Young children have little to do on such occasions except to wait and find ways to entertain themselves. Not wanting us underfoot, we had been sent outside to play. Our grandparents, Grandma and Grandpa Fort, lived deep in the country far away from much of anything.
They lived in a large old farm house with high ceilings and big, big rooms. A most amazing house. On their property there were outbuildings to explore - a huge old barn, a wash/cook house, and an ice house. Structures which told stories of a way of life that now existed only in memories and in books. My grandfather added a kitchen to the back of the house; and in that kitchen there was a modern stove and an ice box. The ice man still drove up in his truck and delivered a big block of ice for the ice box. I always found it to be a wondrous thing to watch my Grandfather break up the ice with an ice pick. He gave me small pieces which melted slowly on my tongue. For me an awesome treat and a little bit of heaven.
Having done it many times before, it didn't take long to explore the outbuildings. We then found ourselves bored with nothing to do. Surrounding our grandparents' property was the deep woods. Now we had been told not to go into the woods. In fact my Grandfather had been quite firm about it but on this fine crisp Fall day that shady place seem to beckon. My older brother, Donald, assured my little brother Steven and me that he knew his way around the forest having explored it on his own on many occasions. (This was more likely just wishful thinking and the bravado of a young boy.) I was very, very reluctant to go beyond the grassy lawn but he, being much older and wiser at nine or ten, was so sure of himself that Steven and I found ourselves following him into the trees.
What an adventure!!! Soon any fears and hesitation disappeared. The leaves had fallen from the trees and lay on the ground in a deep mosaic blanket of yellows, oranges, reds, and browns. We ran with breakneck speed around and between the trees kicking up the leaves as we ran. Because the leaves were so deep and thick, there were times when we found ourselves falling face first into small ditches which was great fun. The woods were filled with our laughter and squeals of joy. Never had I had so much fun or felt so carefree. We pretended that we were riding imaginary horses. Mine was named Buttercup. How fast you can run when on an imaginary horse.
Eventually we grew tired from running and stood together still laughing from the excitement and exhilaration. We leaned against the trees to catch our breath. It was then, as we stood there, that we slowly and collectively began to realize that we had no idea of where we were. As we turned around and around, the friendly forest became foreign and frightening and ominous. Suddenly for a little girl whose favorite book was The Grimms Brothers Fairy Tales there was a monster hiding behind every tree. My heart began to race and Steven and I began to cry. Donald, even at his young age, somehow knew that he had to get control of the situation. He told us not to be scared that he knew the way out. He dried our tears, took our hands, and we began to walk.
We walked and walked and walked. Each time one of us fell into a hidden dip in the ground, it was no longer funny. Steven and I would erupt into another bout of tears which would require Donald to comfort and reassure us all over again. If you have ever been lost in the woods, then you know how everything soon begins to look alike. There are no landmarks to show you the way. You become totally disoriented with no sense of direction. All there were were trees as far as you could see. Trees that all looked alike. The more we walked the more lost we felt. It was hopeless. We were tired, cold, hungry, and frightened. I was sure that we would be devoured by wild animals - or worst - at any moment. If any of you saw the movie "The Blair Witch Project, you will remember how scary the deep woods of Southern Maryland can be.
As we trudged on, tears that wouldn't stop began streaming down my little cheeks. I was certain that I would never see our Mother again or our grandparents. Just as I thought I couldn't take another step, in the far distance we heard the deep voices of our uncle and grandfather calling out to us. My memory blurs at this point. I don't remember how we found each other. All I can remember is my uncle gathering me up in his warm arms and carrying me out of the ocean of trees. My grandfather must have taken Steven and Donald under his care.
After we were returned to our grandparents' house and were safely in our Mother's arms, we, of course, were in terrible trouble and I think everyone had a turn at scolding us. I'm pretty sure there was a spanking also. As bad as all that was, it paled in comparison to the joy in my heart.
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JUMPING FORWARD TO FEBRUARY, MARCH 2012
The past four weeks have brought into sharp focus the feelings I had when I found myself lost in the woods at the age of six. I experienced the same fears of not being able to find my way; those same feelings of uncertainty; and at times I was overwhelmed with feelings of anxiety. Life is forever giving us new experiences and at times these experiences are neither pleasant nor desirable.
I have faced the tragedy of losing a child to death by suicide - a loss I feel every day; but I now know what it is like to sit by the hospital bed of a spouse - or anyone you love - waiting to see if he or she will live or die. You sit there in the hushed quiet of the Critical Care Unit knowing the chances of survival are almost nile. And it is horrible. Family takes turns standing by him, holding his hand, and speaking encouraging words.
Machines breath life into a still body; other devices suction his mouth and lungs; tubes of one sort or another inserted into almost every part of his body; all the tests and the explanations of the doctors and nurses. The stern faces and quiet voices. The request to immediately bring in my husband, Patrick's Advance Directive and Durable Power of Attorney. The emergency procedures that required my signature and at times a speedy return to the Critical Care Unit.
Besides not knowing how you will survive life without your rock, your love all the uncertainty of your financial future slaps you in the face; and you realize just how much you don't know about where things are and what might need to be done. At 52 this was not suppose to happen to my husband. Being left alone is something you try not to think about; but late at night when all the family has left, it is there like a childhood monster behind a tree.
At the end of each long, painful day, I would fall into fitful dreams of either finding myself lost in the forest with the threat of trees falling in on me;
or I would find myself trapped in a child's painting. I would be stuck at the edge of a lake with a canoe that had no oars. No matter how hard I pushed I couldn't get the canoe into the water and going toward the sunrise.
I am happy to report that we had a successful outcome. Although Patrick had an extremely rare presentation of a bacteria call Fusobacterium nucleatum which created nine permanent abscesses in his brain, with accompanying abscesses in his lungs and in his liver, he did miraculously survive despite the odds against it (and will be written up in the medical journals).
When Patrick awoke from the medically induced coma, he said to me that he had had "a long ride on a dark horse but the power of prayer had pulled him through the darkness."
There will be challenges to overcome; and his ability to work and our financial future is still questionable but we will face whatever comes hand in hand. We have already fought the battle, climbed the mountain, and came out victorious on top.
I only wish others in our grief community had had the same success. For them my heart breaks because I now know what it is like to sit by that hospital bed knowing the person you love is only holding on by a thread; to sit and listen to the machines; to endlessly watch the monitors. And to pray a thousand prayers.
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