my christmas past

Posted on December 14, 2011 by heidi

Tinsel, wreaths, and garlands with red berries began to appear on doorways and walls. Themed trees representing the wards of the hospital decorated the lobbies and cafeteria. Little red fire trucks hung from the burns and plastics tree. There was a spring to people’s steps. Happy complaints of how there was never enough time were heard in the hallways. Christmas was near and people were excited.

I had been in the burn unit for nearly seven months and I hadn’t been home yet. I hadn’t been stable enough. There was talk of sending me home, back to Abbotsford, for Christmas.

Christmas Eve morning arrived and snow had fallen hard in the Lower Mainland. We can have entire winters where we might just get a dusting of snow before the rain washes it away. Snow tends to stay on the mountains where it belongs. But every other winter or so snow covers the mainland and we’ve never been very equipped for snow. We understand rain coming down so hard our windshield wipers can’t keep up, but snow dumbfounds us.

Morphine was measured and poured, a bed ordered for the basement of my parents’ home, where I’d be sleeping. Everything was being looked after in preparation for my return home, but somebody still needed to drive me there, now that a snowstorm had hit. The drive from Vancouver to Abbotsford was about an hour long.

Calls were made. Who could help? The staff had gone through so much to get me home. They were going to call until someone said yes.

A firefighter named Peter Hansen stepped up and promised to take me.

My memory of the journey was jerky, snapshots I could barely hang onto.

Many hands sliding me into the cab of the truck where somebody had the foresight to make me a bed.

Goodbyes and wishes of a Merry Christmas shouted.

Blankets pulled up to my chin. My heart racing with hope and impatience.

White swollen sky rolled by me as I lay in my makeshift bed. Snowflakes landed on the window, a blanket of stars.

I was going home.

Read about more of my story here.

Swept up

Remember radio? I’m going to be on it tomorrow! For the Angel Campaign at VGH. Listen for it on Thursday. I’ll be on at 7:40am on CBC Radio with Rick Cluff and share a little of my Christmas story past as written here and talk about the amazing VGH Burn Unit.

Posted in inspirational, my story | 11 Comments

believe

Posted on December 5, 2011 by heidi

I could use a little magic this year. A little ta-da! in my life. And in December it seems possible. As I drive past decorated streets and houses welcoming Christmas, I want to believe.

My family and I attend Bright Nights every year to kick off the holiday season. We ride the miniature train and revel in thousands of lights strung together, the displays of Santa and his reindeer, Cindy Lou Who and the Grinch, baby Jesus in a manger, and the conductor from the Polar Express on stilts! Dancing on stilts, by the way.

Bright Nights never disappoints. After the train ride we buy popcorn, walk through lit pathways, pose the kids in front of multiple displays and coax them to smile. “Smile bigger. Wow, that’s a lot of teeth. Okay, that’s creepy. Just smile normal.” If we’re lucky we’ll see a large flash of red in the crowd. Santa’s parked his sleigh and he’s bombarded with children and their parents clamoring for his attention. “Look up!” Scott points at the trees and the kids gasp at red, white, green and blue reaching and twinkling against night sky.

While it’s packed with people and bright with lights it is a sanctuary, a place in the park for our community carved out by firefighters, many volunteers, and donations made by visitors. A place where everything stops for a while so we can get swept up in the season, appreciate the good in our lives, not pay for parking (in the city this is very exciting) and be merry. Bright Nights is an event that’s been close to my heart for 12 years.

On our way out before we stop at the donation box, before we say goodbye to the firefighters handing out candy canes as they wish us “Merry Christmas!” we notice a new display. It’s the train from the Polar Express chugging along the tracks and just above it on the roof of the train station is the word Believe.

Ah, magic.

Swept up in Bright Nights at Stanley Park, Vancouver.

I tweeted this pic of Annie and Ben last night.

Posted in annie and ben, family | 7 Comments

limited

Posted on November 29, 2011 by heidi

I’m limited.

I mean, obviously. If you know me, or read this blog and follow my story you know all about my limitations. I get that I’m an amputee, but does it have to get in my way?

