mom and dad met at the Oneonta Hotel. The story goes that Mom was giving out kisses and my dad bought one for a dollar. I don’t doubt that at all since Dad used to carry a pocket full of nickels as a young man and bet the girls a nickel he could kiss them without touching them. I suppose the dollar had to do with inflation, and I am sure my mother was worth much more than that.

The hotel later became a bank and I don’t know what it is now, perhaps vacant. The first time I told stories with the Oneonta storytellers, I recall visiting what had been the hotel and touching the exterior wall just to be able to say I had been there, in that place where my parents met.

Mom and Dad's first photo together.

After meeting the Oneonta tellers for the first time, I realized what wonderful people they were and was invited to return many many times to not only tell with them, but teach them about storytelling. They became my family. As with many things in my life this year, I think this is their farewell festival, not enough young tellers to carry on the tradition and the work of running and organizing a guild.

It maybe no real coincidence that I will return there now that my parents are gone, a sad and fitting end of their journey, and the happy ending for the Oneonta Storytelling Center too.

I will also present Wild and Wooly Tales on the morning of June 14 at Downsville Central School and my dear friend and storytelling partner Merri Lee will join me in the afternoon to present "Letters Home, Stories of the North and South" at Unadilla Elementary School in the afternoon.

The following is a little history of my roots which spread across the region from Oneonta (where my mom, myself and my deceased younger sister lived for a while when I was just a toddler) to Delhi, Walton, Morris, Unadilla, Laurens, and New Berlin.

Cobb/VerValin my mother’s side of the family: Mom was born in Unadilla and may even have attended the school where Merri and I will visit on the 14th. My grandmother’s family VerValin has a small cemetery on a back road in Unadilla. I found it mentioned in the archives at the Cooperstown Historical Library and visited it a few years ago. The small cemetery is located in a farmer’s field and is surrounded by an old wrought fence with the name VerValin on the gate. There were four stones there but trees had grown up through everything and it was sadly in need of work and may not survive. There is no telling what condition it is in now. The farmer kept a path mown to it but that was years ago.

MacDonald/Beers : my dad’s side of the family hails from Delhi, Walton, and Beerston. Yes, the town is named after them. Pretty cool huh? Personally, I know little about the Beers. I think my dad’s mother was a school teacher.

I know more about the MacDonalds. They arrived in the early 1800s at Fayetteville, North Carolina from Dunbarton Scotland. They moved north and settled in the Delhi, NY region where years later, my dad was born. I’ve never had the chance to work in his old school or in Walton either, but spent much of my childhood there at memorable family reunions, clambakes, and Christmas’. My deceased sister is buried in the Walton cemetery with my dad’s mother and father. Her name was Pamela Irene and she died at age 3 when I was just 5 years old.

There is one Beers uncle, Neil, who fought in the American Civil War.

Southern/Pope my biological father’s family: The Southern’s settled in the areas of Morris and Laurens and became farmers. I forget which great it was but it was at least four generations ago that one of my grandfathers brought the first long haired, bred sheep from Sheffield England to Otsego County. I know we have Sheffield roots but have not been able to trace them to England.
The Popes settled in the area around New Berlin, NY. I know nothing beyond my great grandparents history but that is very rich.

My great grandfather Spencer Pope was an entrepreneur in New Berlin. At one time he opened the first bicycle shop and later ran a grocery. His wife, my great grandmother, Hattie was a milliner and had a shop on the main street. I don’t know where Hattie is buried but Spencer is in the New Berlin cemetery. His grave is shown on a cemetery map but there is no headstone. I may remedy that as Spencer was a writer. He wrote poems and stories for the New Berlin Gazette for years. I have a bound notebook of all his writings that a local farmer had gathered and published. Their only daughter, my middle namesake, Theral became a dressmaker.

One great grandfathers and an uncle who fought in the American Civil War are buried in the Morris Cemetery, at least that is the war I recall. I know there was a grandfather who fought in that war as I have a photocopy of his letter to his wife from the hospital where he recuperated from a wound. Theral is buried in that cemetery also. I never found her grave.

So you see, my history is full of people who influenced me, though I never knew most of them. There were poets and storytellers, teachers and entrepreneurs, shepherds, a milliner and a dressmaker, all things I have done or aspired to do in my life. And the Catskills really are home to my soul.

