Small Town Support

In my book, "To See a Sundog," I begin with the line: "The town of Sawhill, Missouri is like a mobile that gently swings back and forth, and on most days it swings in harmony, but when one side of the mobile tips and bends, the whole town tips and bends with it." Further in the book, I talk about the help everyone gives to each other in small towns especially in times of crisis, i.e. the time one of the town's well know farmers brakes his back, and the rest of the men around Sawhill bring in his crops after their own crops are harvested. (A lot of work!) Saturday night, I had the occasion to experience this kind of small town help and support for a young man from my husband's small town of Colfax, Illinois who has cancer, without insurance, where 200 plus of the town's people came together for a fund-raising effort and raised over $15,000.00. My husband and I attended and saw just about everyone we knew in Colfax, from the youngest to oldest. Food was donated and served; a band played without cost; a bake-sale ensued (I actually baked a cherry pie), 20 donated, filled baskets were auctioned in a silent auction, and there was also a live auction of about 50 items, all donated. Everyone was having a great time, and always surprising to me (a city girl), everyone knew everyone!!! I know that small town America is not for everyone, but the interconnection of lives lived, laughed, succeeded and struggled together is one of the biggest rewards of this way of life. It has been my privilege to be part of it in a small way.

Every year at this time, I cannot help but think of my best friend who is now gone. Over Halloween several years ago, I spent a week with Sara in the hospital as she went through a bone-morrow transplant. Her favorite holiday of the year was Halloween; this is one of the things I loved about her...she loved dressing up, being goofy, and laughing...often at herself. She made me laugh all the time. I love a phrase from John Updike that I lifted from one of his novels which says, "When an exhilarating personality dies, it is the live performance we remember, the unduplicated presence, the shimmer and sparkle, and poignance, perceived from however far back a seat in the audience." This is how I think about Sara, and am grateful that I had a front row seat in her life. I also like the quote by Jeanne Moreau on the death of his best friend, "It would be unbearable if memory didn't exist...I hear your laughter. I see you writing in your office, the smoke from your cigarette forcing you to blink. At will, I can spend hours with you." For me it is hearing Sara playing the piano, or the flute, or laughing. When we were at the hospital together, I wrote a poem about that time, and want to remember it here.

SCARY HALLOWEEN

Her stem cell transplant
Is on Halloween
An event she never expected
On her favorite day of the year

She dresses up anyway
As she does every year
In orange and black
With a mask
Not nearly as scary as the masks
Doctors are wearing
In the hospital

She laughs and jokes
With the nurses
To protect the frightened
Small child inside
And knits a lovely scarf
As her own harvested stem cells
Drip slowly into her veins
To give new life

She refuses to be sick
Until the end of the knitting row
Is finished
And then,
"I have to throw up,
But not until I finish this row," she says

And then she begins
The wrenching, heart-breaking sounds
Of heaving her insides up
And when she is spent
Goes on knitting to get the scarf
Done by Christmas
A scarf for her daughter

And then...
Life goes on
One minute at a time
Whether outside in sunshine
Or inside the gray walls
Of this city hospital
Sitting among
A community of patients
With sad, solemn faces
In the chemo room
Hot and stuffy
Life saving masks over their faces
And the human determination to live
The joy of Halloween
Lost on them

Here, hope is to be well by Thanksgiving
In order to give thanks
And to feel good enough for
Pumpkin Pie
And really....just not to die
Too soon, too early
Too much before their time

This is the second time
For my friend to do this
The last big effort
For life-saving energy
To pour through her veins
And take hold.

She knows what is ahead of her
And the thought makes her weak
With the memory
Of medicines that make you sick
Multi-colored ones
Like Halloween treats
And the energy that will
Drain from her body
Before the new cells begin to grow

This living hell
Even though tempory
Does not feel like temporty
It feels like a lifetime
Of misery
And it is hard to see
"the finished line."

But, she will go on
With the will to live
Second by second
Minute by minute
Hour by hour
Day by day
And week by week
Until it is done

And then
There will be new Halloweens
To celebrate
And to, once again
Dress up in costume
Not ever again
As scary as this Halloween.

Sara had several Halloweens to celebrate before her death, and I am grateful for that.