I can buy groceries, shop for Christmas, jostle for a place in the long line at Starbucks, revise that damn book, drive my kids to their activities and I might be cranky by dinner but I’ll have accomplished so much. I think I can do this. I have done it, but I’ll pay.

If I keep pace with my mind I’ll do it all, but my body can’t keep up. My legs defy me and my skin breaks down or that crazy-assed phantom pain makes an appearance. I am one of the lucky few amputees out there that rarely deal with phantom pain, however, if the trigger is pulled my ghost feet begin to hurt like someone has skewered my legs. (Paints a lovely picture doesn’t it?)

I’ve accepted I’m an amputee – it’s just that I forget. And then I’m surprised when I’m restricted, when my body protests, especially when I’ve spent so much time overcoming. I’ve proven to everyone, but mostly to me, that I can do this. Just watch me.

I don’t like to feel ‘less than’.

I’m not the only one with limits, though. I haven’t met one person who does it all, not with some repercussion. Everyone is limited, restricted, handicapped in some form. It’s good to be aware, to know what we’re capable of, how far we can go, and when it’s time to stop. I don’t need to be a superhero, even a superhero with cool steel legs.

I can do almost anything I want. And I’m a better person for it.

Swept up

in my new boots!
Love, love my Fluevogs

Posted in Uncategorized | 8 Comments

Finding Inspiration: One Woman’s Journey from the Mountains to her Husband’s Bedside

Posted on November 2, 2011 by heidi

I am honored to have Kim Kircher here today. She is an incredible woman with an incredible story – one you have to know. Read this. Tell your friends. And then get her book. You’ll be inspired, I promise.

Our Cocoon

Most of the time we don’t need inspiring stories. We might hear about a car crash victim that survived or a cancer patient that beat the odds, and think to ourselves, “that’s nice.” But we don’t let ourselves go there. It’s easier to stay inside our cocoon of safety, pretending like nothing bad will ever happen to us.

But that’s not how it works.

When I first met my husband, I thought my life was finally getting better. Here was a man who loved the outdoors as much as I did, a man with lofty aspirations and a sense of adventure that rivaled my own. I work as a ski patroller at Crystal Mountain in the winter. It isn’t a high-paying job, but the view from my “office” is amazing. The year I met John, I was living in the back of my pickup truck, transitioning from my summer job leading kids in the backcountry to my winter work in the mountains. John is the owner and General Manager at Crystal, and when we started dating I couldn’t believe my luck.

No Longer a Fairy Tale

A few months before our first wedding anniversary, things changed. John had a rare liver disease and needed a liver transplant. Worse, he’d developed cancer in his bile ducts from the years of inflammation. The doctors could do chemo and radiation, but if the cancer spread outside the bile ducts, the transplant was off and he would die. It didn’t seem fair. John had kids and a new wife; I’d found the man of my dreams and was ready for the Happily Ever After part. I was quickly reminded this was real life, not a fairy tale.

Finding Strength

I found inspiration on the slopes. I had been through tough times before; I could get through this. As a ski patroller and EMT I use explosives to start avalanches and my first aid skills to save lives. I’ve been on scene of tragedies; I’ve narrowly escaped death myself. The trick was to break time down into smaller increments. I learned to get through the ordeal just fifteen minutes at a time.

When John was first diagnosed, and in tremendous pain in the hospital, he was put on a patient administered pain management system, in which he could push a button that delivered medication every fifteen minutes. At times, John claimed, it felt like an elephant was standing on his abdomen, the pain was so intense. During those moments, I helped him get through the next fifteen minutes until he could push the button again.

Once out of the hospital, when we returned to the ski area while he waited for a liver, I returned to my job, finding inspiration in the details. By not looking too far ahead, focusing instead on the task at hand, John and I endured a harrowing year of pancreatitis, a battle with a deadly infection, cancer treatment, and the long wait for a liver transplant.

The Next 15 Minutes

Now I find inspiration everywhere. Every one of us faces hardship; the trick is to learn from it and build your strength for the next battle. In my book, The Next 15 Minutes, I extract strength from the mountains and get through the ordeal by breaking it down into smaller increments.

I met Heidi at a writer’s conference this summer, and I was immediately intrigued by her story. Once you’ve felt death’s cold knock on the door, you are forever changed, and I could see Heidi and I had that in common.