I used to work there often but not in the past two years. I am so excited to be going home once more. I will have Sunday between programs to try to find the old cemetery in Unadilla again and to visit my sister’s grave and tell her of her parents’ recent passing, although I am sure she is with them now.

There are cousins scattered everywhere in the area and I have not maintained contact with them. One aunt and uncle still live in Walton. Many others have moved to warmer climates, including four half-sisters and two half-brothers. Many others have passed.

But their memories and stories linger. They cling to walls of old hotels, stone walls separating farmer’s fields, and brooks that wind from one side of the road to the other. They live on in the smell of oiled dirt roads, and old wooden general stores, and in this storytellers dreams and words. For you see the very first story I recall telling, was told when I was 10 years old, sitting on the porch with my cousins at their home in Andes, NY, while looking at the foothills of the Catskill Mountains.

As long as I draw breath, I will keep them alive.

Taking Them Home.

Today Thomas took Mom and Dad’s clothing and shoes to St. John’s Church Home for the elderly. I knew my parents would be happy that we donated these clothes but I never expected the reaction we would get. Thomas says he wishes I could have been there but he’s been hanging around with me long enough to have learned to tell a good story. His description brought tears and smiles to my face all at the same time. That in itself was quite a strange experience.

"I drove up to the home and two or three workers, men in uniforms, came out to help me. We were taking the boxes out of the van when a little old lady, about the same size as your mother, was standing on the balcony overhead. She saw the clothes and pointed at the shoes.

"Golden slippers! I could use those golden slippers!"

We took the twenty or so boxes into the building. There are about 200 apartments in that building, I think. Then a man came up to the table. He had one or two teeth left. He saw the box of your dad’s shoes and your dad’s slippers were right on top.

"Slippers! Slippers!" he smiled his toothless smile.

One of the managers had to come out and tell the workers not to just let them all take things.

"Spread it around. We have to make sure everybody gets something."

Imagine, crowd control over your parents’ clothes."

Thank you my sweet Thomas. My mom and Dad really smiled at that and you are one of my heroes.

The Compost Bin

The following story is an off-the-cuff creation after posting this picture and being challenged by a dear friend to tell what was taking place. Being a storyteller, what was I to do?

No *%$# there I was, minding my own business pretending to look pretty even without make up when I heard a strange noise. It was like a low growl or more of a moan and it was coming from the compost bin?

Egads, what could that be?

Hiding my unmade face from the neighbors, I rose from the swing by the pond, picked up the pitchfork that sat poised and ready beside my broomstick (oops, you're not supposed to know about that side of me) and slowly cautiously, after tripping over a tree root here and there, made my way to see what it could be.

Scritch, scratch. Scritch, scratch. Someone, something inside the bin began scratching at the plastic. More groans or growls and the lid started to rise.

Cobwebs spilled from the compost and a hideous nauseating odor assailed my nostrils. I turned my head just a moment, reeling from the stench that made me gag.

All at once the lid exploded from atop the compost bin, missing my head by a fragment of an inch and landing some fifteen feet away. One large black hair-covered foot twisted like a writhing snake and placed itself on the edge of the open bin, and then another and another and another (you can stop me anytime) and another and another and another and, well you get the idea.

Strong black legs pushed against the bin raising a huge body above them and many many eyes stared at me, red and horrible. I do not like big black spiders with hairy legs, but what was I to do, Thomas was not home and I knew there was no time to run, screaming would only cause the creature to attack. I stood motionless, trying not to blink. I would stare it down.

The pitchfork shook in my hand and the stench still oozed from the bin, and then I saw movement just beyond that great body, a lot of movement and as many tinier spiders scurried out from beneath their mother. She had young and I was lunch...stay tuned.

Healing Tales and Healing Touch

The following is a repost of an article from my Facebook page, so it it looks familiar to some, that is why.

I am thinking about stories where spells are cast that take away the will power of an individual. Often these spells steal a person’s ability to think independently or put them into a sleep so deep that only a healing touch from a specific source can wake them. Sometimes the "victim" is transformed into something those closest to them do not recognize. But there is always a key to unlock that spell, a way it can be broken, promise and hope for change.

