I've been walking each morning around 8 a.m. and often I step out of my imagination long enough to actually look up at the landscape. Three Hills is definitely prairie and at this time of year it's patchwork prairie with muted shades of brown, tan and grey. Not the prettiest but still very interesting with it's horizon, plow lines and natural curves.
You can see for miles and miles and miles.
I guess if you can look up and down the track and not see a train coming then it's ok to go.
You know you're on the prairies when.....
Friend Wynn Ann & Treble checking out a cherry tree.
Two nights ago we had a ladies night at the house, just the four of us one of whom was Jean from Revelstoke. When I lived in Okotoks, I had few occasions to prepare meals for my friends since none of us lived closeby so, since I've been on the road, I've made many meals. It's a way of saying thanks for the bed but also it allows me to play with food and see what I can come up with. That's always fun! Last night it was pork tenderloin stuffed with prunes and appricot with a carrot/ginger marmelaide glaze served on a bed of mixed greens with strawberries, pecans, red onion, avacado, pear and drizzled with a poppy seed vinargarette. Yummy! We followed that with mini angel food cups drizzled lightly with Sambuca, topped with strawberries and a dollops of light whipped cream (you can use more when it's light). Wink! It was lovely to sit, chat and laugh with friends and enjoy a meal. We toasted friendship, good food and life. Later we watched Shirley Valentine. If there was ever a movie to watch with your girlfriends, Shirley Valentine is the one, especially for us over 40 crowd.
I have another story to share. I wrote this one a few months ago as a result of a conversation I had about ego. I made a statement about killing off the ego and this is the result of that conversation.
Finding Grace
The first time I saw her she was out of control - kicking and screaming, smashing her fists into the concrete wall like someone possessed. When I looked at her I saw myself, decades earlier, railing against something I could not name.
Like her, I scared people. I seemed always on the brink of explosion and often expected one day I’d simply shatter into a million pieces. I believed I was the seed of the devil. I truly believed it. That’s how my mind came to terms with the things I had done and the storms that were brewing inside me.
I was one big reaction looking for an outlet.
My heart pained for the child I saw on the other side of the reinforced glass. She was only twelve yet something had turned her into this.
It was how she survived, how she protected herself, how she kept the world at bay and how she fooled everyone, including herself, into believing something that wasn’t true.
She was simply a little girl who was scared of something she could not name. Acting out was how she felt in control, and all she knew to do with the demons inside of her.
I suppose because I had survived my own childhood, it was only natural that my life’s work should involve troubled youth but nothing I had done to date could prepare me for what lay ahead, except the fact I had been where she was.
I chose psychiatry as a profession because somewhere deep I knew I would meet myself again one day in the form of a young girl. My soul’s purpose was to help her as I had been helped.
Some said I had no idea what I was getting into. On the contrary, I knew exactly what that was.
Here was a child, lost in anger, fear and rage who turned that rage against herself and anyone who dared get close.
***
I pushed open the door and walked in. She stopped and stared at me, eyes cynical and menacing.
“What the hell do you want?”
“I want to help you,” I said.
“I don’t need your help,” she screamed. “Get out of here. Get out of here.”
“My name is Sydney Welch and I’m here to …”
Before I could finish she was on me. Her teeth clenched onto my shoulder.
I winced but did not scream.
“Stop that,” I scolded and with all my strength pushed her away and held her at arms length.
“I’m here to help you.”
“Screw you,” she growled and kicked my shins.
“I’m here to help you,” I repeated as two male orderlies pulled her away and cuffed her to the bed.
“You want to help? Get these bastards off me.”
“Watch your mouth little girl,” one of them ordered.
I checked my shoulder. The bite mark was deep but no skin was broken. I walked over to the bed, took her face in my hands and turned her head towards me.
“You won’t believe this now but I know what you’re feeling and I am going to help you because you really do want to be helped.”
She relaxed and looked into my eyes, searching, then spat in my face.