In my case, I stood aside as my husband battled for his life while I searched for inspiration to get us through it. I wish I had met Heidi then; her courage and strength would have come in handy.

Thank you Heidi for having me here today. I’m honored.

In Kim Kircher’s memoir, The Next 15 Minutes: Strength from the top of the Mountain (Behler) her job as a ski patroller teaches her to slow down and deal with her husband’s in smaller increments. She has logged over 600 hours of explosives control, earning not only her avalanche blaster’s card, but also a heli-blaster endorsement, allowing her to fly over the slopes in a helicopter and drop bombs from the open cockpit, while uttering the fabulously thrilling words “bombs away” into the mic.  Her articles have appeared in Women’s Adventure, The Ski Journal and Ski Washington Magazine.  You can find out more about Kim at www.kimkircher.com. Her memoir is available everywhere.

Posted in guest post, inspirational | 4 Comments

for writers

Posted on October 25, 2011 by heidi

I’ve fallen out of love with writing over the last few months. It could be that I’ve been looking at the same story for so long I can’t find the story for the words or the words for the story. I’m near the end now. Again. Another reason is I don’t write enough. I’ve been busy and it’s a good and legitimate excuse, but the longer I’m away from it the harder it is to ‘get back on the horse’ or something like that. It could be that as I’m learning more about the publishing industry writing has become a cartoon devil perched on my shoulder poking me with its sharpened pencil whispering, “This sucksss.” A devil would definitely hiss at the end of that, right? “Just go make another coffee and watch an episode of Parenthood on the PVRrrr.” It must be a German devil. Writing equals pressure and who wants to sit at their computer completely stressed out each time they hit a key? Trust your instincts unless they’re wrong!

I attended the Surrey International Writers Conference this past weekend. It was my second writers’ conference this year, so I came to it prepared this time. I was a newbie at the previous conference and it showed. This time my pitch was polished. Armed with notes and comparables and calm I knew why I was here. To learn, pitch my story and be surrounded with a whack of writers.

From agents to editors to social media experts and authors I heard different versions of how one gets their book/their writing out there. Published authors tell you writing is paramount. Write what you love, write what you know, just write. Agents and editors want a Hollywood hook, sharp writing and a platform.  It’s about the numbers, the marketability of your book – how many followers does your blog have? How many people love you on Twitter and Facebook? And then it got tricky… Generally people didn’t love Facebook. Twitter is where it’s at. Blogs might be on their way out. Your blog doesn’t count unless you’re posting something every 3 days. (This means I’m screwed.) The landscape of traditional publishing is changing fast and self-publishing is the new black or whatever. It’s the best time to be a writer/It’s the worst time to be a writer. This isn’t new. I’ve been reading and hearing these messages since I decided to foray into this world.

There is a wealth of information and opinion out there and it’s a lot to take in and sift through. Not enough to give up, just enough to add pressure, to resurrect that devil on my shoulder.

Don’t get me wrong, it was a fun and inspiring weekend. I had an appointment with an agent who, and I’m paraphrasing here, said, “Platform Shmatform.” What a breath of fresh air. I went to a great and well-organized (nothing tugs at my heartstrings more than organization) workshop on dialogue run by Author Susanna Kearsley and sat in on Robert Dugoni’s workshop on editing which was both entertaining and helpful. I could have listened to Author Anne Perry speak all day. She was the keynote on Saturday morning and immediately afterward I got on my phone and tweeted because, apparently, I have to tweet more, “I felt like her speech was aimed right at me.” Seriously, my heart ached with the richness and beauty of her words.

During one workshop I had an idea for my next book. It’s one I had been toying with a few years ago before I started writing this story. I’ll save that for another post. I had lunches and dinners with fellow writers and heard their ideas, their stories. Oh, and just because the universe has a sense of humor and likes to keep me humble humiliated I spat on an author accidentally while telling him how much I enjoyed his speaking. Let me tell you, it was hella awkward.

Amidst all the words both inspirational and conflicting there was one message that persisted loud and clear from everyone; keep writing. So, for all writers out there on blogs big and small, novels self-published or manuscripts submitted and waiting for that YES we want your book, write. Write.

