STORIES

IF I COULD GO BACK – WOULD I?

Everyone has regrets, however, many have trouble letting go of them.  That was me until a miracle changed my life.  I had a child.

Most people, at some point in their lives, have wished they could go back and change something about their past.  In doing so, they believe their lives would have turned out much better.  I’ve often wished for that opportunity.  In fact, I’ve even worked out the exact details of what, when and where.  I’d go back to the end of my sophomore year of High School.  Just as the summer break began the regrets started piling up.  I loved to run and I’d had the same coach, my dad, all my life.  We made a great team but that summer he told me it was time I take over my own training.  I was at a turning point in my life.  I could look at this in a positive light, a challenge to conquer.  Or, I could see it as my coach quitting on me.  Unfortunately I chose the latter.  I didn’t know what to do so I just gave up and became very angry.  I stopped believing in myself and that lead to frustration, disappointment and finally self pity.  This change in my attitude led to poor performances in sports as well as school.  By the time I graduated from High School I hated the thought of another 4 years of misery so I took some time off to live in the working world.  After a year and a half of listening to my friends talk about the things they were doing in college and their plans for the future, I realized I was missing out on something important.  My first semester I tried out for the track team.  I was so out of shape I couldn’t keep up with the other girls.   I was too embarrassed to ever go back.  I also got a bad grade in my Photography class, my major at the time.  I headed home for the summer feeling discouraged.  Then the second major turning point in my life happened.  I met my future husband.  He loved me as I was and didn’t try to change me.  I thought that was a good thing but it only lead to ten years of doubt, isolation, self loathing and of course, my constant companion – self pity.  Then one day, just like that, I realized I’d had enough and didn’t want to be unhappy anymore.  I got a divorce.  

I moved on with my life and positive things started happening.  I met a wonderful man who wouldn’t allow me to settle for mediocrity.  I started running again and competing in road races, I finished one novel and have a second one in the works, and most recently I had my first child.  But still, if I could go back and change those few things, I’m convinced my life would have been much better and I wouldn’t feel like the past 20 years just slipped away leaving me with little to show for it. 

My thoughts are interrupted as my two year old daughter walks into the room reaching out her arms for me to pick her up.  She’s tall, almost 3 feet now and a bit heavy to lift but my biceps have never been in better shape.  Her soft brown hair is pulled back on the side with a pink butterfly hair clip.  Her pants have orange butterflies on them and there’s a purple butterfly to match on her shirt.  She’s barefoot, as usual, which means her socks are somewhere between the living room and here.  She gives me a smile that sparkles all the way to her eyes.  I settle her onto my lap and show her what I’m doing on the computer.  She pretends to read it making me smile.  Children are fascinating little beings.  The whole science of conception, development and birth are simply amazing.  Once a baby is born a whole new lifelong string of incredible moments begins.  The first being when they seek out  mom and know just from her touch that they  are safe and loved, so they drift off into a  peaceful sleep, well, for an hour or two at least.  Children give you such unconditional love – who could ask for more?  Watching my daughter grow has been such an awesome experience.  Her first laugh, her first smile, her first word, her first step and her first hug have all been joyous moments I’ll always treasure.  She is all I could ever have wanted in a child and I simply can’t imagine life without her. 

With that thought in my mind I turn back to the issue of regrets.  If I did go back in time and changed anything, then wouldn’t that inevitably change my current state of being?  Any change, however slight or seemingly insignificant could result in me being in a different place with a different person which means I’d also have a different child and the one I have now would never exist.  Or even worse, what if I had decided I didn’t want children at all?  There is only one shot where the exact circumstances produce a certain child.  Any change to anything would mean an entirely different being.  I’m no scientist, but I have a pretty good imagination and I can’t figure out how I would ever get back to this moment in time any other way than along my original path.  There are just too many factors involved to duplicate the end result any other way.  

If I hadn’t gone through everything I did in my life then I wouldn’t be at this very point in time and my daughter, who means the world to me, would not be here either.    I’ve made decisions in my life that I’ve regretted for a long, long time but each choice has brought me one step closer to this moment.  My daughter turns to me and smiles, “I love you Momma.”  I hug her tight.  And with her love filling up my heart, I’m finally able to let go of all my regrets as they fade away into the past.  It’s been a long and bumpy journey to get here but I’m ready to  move forward with my life knowing that I am exactly where I want to be and with who I want to be with. 

If I could go back – would I?  Definitely not.

Copyright © 2011 Tracey Pooler

All rights reserved.

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Remembering Wendy

I was only thirteen years old when I was faced with the realization that nothing is forever.  My sister, Wendy, was diagnosed with leukemia in the fall of her Freshman year at college.  Up until that point Wendy and I were rivals.  Even though 5 years separated us in age, we were very competitive in just about every aspect of life.  Who was the fastest runner, the best basketball player, the smartest in school, the most popular, the better looking, and the list goes on.  The true definition of sibling rivalry.  Then that day came when Wendy went off to college and I started to see her as more than just my sister and my rival.  She was going to school to play field hockey and pursue her dream of becoming a doctor.  I was proud of her and that was a new feeling for me. 