While the "savior" usually comes in the guise of a hero or a lover, these too are only symbolic. The hero may be the other side of self, the victim’s inner hero. The lover may not necessarily be the opposite sex or romantic in any way, but representative of love in general. That love may be from someone outside self or it may be ones love for self. We must all learn to love ourselves, this is not selfish. It allows us to love others. And the saving grace is unconditional love. This hero or lover looks beyond the impossible, beyond the hideous, beyond fear and it does not matter if their healing works, they only know that they care enough to try, often overcoming huge obstacles to do so, and placing themselves in great danger, not only physical but also emotional. They risk connections, take a chance on love, trust.

The healing touch is often a kiss upon the lips, but this may not have been the story’s original form. This may be romantic but there are other forms of touch that might work equally well in the story. On the other hand, this kiss upon the lips may not be romantic at all, but rather like the "breath of God." That most powerful breath that can heal anything including sleep resembling death or death itself. It is the breath of life, very much like mouth to mouth resuscitation.

Science tells us that touch releases chemicals into the system. These chemicals tell us if the touch is pleasure or pain. Perhaps this is why a gentle touch upon the shoulder, a soft kiss, an embrace are such powerful images in story. And it may be that they not only heal the characters and break the spells but they release for the listener those same chemicals that speak volumes of truth about the value of love and caring, about compassion and courage.

So when people tell you that spells cannot be cast, that magic isn’t real or that miracles are just hallucinations, tell them a story and that is like telling the truth. Awaken a sleeping someone, transform an ogre, release a troubled mind, not only with a tale but with the touch of love.

Aftermath, Finale: An Epic Hero's Journey: The Determined Storyteller in the Battle against the Cave Monster

The Determined Storyteller (aka me) are still undergoing cancer treatments as I write this, but our transformation came earlier than expected. Here is the story of today's remarkable miracle, the only thing I know to call it.

The sweetest kiss I can think of is a gentle kiss on the forehead.

With everything that has happened to me, from losing my old dog in September to my parents in December and March, being diagnosed with breast cancer and cruelly treated by my family, I lost my sense of self. I knew myself very well before, but since all of this began I have had no idea of who I am and what I am supposed to do.

Each thing that has happened has been like one more piece of me being stripped away until I was naked and raw. It was painful but I knew a transformation would come, I knew that but I expected it to take years. Yet a few simple kind words from a fellow patient at the hospital today changed everything.

I won’t share what she said because that would seem like bragging, rather I want to express what her words meant to me.

All the hurt and pain was washed away when she spoke. It was as if God kissed the forehead of my soul. Thanks to her, I have found my way back home to me.

I’m still not sure what I am supposed to do with all of this, except that I am changed and I am whole again even though I still have a long road to travel.

As with Gandalf in the Lord of the Rings, I am now clothed in metaphorical robes of white light. And ready to look at who I have become.

Thank you my dear friend, whose name I don’t even know. You did so much for me today and I wish you blessings in great abundance for it.

They say we should be kind to strangers for we never know when we might be in the presence of angels. You are an angel and I thank God for sending you to me.

Transformation

A little longer to travel through this journey that began in January. The Determined Storyteller and I are in the final phases of our transformation and uncertain who we have become or what will become of us.

The only way to find out is to step back from self, to view the soul at a distance, and let go of ego while remaining grounded. It takes fearlessness, patience, trust, hope, and belief to do this.

Fearlessness: to face the true self.

Patience: to know that all is not revealed at once but slowly over time.

Trust: that a higher power is guiding you and you will not falter.

Hope: that what you will be is better and stronger that what you once were.

Belief: that this is where you were meant to come and be. It began the day you were born and now you have arrived.

And most important, you are not meant to stay in this place either, there is yet another journey you will take. Do not become so attached to this new self, this new ego, for someday it too will slough away and another self will emerge. Our souls are in a constant cycle of birth and death until the time they are released to travel home again.

My piece of Bayeux Tapestry

Some of you asked to see my piece of Bayeux Tapestry. Sorry this took so long and sorry it is so wrinkled right now. This is a hand drawn and embroidered copy of one portion of the tapestry. I've been working on it for over ten years but only because I don't have time to do it everyday. It is actually more like 100 plus hours. You can see I am still working on two figures.