Posted in in it, writing | 12 Comments

my birthday 13 years ago

Posted on October 18, 2011 by heidi

It was October 17th and my 24th birthday was celebrated with friends, family, nurses and a heap of food. My mom was at the helm organizing, directing and encouraging everyone to eat, eat! It didn’t matter that I was flat on my back in a bed. Wherever a group of people was gathered, a feast must be had. We were never short of food growing up in my house. Seconds were always pushed at dinner. If we were full that was accepted, but not before we were asked if we wanted more. It was no different in the hospital.

“Heidi, what would you like to eat?” my mom asked. She stood by my bed, hands on her hips.

I still found eating hard. I had been fed through a tube for so long that food was something I needed to get used to again.

“You pick, Mom. You know what I like.”

And she was off, launching herself into the next task. My mom was rarely still. All my life she moved – she cleaned, she fed, she looked after. My brothers and I were safe in a love that never stopped.

The crash was especially hard on her. She was at home when it happened; seconds after Betty and I left she heard a bang. The loudest bang I ever heard she had said and didn’t say much else about it. I didn’t press her for more. She was helpless, powerless to do anything to save her daughter or make her well. She was forced to wait at the sidewalk while firefighters lifted me from the ravine and then wait by my bed, her lined hard-working hands restless by her side.

There wasn’t room for anything sad when my mom gathered and assembled everyone to sing Happy Birthday to me. Family and friends, nurses, physiotherapist and occupational therapists – the many faces of the people I loved and had come to know packed into my small room and spilling into the hallway. Over birthday cake they sang to me.

Burning candles weren’t allowed what with all the ready oxygen everywhere, but gifts were brought and laid on the tray table beside me that normally held my water, juice and vomit trays. (Anesthetic didn’t agree with me and after almost every surgery I was vomiting whatever the doctors had pumped in.) The table was cleared and in its place was bright, crisp wrapping paper and bags with Happy Birthday splashed across them filled with colorful tissue. How refreshing to have something pretty near me!

Scott gave me his gift while no one was in the room. Everyone had gone to refill their drinks, get cake and second helpings of food. He placed a small blue velvet box into the palm of my hand.

“For you.”

I tugged at the box and the lid sprang open. Inside was a white-gold ring with a small diamond in the center of it. The ring was dainty and delicate.

I looked at him, surprised. “A ring?”

Scott said, “It looks like you.” He didn’t slip the ring onto my finger. He didn’t touch it. He was sitting cross-legged at the foot of my bed and the ring, still in its box, lay between us in the palm of my hand as he explained.

“It’s a promise ring. It’s my promise to you. To be with you. It’s the promise of us and a future together. And the promise that things will get better.”

I said, “It’s beautiful. Thank you. I didn’t expect this.”

I took it from its box and slipped it onto the ring finger of my right hand. Both of us were clear that it wasn’t an engagement ring. Neither of us was ready for that, yet. On my finger, with me, was a symbol of hope and a reminder that I was loved.

Posted in Scott, my story | 7 Comments

my summer of bugs, books, and risky behavior – part 2

Posted on September 23, 2011 by heidi

You can find Part 1 here.

A large portion of my summer was spent as a single mom or skydiving widow because Scott pursued his dream of becoming a professional skydiver.

When I met Scott I took his ‘hobby’ of throwing himself out of planes coolly. That’s nice. Oh, you fly planes too? Hmmm…good for you.

He was perplexed over my lack of awe. “You’re not impressed easily.” I responded, “Am I supposed to be?”

“Well, c’mon. It’s pretty cool.”

I guess. Hohum.

He was right – I don’t get wowed easily regarding some things, but juicy gossip, an awesome episode of Parks and Rec, or my kids getting a perfect score on their spelling tests has me over-the-moon! I thought he should be content that I accepted his risky behavior with a level head. There’s no logic in willfully leaping into the sky from thousands of feet above the ground. Just because I didn’t hang off his arm and gush about how fabulous he was didn’t mean I didn’t care. I cared – I cared that he landed safely and showed up to our next date.