“Bitch,” she snarled.
I wiped the spittle with my sleeve.
“That’s okay. We’ve got all kinds of time. You rest and I’ll see you again Monday.”
“Not likely, I’m outta here tomorrow.”
“No, I’m afraid you’re not. The judge has ordered that you spend three months here and we’re going to use that time to get you the help you need.”
“You’re lying,” she screamed again looking desperate and suddenly like the little girl she was. “I’m getting out tomorrow. I always get out in a day or two.”
“Not this time. You can’t keep doing the things you do and expect no consequences.”
She lost control then, kicking and clawing at the air, trying to free herself from the restraints.
I turned and faced the orderlies.
“It’s ok, you can go. I’ll be fine.”
“But,” one of them said.
“She’s restrained. How much harm can she do?”
Shaking their heads, they walked out and closed the door.
I looked back and watched her struggle, knowing soon she would be spent, exhausted from the futile effort to free herself.
“I’ll stay with you til you fall asleep,” I said. “We’ll get started bright and early Monday morning.” My words drowned in her screams.
Doubt crept in but I dismissed it. One thing she could never see was doubt. I’d have to be relentless in my efforts to win her trust.
God help me, and her, if I didn’t.
I did as I said and stayed by her bedside. She stopped her screaming but said nothing. I sat on the floor, facing the opposite wall and listened to her breathe. At first it was heavy and labored but soon became shallow and soft.
She whimpered a little in her sleep and I turned and looked into a face no longer distorted with rage. It was angelic in its perfection.
That must have been what my psychiatrist Sheilagh Downey saw when she looked at me all those years ago, what gave her hope.
Tonight, I too felt that hope.
Before I left, I removed the restraints from her ankles and wrists and pulled a blanket up over her. She whimpered again, turned on her side and pulled her body tight into the fetal position then buried her head under the blanket.
I wondered if her dreams were as tormented as mine had been.
***
The phone rang as I unlocked the door to my condo. I tossed my purse and keys on the entrance table and ran to the kitchen.
“Hello.”
“Hi, Syd, it’s Marty.”
My shoulders slumped. “Hi Marty, what’s up?” I asked without much inflection.
“Nothing’s up,” he protested. “I was just calling to see how you are.”
“It’s a little late to be calling for that, isn’t it?”
“It’s only 9:30!” he said, missing the point.
“I didn’t mean it that way. What do you want?” I filled the kettle and flipped the switch.
“Can’t a guy call and see how his girl is doing?”
“Marty,” I chuckled. “I am neither a girl nor your girl. So, why are you calling?”
“Why do you have to be so difficult?” he demanded.
“Oh, I don’t know. Let me see - how about the fact that you screwed the wife of your best friend before and during our marriage.”
“I said I was sorry.”
“Sorry you got caught is more like it.”
“I thought you forgave me.”
“I did forgive you and I thanked you for giving me a way out of this poor excuse for a marriage. Again, why are you calling?”
“Well, I want to take you out to dinner. I’d like to take another crack at it. Our marriage, I mean.”
This time I laughed.
“What’s so funny?”
“You, you’re bloody hysterical. You can’t believe I want to go back to the way things were.”
“No, of course not! I was hoping we could talk about trying again and making it better this time.”
What’s he up to? I wondered. Then it hit me.
“Ah, Kate’s left you, hasn’t she?”
There was a pause. “No, Kate hasn’t left me,” he said trying to mimic my voice. “I left her.”
He was lying.
“Marty, let me make this clear once and for all, so there’s never any doubt in your mind. I wouldn’t have you back if you came with a million dollar cheque and a life time guarantee.”
“If you recall,” I continued, “I wasn’t all that upset when I found out. There’s a reason for that. I just don’t care. I have no intention of spending time with you.”
“Well, that’s no…”
“And, if you don’t sign those papers by the end of the week, I’ll sue you for a divorce and believe me, you don’t want me to do that, financially or otherwise. Are we clear?”