The real tapestry was done on linen with wool thread. Mine is all cotton because that is what I had when I started as a demonstration for some children whose eyes glazed over when I mentioned embroidery. This section should have a border which I did not use and because it is hand drawn the proportions are off. The colors and stitch are as close as I could get using a picture from a book.

I doubt that many of today's children know how to embroider. I began when I was a little girl as my mother embroidered. I do know that many children knit these days, something I regretfully did not take time to learn from Mom.

One Last Joke on Me: Thanks Dad

If you've read my posts, you know my dad passed away March 13, 2010. We miss him a lot but he will always be with us, in our personalities, in our behaviors and in our stories. Dad was a huge fan a good joke, told many of his own and loved to play tricks on people, including his own children.

We gave one good final joke to dad just after he passed. My sister and I, and her husband were still gathered at the foot of his bed. Dad was gone and we had cried. Now we waited for a minister to come and pray with us. We needed it. The only religious person that could be found happened to be a Catholic priest, an Indian Catholic priest whose thick accent and rapid delivery made it even harder for us Lutherans to understand what he was saying. And he gave Dad last rights. After he left we laughed so hard, it almost seemed a sacrilege. But we knew Dad was laughing with us. It seemed fitting to laugh just once more with Dad. But that wasn't to be the last time he made me chuckle. That came in a motel room in Florida.

As executor, I traveled to Florida to visit my folks' place there. I cleaned out several bags of trash, carefully searching every nook and cranny for anything of either sentimental value to my family or monetary value to Dad's estate. And then I found it, the unexpected treasure, something I couldn't believe Dad had forgotten. In the middle dresser drawer, under a pile of Christmas decorations, I found a One Thousand Dollar Bill!!!! Man, I've never seen one of those before, how cool!

It was old and taped together. Dad liked to collect coins and money so I thought maybe this is a rare $1000 or maybe his emergency stash and he forgot it was there. Then I also saw a $20. Picking up the twenty and unfolding it, I discovered it was a coupon from a bank, not money at all. That made me suspicious of the $1000. Maybe it was some of Dad's joke money, but I had to be sure. I would take it to the bank.

I drove back to my motel a few hours later, very aware that I had what could be a lot of money in my purse. I immediately sent an email to my sister so she would have an accounting of what I had found, then I excitedly phoned Thomas. If anyone knew what a thousand dollars looked like, I figured it would be him, but no he had never seen one either.

Some time passed when my motel room phone rang. It was Thomas saying he had gone online and looked up one thousand dollar bills. He asked me who was on the front. I told him. He was silent. Hmmm, apparently that is not the correct president. I read the bill more closely and started to laugh out loud into the phone. "OH my goodness! Oh my goodness!" was about all I could say. Then I found my voice. "Thank you Daddy! Thank you." My dad had played one last joke on me and I am so grateful for that moment. I will never forget it.

The joke? Take a close look at this bill and see why I laughed. Daddy, I am really going to miss you but I also know you are always very close by.




Not the United States of America but the Untied States of Anemia. Signed by A. Phoneybill and U. Cantcashit. LOL!

Aftermath, Part V: An Epic Hero's Journey: The Determined Storyteller in the Battle against the Cave Monster

"And the Determined Storyteller, knowing she would soon enter the chamber of lightening, cast forth an orb of light given her by the legends, and low the light covered her. A vision came to the DS and she knew she would emerge in the white garb of those who have been transformed. It would be only a little while before this would be reality."

We are nearing the end of this story my friends. The Determined Storyteller has made the leap of faith, fought and lost the battle to save her father, survived the battle against the monster that called itself Cancer (although the health system does not consider the battle over until the monster is vanquished for ten years). She will receive radiation treatments for six weeks and will go on with her life, I am sure to be called upon again for the strength and courage she has in apparent abundance.

When all of this began on January 29, 2010, neither the writer of this tale or the character of the DS, knew if she would find what was needed to move through and beyond this ordeal. It has been the journey of a lifetime and it is hoped the last of its kind.