He’s been doing this a long time. It came with Scott, so I don’t get to be one of those women that declare you are out of your mind! It was part of the deal when I married him. I’d be ripping out his soul if I said no. I’m not exaggerating. This thing courses through his veins. And this summer he was all in. Not only did he want to jump out of planes he wanted to film other people doing it. Be a professional. This takes dedication and time – a lot of time.

Scott and I believe in dreams and the pursuit of them. I have an entire book I could write on the pursuit and failure and phew-we-made-it of dreams. So, for two and a half months I was the supportive wife saying, go ahead. Pursue. I just want to see some money at the end of this.

Some of you might be thinking how cool I am by proxy or how terrified I must be, but before you get too caught up in that let me tell you that Scott already has a full time job and kids. Emphasis on the kids. My primary concern was making sure all of us saw each other and cooking. I can do no-frills pasta and toss a beautiful salad, but cooking is mainly Scott’s domain. The prospect of me taking on almost all meals scared me more than his parachute failing. He didn’t abandon us, but my kids spent a lot of time drawing Scott in the sky with captions that read, My Daddy with a sad face beside the man under the colorful parachute. I kid. There was just a lot of, “Is Daddy skydiving again?” But Scott made it up to me by sending me to a writers’ conference against my will, taking the kids camping for a weekend and giving me the greatest gift of all – the house to myself. I didn’t realize how much I craved silence until I could hear birds chirping and nearly wept when no one came into my room between 6 and 7am.

Scott fulfilled his dream and he has the video footage to prove it. He was happy and that happiness came home, which makes the sacrifices worth it. And now that summer is officially over, sanity has been restored. Almost. September brings its own kind of crazy.

Swept up

In books! I mentioned books in the title. So let me tell you about a few books I read this summer that I think you should read.

Throwing Rocks at Beehives is a great, gripping novel by my friend Scott Radnidge. I was lucky enough to be one of his early readers and I loved this book. I got it in pieces, so I’d be reading it at ballet, the ice rink waiting for my kids, and kept pestering him for more. I wanted to know what would happen to Mia (the protagonist) and would she be okay? A good book is one that keeps me turning the pages. Scott’s book does that. Here’s a bit of an overview from Barnes and Noble where you can buy the ebook. After leaving their home one rainy night in a panic, Jenny and Mia Waters, identical twins, have to start a new life, living in a fourplex on the outskirts of a town they’ve never heard of, surrounded by mysterious characters, their lives unraveling slowly. It was on that miserable autumn evening when Jenny, Mia and their mom came home and found their dad in bed with their neighbor, that the course of their lives changed forever. Plucked from their home, they drove for hours in the rain on an unfamiliar highway. Their mother, inconsolable, did her best to keep the car on the road as they headed for a nameless town. They were starting over… Go. Buy it and enjoy!

I picked up the next 2 books at the PNWA Conference…

I mentioned this memoir a few posts ago. The Next 15 Minutes: Strength from the Top of the Mountain by Kim Kircher. You can find this on the back of the book… The Next 15 Minutes offers a rare glimpse into the strange and fascinating world of a ski area professional, where steep terrain and deep snow teach patrollers how to get through the worst trials just fifteen minutes at a time. Kim seized the EMT training that helped her avoid panic when a fallen skier had to be delicately lifted from a tree to manage the life-and-death situation facing her husband. Kim is a rock star. She bombs snow-covered mountains to control avalanches and faces her husband’s illness straight-on with tenacity and courage. I know very little about skiing or treacherous mountain terrain but I could relate to Kim doing whatever she had to do to get through the worst time of her life. This book is fascinating and inspiring. You can pre-order the book here. And she’s got a blog too.

I heard Janna Cawrse Esarey speak at the PNWA conference (her workshop on narrative arc was awesome) and I read her memoir The Motion of the Ocean: 1 small boat, 2 average lovers, and a Woman’s Search for the Meaning of Wife. It is as charming as it sounds. Here is what Jen Lancaster NYT bestselling author of Bitter is the New Black has to say: “Equipped with nothing but an old boat and a new marriage, Janna Cawrse Esarey recounts her two and a half years at sea with wry humor, keen observations, and descriptions vivid enough to satisfy the most seasoned traveler. The Motion of the Ocean is the quintessential summer read for anyone seeking an adventure in life, love, or self-discovery.” When a book starts out with… Somewhere fifty miles off the coast of Oregon I realize the skipper of this very small ship is an asshole. He also happens to be my husband… you know it’s going to be good. And funny. Janna is a great storyteller. Her writing is sharp and quick and I thoroughly enjoyed this book. You can buy it here.