“Wow, you’ve grown balls!” he said.
“And you’ve never had them,” I shot back. “I expect a call from my lawyer by Friday. Don’t call me again.” I hung up before he could respond.
When I turned on the radio, Carly Simon was singing, You’re so vain. You probably think this song is about you.
Timing is everything I thought and chuckled again as I headed upstairs to undress.
By the time I changed into my pajamas, the kettle was whistling. I made myself a mug of tea, switched off the radio and went into the living room to watch the late news.
It was just after midnight when I woke to David Letterman making sport of Tiger Woods who finally admitted to multiple affairs. I shut it off and headed upstairs to bed.
As I lay tossing and turning I thought of Sheilagh Downey, of how much she had helped me and how much I could use her help right now.
***
She came to me in a dream that night. Whatever the place, there was no floor or ceiling or walls. It was a space surrounded by a pink blush of colour. We were seated but without the benefit of furniture.
Our hair moved as if by a breeze yet there was no wind and I could feel warmth surround me though there was no sun.
We didn’t speak but seemed to communicate telepathically. I could hear a chic-a-dee chirp in the distance and could detect a scent of jasmine.
“So, history repeats itself,” she said.
“Yes, but I’m not as confident as you were,” I told her.
“Sydney, you have no idea how scared I was.”
“Scared of what?” I asked her.
“Scared of you! Scared of everything,” she said. “I had no idea what I was doing. The only thing I was sure of was you.”
“Me? You were sure of me?” I was astonished.
“Yes. You were a survivor but more than that, you were a fighter. You fought against everything and anything. It showed me you had courage, and you were smart. You dodged all my efforts in the beginning to help you. It was pretty frustrating.”
“So why did you continue?”
“Because I could and because I had a choice,” she said. “You, on the other hand, did not. And because my mother advised me to.”
“Your mother, what do you mean?”
Suddenly her mother was seated between us. Her long white wavy hair was tied in a wreath of daisies. She wore a psychedelic print dress and sat in the lotus position, eyes closed with a serene smile on her face.
“When Sheilagh told me what was troubling her I said, of course she’s wild. How else can she be? Heaven only knows what’s buried inside that child. It’s your job to be patient and wait til she’s ready to reveal it. That’s all you have to do, that and gain her trust.”
She snapped her fingers and was gone.
I looked at Sheilagh.
“It couldn’t have been easy.” I said.
“No but it wasn’t supposed to be. My mother put everything into perspective. She made me realize that this wasn’t about me. It was about you and finding a way to reach you.”
“And you did,” I said, grateful she had.
“Yes, I did, eventually but not without your willingness to meet me part way. It took both of us trusting the other to make it happen.”
“So what’s your plan?” she asked.
“My plan is to be for this child what you were for me.”
“Then go do it.”
***
I woke the next morning feeling calm and sure but sad.
It had been a year since Sheilagh Downey had passed, following six hard months battling cancer. I was the closest thing she had to family and we spent most of the last three weeks of her life together.
I watched hope turn to resignation and then acceptance as the treatments failed to eradicate the disease.
We cried together, but only once. She was nothing if not pragmatic.
“Let’s not get morbid,” she said. “If the pain gets too much, all I have to do is push a button and voila, I get an instant fix of morphine.”
The last days before her death, she spent in a drug-induced stupor. When she spoke it was about flying or angels or seeing her parents and four year old daughter at heaven’s gate waiting for her.
She was ready to go. Her breathing became shallow until one afternoon, it stopped.
Life was difficult in the months following her death. I wondered how I would cope without my friend, my mentor, the person I wished had been my mother. She had shown me her strength and I drew upon it to move forward.
She was as near as my heart and her wisdom lived within me.
So it was with calm and confidence that I walked into the hospital Monday morning and waited to be assaulted by the facade that shielded Elynore Grace O’Flannery.