This journey has followed the Hero's Journey format of reluctance and self-doubt on the part of the unwilling hero, the introduction of a problem and a villain, acceptance of the task along with finding the mentor and magic tools required to survive. The hero has met with set-backs and has been side-tracked on more than one occasion. When the hero emerges from this kind of experience the hero can not help but be changed in very real ways, but it can take years to fully realize and understand those changes. Unlike some hero's journey stories, the DS did not need to travel alone. She was well attended by a legend of friends and angels who cheered her on and lent their constant support and love. So in a very real way, this journey has been the journey of many. This is why I began writing about this experience.

I hope that you have found hope in this and that if ever you should face what seems an insurmountable task, this tale of this journey will give you the hope and courage you need to do what must be done. Watch in the weeks ahead for one last post to complete this tale.

Mapping for Radiation Therapy

Getting mapped was like being kidnapped by space aliens. They put me on a table. Three of four milled about here and there adjusting this and that, writing on my chest, measuring, talking and calling out numbers. They adjusted a video over my face so I could take deep breaths to keep my heart from my chest, the video was my visual cue. Into the cat scan, whirring whirring, voices in the head and two teenie tattoos. Then they brought me back to my planet. Nanoo nanoo.

Aftermath, Part IV: An Epic Hero's Journey: The Determined Storyteller in the Battle against the Cave Monster

The Determined Storyteller met with the Shah of Lightening and Levine of the Fire at Edge the Healer’s request. It has been a long hard journey for our literary heroine, from January 29 when she first leap from the ledge and discovered the dark cave to a time of defending her father against the forces of evil and darkness, to his death and her own great battle against the monster in the cave that called itself "Cancer."

With scores of friends who joined her army and supplied her with armor and weapons, love and support, and armies of angels, she succeeded in slaying the creature and was healed. The Edge warned her that the monster may have sent his seed further into the cave and that she may yet need to endure fire and lightening to rid herself of them for good.

Now the DS stands with head bowed, a decision of great weight upon her brow and a road as long before her as that which she has already traveled, just less rough and less dark because of all who have carried her along the way. What choices will she make?

To endure fire, as it turns out, meant for the DS to take that fire into her own body and to lose much in doing so with little to gain as a result. Her hair, her blood cells, her memory, all for a 2-3% benefit. To endure the lightening, the DS would lay prone in a chamber for 40 minutes per day for five days per week for six weeks and perhaps she would lose part of her heart to this lightening. The Shah of Lightening assured her that he would protect her heart with all his ability, and the Shah is a mighty warrior himself.

Thus knowing all of this, the Determined Storyteller chose to forgo the fire and will enter the Chamber of Lightening but first the Shah will make a map to show her the way.

When next we meet the Determined Storyteller, she will enter the Chamber of Lightening and grow nearer the end of this long long journey.

April 9, 2010, Burying Mom and Dad

After many days of warm sunny weather, this day had to be cold and breezy, just the kind of weather my parents didn’t like because it went right through them and Dad had difficulty both with breathing in the cold but also with Raynaud. Yet the ceremony was warm just the same.

Thomas and I arrived ahead of the funeral director who brought the urn and the flag. Once they arrived, we followed them up the hill to the Bath National Cemetery in Bath, NY.

The cemetery is situated up the hill behind the Veteran’s Hospital complex. The complex is lovely with many buildings serving a variety of purposes from dorms to crafts and chapels. It is wooded with the treed foothills as a backdrop.

My first thought of the cemetery is that it was peaceful and serene, secluded as it is but that its military uniformity didn’t really match my family. Dad and Mom were nothing like other parents and I really wish we could have placed them somewhere that we could have a unique stone. But Dad was proud of his military service, as he was of the country he served, and so are we. It was fitting that he be buried in the place he wanted since so much of his last few years caring for Mom were out of his control as were the last seven weeks of his life. Perhaps he got that control back in this way.

When our vehicle rounded the bend we were met with the sight of two military personnel, dressed in their dress uniforms standing at attention. When the car carrying the urn passed, they slowly raised their hands in salute. It gave me chills and stirred my emotions.

We parked behind them and waited silently as the soldiers refolded the flag. The rest of our family began to arrive but I really wanted to stay engaged in that peaceful beautiful moment. Thomas gave me his arm and escorted me to one of the six seats facing a table overlooking the cemetery’s main monument and flagpole. It was downhill from where we sat and took a few moments for me to realize, but the honor guard of three soldiers assembled below us at attention.