Posted in Scott, family, writing | 11 Comments

people united

Posted on September 13, 2011 by heidi

At 4:30am on Friday I received an email from Christy bearing sad news, the kind of news that breaks your heart. Anna lost her 12 year old son.

I found Anna from the blog An Inch of Gray through Kate from the Big Piece of Cake. She wrote a guest post and I was hooked, immediately taken in by her humor and down-to-earthness. I liked this Anna and subscribed to her words about her life and family, her love of decorating and spraying furniture with heritage white paint. I laugh at her stories about her family, appreciate her wisdom and relate to her daughter’s independence and her son’s love of Lego and home. My son is obsessed with Lego and a homebody too. She recently posted back-to-school photos of her beautiful kids. They are like so many families, like you and me.

To lose your beloved, a part of yourself, is unimaginable and words are not enough. Yet, this is what we’re offering. It’s what we can do when we want to do so much more and can’t. We’re saying, this isn’t fair. This is tragic and heartbreaking and we are standing with you, praying for you and loving you. We don’t have much but we have this. And we mean it.

After I received Christy’s email I joined in the chorus of people online – and it is a chorus. Of voices pouring out love and prayers, sending comfort and strength. I can’t begin to touch Anna’s loss, to say ‘I know’ or ‘I understand’. But I can, all of us can, love and support her through it.

There is power in people coming together, people united. Let love, comfort and strength stretch, reach and cover Anna and her family.

Posted in Uncategorized | 10 Comments

my summer of bugs, books, and risky behavior – part 1

Posted on September 7, 2011 by heidi

I slide along the bench to get closer to the music, to the chorus of this song. It’s Awake My Soul by Mumford and Sons. It’s what I want – for my soul to be awake.

I’m watching Ben swim and he’s getting it this time. His swimming teacher isn’t far behind. Kick your legs, face in the water, blow your bubbles.

“I did it! I did it!” Jumping into the deep end, floating on his back, and doing a front glide everyone has to hear about it. Benjamin’s enthusiasm is contagious, his smile so broad I smile and wave. “Good job, Ben!” He turns to the teacher. “My mom is watching me. Look! She’s watching me.” The teacher nods and smiles. Ben puffs out his small chest and stretches his hand out of the water to give me a thumbs-up.

I love days like this. Sunny and hazy, sentimental songs, beach towels strewn about, dark glasses, kids dripping with water and pride, the scent of chlorine and coconut in the air. Summer is part nostalgia and part spotlight. I’m in the sun and all its glory past and present. My favorite part of summer is that it keeps me present.

And this summer has definitely kept me in the here-and-now. We were given lice, a new house and Scott pursued his dream of becoming a professional skydiver. Okay, I can’t blame it on summer. It’s just what happened this summer.

On our way to art camp one chilly overcast (did I mention that July was this year’s winter?) day Annie was scratching her head, digging her nails in until her hair resembled Einstein’s and said, “It feels like I have lice.” I was in denial for 5 seconds (not my child) until I peered closely at her hair, saw the critters clinging to her hair and scalp, and began to go through all the stages of grief in 10 seconds. Outrage. Acceptance. Sad. Grim determination.

In crisis I have a pretty good head on my shoulders. I can be calm and level-headed crossing that bridge when I come to it. But lice had me panicking, my face moving back and forth between alarmed – eyebrows up – and mad – eyebrows furrowed. The bugs in my daughter’s hair, my hair, and Ben’s hair did me in. Yup. All of us had lice. I’ll bet right now you’re all scratching your heads wondering if it can jump off the screen and on to you. Well, I learned lice can’t jump and I am pleased to say we are all lice free, thank God, but I still find myself picking through my kids’ hair outside where the light is best, in line-ups, and while they’re eating breakfast. I continue to comb through their hair even as they whine and swat my hands away, “Stop it. I don’t have lice. People are looking. Geez.”

