A Personal Message:
July 2023
Dear Reader,
Our lives can be impacted significantly by the simplest of decisions. At times, we recognize that the choices we are making will have a profound outcome on our lives. Other times, we look back and wonder how an inconsequential choice could become so momentous. Perhaps it’s more about the ways we grow toward, into, and beyond the decisions that we make rather than the decision itself. It all begins, however, with a choice. Not choosing is the same as refusing, and is also a choice.
I made a decision a year ago to enter a writing contest. I was scared. Submitting my writing to be judged was a bit like letting go of the high bar without a safety net to soften the blow if I should fall. I breathed deeply and took the attitude of “now or never”. Well into my fifties, with a lot of life already lived, I knew that I would always regret it if I did not take this next step with my writing.
Receiving recognition for my entries in the 2022 Chautauqua Creative Writing contest gave me the confidence to move forward. (A bit of naivety and beginner’s luck didn’t hurt either.) I will forever be grateful to the Senior Editor at Grit Magazine for recognizing what I had to offer them and giving me a chance. I went in blind and have learned so much in the last year about pitching stories, editing, and writing in a voice that is less formal.
I have felt the pain of rejection from other publishers regarding pieces I have written in different genres, and I have learned to wait and trust the process, understanding that no writer is perfect and each rejection is a chance to grow.
When the Chautauqua writing competition was once again advertised, it meant that it was an anniversary of sorts for me. One year. It had been one year since I had the courage to step outside my comfort zone and push my boundaries! What a difference that year has made in my writing life!
I did not place in the essay or fiction category for the 2023 contest. I did, however, win First Place for my original poetry which was a new venture for me. I searched for a topic that would lend itself to deep emotion and then I let those emotions dictate my words. (Is it not within this base of human emotion that we all connect?)
The poem, “Seasonal Depression”, was written as I put into words my innermost struggles with a condition that is compounded by the darkness of winter. My hope is that those who also suffer from this debilitating condition will feel less isolated upon reading my poem.
The personal essay submitted to the contest and shared here did not win an award but is the product of a heart filled with love and grief. It is a tribute to my grandmother.
If I can leave you with a final thought, just let me take a moment to encourage you to follow your dreams no matter how insignificant they may seem to others. No matter what your age, no matter your level of experience, or the obstacles that stand in the way, don’t be afraid to follow your dreams. Dreams may mold and shape themselves to fit our most recent circumstances or they may remain rigid and unmoving waiting for us to change instead. Wrapping our desires in a cloak of genuine contentment for each step of the journey means success will always be ours.
Today, tomorrow, and always I hope that you see yourself as a winner.
Love Always,
Tammy
Poetry Feature
Seasonal Depression: A Disparity
Winter
Below the weight
of an avalanche,
I suffocate
in stillness.
Beneath the surface
of a plastered smile
I scream
in silence.
Under the judgment
of others
I grapple
with the pieces.
Summer
Within a particle
of dust
I dance
on rays of sunlight.
With birds
of song
I warble
in confidence.
With flowers,
from dirt
I rise
to life renewed.
Disparity
Under the burden
of seasonal depression
I wrestle
with disparity.
Within this struggle
of emotions,
I choose a path
of silence.
Through living hell
of winter
I live
for summer.
With broadened views
of glorious promise
I walk
In hope.
(Chautauqua Creative Writing Judge’s Remarks: This poem with a melancholy title works toward the possibility of hope without romanticizing or oversimplifying the journey. Through a maze of conflicting emotions such as suffocation and confidence, the poem considers “a path of silence,” while at the same time dramatizing the climb out of silence. The author uses a controlled form of short-line quatrains, each beginning with a preposition, moving from “below” and “beneath” to “with” and “within.” Winter will come again. But so will spring. With precise, direct language, the poet offers useful advice for confronting depression “With broadened views.” Look up out of self to sunlight and birdsong.)
PERSONAL ESSAY FEATURE
Walk This Way
I sat motionless on a metal chair with sweat dripping down my back and tears squeezing from the corners of my eyes. The day was unusually hot for the middle of September. My gaze was unwavering as I focused on the disturbed soil marking the place where earlier my husband and I had dug a hole and buried the ashes of my 18-year-old son. The private graveside service was completed, and everyone had walked away, but I couldn’t move. Getting up out of that chair and walking away would cement the events of the last few days. There would be no waking up and finding that it had all been a nightmare. Getting up meant this was my reality and I couldn’t find in myself the strength or courage to face it. That’s when my grandmother, watching over me from the sidelines, made her way back to my chair. Touching my shoulder, she said simply, “It’s time to go.” Her voice was gentle but authoritative. Without any further hesitation, I rose from my chair and followed her.
When I was only seven years old, she lost a child, an only child, my mother. I understand now how much her heart must have broken and how the early days of her grief must have seemed unbearable. I am sure that some days she must have wanted to bury herself in the dark earth and die with her child, just as I desired to die when my son passed away. However, if she felt that way, she never presented those desperate feelings to my little brother and me. Instead, she picked herself up and took over the task of raising the two of us until my dad remarried. I wonder now how many nights after we were finally asleep, she fell into bed exhausted and wept?
She took my hand when I was too young to remember, and we walked both the easy paths and the hard ones together. She allowed me to rest but never to quit. As I grew into an adult, a parent and later a grandmother myself, she continued to encourage me. She celebrated my individuality. She was proud of me, and I wore that pride like a crown. I didn’t always deserve it, but her belief in me made me a better person.
Long after she should have been sitting on the sidelines, she held on, living life fully, until first her mind grew weary from Alzheimer's, and then her body succumbed to complications from Covid. She had been a grandmother for over fifty years. As my brother and I sat at her bedside during her final days, we told her that she had brilliantly, lovingly, and bravely walked life’s path and had expertly shown us the way. We said that we would be just fine because of all that she had taught us. Inside my mind, however, I wanted to scream. I wasn’t sure how I could ever live the rest of my life without this woman to guide me. I couldn’t envision a future without her in it.
With the passage of time, I have learned what I didn’t understand in those days immediately following her death which is that I won’t ever have to learn to live my life without her. She comes to me still, not in visions or ghostly apparitions, but in spirit. I have her stories in my head, her songs on my tongue, her faith in my heart, her determination in my spirit, her favorite books on my shelf, her pink coat hanging on my closet door, her reminders written on a notepad, her recipes in my kitchen drawer, and many of the habits she taught me are present in my daily life. Her love for me saturates every part of my being. I can see her reflection in my brother, my daughter, my own grandchildren, and in the many lives she touched. On the days when I am feeling stuck, unable to move from my chair, staring into the sadness of my reality, I can still feel her hand on my shoulder.
She repeats “It’s time to go” and I follow her because she has already shown me the way.
Notes:
Look for my most recent article in the July/August issue of Grit Magazine entitled “Bulls on the Farmstead”. You can find it on page 70.
Looking ahead, you can see additional contributions to Grit in the January/February, March/April, May/June, and September/October issues! Grit can be ordered by subscription or individual copies may be purchased from the publisher.
Motivational Quote:
“Your dream has to be bigger than your fear.” ~ Steve Harvey