The urn carrying my parent’s was carried somberly by the color guard to be placed on the table with the American flag before it. Our minster began with an introduction. He backed away and Blam! One rifle sounded. I jumped because it was so sudden. Tears welled in my eyes as I realized my dad was getting a gun salute. Blam! Another and then a third rang out. A three gun salute. By now I was crying so hard I almost couldn’t see the honor guard and then I heard the piercing sound of a trumpet from behind us. It was Taps, one of the most hauntingly beautiful tunes ever written, in my opinion. There is something about Taps that reaches way down inside you, much the same feeling I get from bagpipes which we had at the memorial. I was so touched and so proud of my papa. It was just so beautiful.

Next the color guard took up the flag and in perfect unison they unfolded and refolded the flag once more. A slow precise salute and it was handed off to the female soldier who turn slowly and approached were I sat. She knelt and placed the flag in my lap. "Mam, the country is grateful for your father’s service. We are sorry for your loss." More tears and the brief thought that I hate being called Mam, except for now. Now it was a great honor. I said "My family thanks you."

Aware that my sister sat beside me and not wanting her to feel left out, I took her hand and placed it on top of the flag in my lap and held it as the minister led us through the religious rites.
Following the actual ceremony which took place in a small shelter, we had to wait 30 minutes for the urn to be buried. We returned later, my sister, her husband and son, Thomas and myself. Trying not to step in the mud we placed roses on the grave.

It is still so hard to think of my tiny dear mother and my big strong Daddy as ashes in the ground. But just today I had a sudden revelation, something I have really known all along but needed the reminder, they are still with us not as ashes in the ground but changed into another form. Their bodies are things we can no longer touch and that is part of my sadness. I took to kissing them both on the foreheads in the past year and Dad always gave me great big bear hugs at bedtime when we stayed over. I’ll never have that again, but I will always have his humor and his thoughtfulness and my mom’s generosity and sensitivity. They are nearby, I call on them everyday. They are nearby.

Aftermath, Part III: An Epic Hero's Journey: The Determined Storyteller in the Battle against the Cave Monster

When last we saw the Determined Storyteller, she stood beside the healing pool with the great healer, The Edge. He revealed that she must yet pass a trial before she could be rid of the monster that lurked in the cave. She must traverse fire and lightening, but had a choice of whether the trial by fire was needed - a choice that many never receive, both a curse and a blessing.

Traveling a short distance to the tent of the Shah of Lightening, the DS learned from him what would take place in the cavern of lightening and that she would endure it five days a week for seven weeks. There would be no pain but probable serious risks and discomfort. Next she will visit the Levine of Fire. Always courageous but uncertain of her own strength, the Determined Storyteller entered Levine's hut, her faithful Angel Thomas by her side.

Will the DS endure fire or enter the cavern of lightening? Watch for the next installment of The Determined Storyteller, the Aftermath.

Dad's Crows

Fed the basement fish which will soon be outside again, the pond fish and the birds. Heard some crows cawing and thought of my dad.

He was never much on pets, not the way I am. He had some when he was a boy but they were outside dogs and cats and we had a family dog until I was eighteen when she was hit by a semi truck. She was allowed to roam the neighborhood and even when she slept indoors, and although she barked at my mom when mom sat on Dad’s lap, I never sensed a deep affection for the dog from my dad.

Dad loved wildlife animal shows on TV and in his last months, took up a profound friendship with two crows frequenting his yard. This struck me as odd because he never expressed that much interest in birds as such, that I recall.
He told me all about the crows’ antics and he was amazed by their intelligence. And what really surprised me was that Dad even saved scraps of bread and meat from his table to feed them, which he did every time he saw them.

Crows and ravens, as you may know, are harbingers of death. I guess I just find it ironic that my dad befriended them just before my mom passed and the last time I saw him before his hospital admission he was talking about how much he appreciated them.

Maybe there was a message in that for us. Death is a natural part of life and we can be appreciative of it. It doesn’t lessen the pain of losing our parents but it does remind us of the fact that we are all on a path toward death, so the journey really needs to be special.

The love Mom and Dad had for each other was very special. They almost made their 52nd anniversary. They are together, commingled in the urn now, for all time.

I wonder what the crows might think of that.