While our house was zoned to battle lice it was also up for sale. So, I had to have the house ready at all times for prospective buyers to troop through and decide if this was the home for them. We had our eye on a house just five minutes away and thought we’d risk the blah, nearly dead market. Our attitude was if it worked out…great. If not, we’d be okay. We like where we live. We just need more space.

Do you know what happens when you don’t really care? Your house sells. It’s like when you’ve sworn off men you suddenly acquire a boyfriend. That’s how I got Scott. Don’t care and poof! Boyfriend! House! I’m going to apply the same wisdom to a lottery ticket. Poof! A million dollars! Thanks to the new house I will be getting a basement, walk-in closet and actual office/writing space instead off a small desk just off my kitchen with the most obnoxious eyesore of a printer beside it. We love our neighbors and are sad to leave them, so it’s with mixed up feelings that we move.

This is part 1 of 2. I’m sure I’ve left you with bated breath with that last sentence. Where could she go from here?? Really, it’s just too long of a post. In Part 2, coming soon, you’ll find out how books factor in to the title and how I became a skydiving widow (not literally. Scott isn’t dead. His parachute didn’t fail him.) this summer.

Posted in Scott, are you kidding me??, family, obsess much? | 7 Comments

be bold

Posted on August 23, 2011 by heidi

My kids know I’ve been writing my story and this has prompted many observations and questions about the crash. Benjamin is caught up in justice. “Did the bad guy go to jail?” “Was he going very fast?” “Did he say sorry?” Yes, he went to jail but nearly didn’t. Yes, he was going very fast. And the last answer is tricky. Annie is taken with what happened later, after the crash. She’s known about me longer and considers herself an authority on the details. “That’s why you have the marks on your arms.” “How did the doctors cut off your legs?” “I’m named after Betty, right? I’m just switched around.” She turns to Ben, “I’m Annie Elizabeth. I’m named after Mommy’s best friend.” Yes. Well, they cut them, but let’s not get into ‘how’ exactly. And yes.

And then one day…

We’re eating dinner. Scott is skydiving, so it’s just me and the kids. Annie looks up from the spaghetti she’s twirling with her fork and says, “I’m glad you didn’t die in the crash.  If you died, you wouldn’t be our mommy.”

I clutch at my heart (oh, my heart) and I am crying which makes Annie cry and Ben continues to slurp his spaghetti, looking at me and then Annie. I get up from my chair, throw my arms around her and squish my cheek against hers, “I’m crying happy tears. I’m happy I lived too. I’m so lucky to be your mommy.”

***

I returned from the PNWA (Pacific Northwest Writers Association) conference with (stealing from Emmy nominated Friday Night Lights) clear eyes and a full heart. I attended the conference because Scott made me and because I’ve detached from the book. I’d been staring at my screen slack-jawed and eyes blank, knowing I must fill in the growing gap between me and getting the story out there. I needed this conference.

I was lucky enough to meet these brave and lovely women, Alexis Bass, Alisha Sanvicens, Claire Carey (who doesn’t have a blog, but should!) and Joanna Roddy, who ended up being my guides through the conference and guides in boldness. They sparkled, pitched their stories, and shone. Surrounded with people that live to write and the lucky few that write to live, and hearing stories of how writers earned the title, author, I was inspired. Annie’s words tapped me on the shoulder reminding me to finish what I started. I’m here for a reason – to tell the story.

I know what it means to be bold, how deep you have to go sometimes to find it and at other times you wear it like a coat. You throw it on and oh-hey-it-fits-and-it’s-comfortable! If I hadn’t stuck up my hand during Saturday’s workshop to give the shortest synopsis of my book ever I wouldn’t have met Kim Kircher or read an early release of her book The Next 15 Minutes which is incredible and everyone should read it when it comes out in October. Seriously, it’s crazy good. If it hadn’t been for all of these gutsy women I wouldn’t have pitched my story to a few agents and an editor that day and I wouldn’t have the opportunity to send my material to them. Bold blazed everywhere that weekend and I’m going to continue to follow the light.

Posted in annie and ben, my story, writing | 32 Comments