The leukemia didn’t slow Wendy down too much at first.  She continued taking classes and playing field hockey but the disease progressed to the point where a bone marrow transplant was necessary.  My brother, who is a year older than me, was a close match.  As the donor, he experienced physical and emotional pain, the likes of which I will never fully know.  Through this experience he became more than just my brother.  He became someone I admired for his courage and strength in spite of the fear and pain. 

The transplant was successful for a while but suddenly Wendy’s body started rejecting it and a second transplant was done.  Again my brother stepped up to the plate willingly.  Wendy was keeping a positive attitude, remaining full of hope and faith.  I was getting scared but the possibility of death didn’t even occur to me. 

The second transplant failed right away.  Through it all my parents were strong and did what needed to be done without complaint.  They were steady and solid support for us all.  I didn’t realize back then how much they were suffering but now, having a daughter of my own, I can only imagine how painfully their hearts were breaking.

Wendy was only 18 when the doctors admitted there was nothing more they could do to save her.  After talking with my parents, Wendy decided to spend her remaining days at home instead of in the hospital.  Her health rapidly declined but through it all her spirit was strong.  Never blaming anyone, never complaining, never giving in to self pity.  Instead, she spent her final days comforting everyone else.  Smiling in the face of death.  She was amazing.

When the time came for me to say my goodbye I was determined not to cry, but the tears wouldn’t stop.  There’s so much I could have said, something profound, poignant or deeply touching but what came out was, “I’m sorry for being such a brat and saying all those bad things about you.  I didn’t mean any of it.  You’re the best sister anyone could ever have.”

For years after whenever the phone rang or the door opened, I thought for a moment it might be Wendy, but then reality would set in and the pain would hit me again.  There was so much more to her than just being my sister, unfortunately I couldn’t see that until it was too late.  To this day I think of her often and wonder. 

Maybe it’s true that nothing is forever, but that’s all the more reason to live and love to the fullest while you can.  Don’t miss out on what could have been. 

Copyright © 2011 Tracey Pooler

All rights reserved.

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Edgar’s Adventure

In a cozy little village nestled deep in the forest lived an old bunny named Edgar.  He was a happy bunny surrounded by friends and family who loved him very much.  His home was small but pleasant and filled with books about most every subject imaginable, for Edgar loved to read.  Edgar also liked to walk in the woods and watch the squirrels racing around gathering nuts or playing in the trees.  He enjoyed the fresh air tickling his whiskers and the soft grass beneath his feet.  He had a good life but one thing was still missing.  More than anything he longed to have his very own adventure. 

The sun was coming up over the hills as Edgar stood in his doorway breathing in the fresh air and listening to the wind gently rustling through the trees.  He closed his eyes and smiled.  Today would be a good day he thought to himself.  Little did he know that today was indeed going to be one of the best days of his life as his greatest wish was about to come true. 

Edgar watched as the bunnies in the village started their day.  Everyone had work to do and they went about it eagerly and with a smile on their faces.  Just as Edgar was about to head back indoors he noticed a strange critter wander into town.  It looked like nothing he’d ever seen before.  The other bunnies weren’t sure what to make of the stranger either, but not wanting to be rude they continued about their business, trying not to stare.  Edgar’s curiosity could not be contained so he hopped over to the stranger.

“Hello. My name is Edgar.” He said and with a slight bow he continued.  “Welcome to our little village.” 

“Why, thank you.”  The stranger replied.  “My name is Murdock.  I’ve been traveling for quite some time.  Do you know of a place I might be able to rest?”

                                                     

“Yes, of course.”  Edgar said with a smile.  “You may stay at my home for as long as you’d like.”

Once Murdock was settled into a chair with a fresh glass of juice Edgar cleared his throat.  “Excuse me, but if you don’t mind my asking, what are you?”

“Not at all.”  Murdock said with a smile.  “Would you like the long version or short version?” 

“Oh, the long version, please.”  Edgar replied. 

“I am a Fuzzybobble.”  Murdock said taking another sip of his juice.  “The two most favorite things for a Fuzzybobble are traveling and storytelling.  Fuzzybobbles travel for many, many years before returning home.  Then they spend the rest of their lives telling of their grand adventures.  I had been waiting a long time to have an adventure and my time had finally arrived.  So with a final goodbye to my family and friends and a happy heart, I headed down the soft spongy path towards the unknown.”

Edgar listened closely as Murdock told of all the places he visited and sites he’d seen.  Of the people he’d met and the challenges he’d faced.  The hours passed as Edgar was swept away deeper and deeper into the story where fantasy became reality and reality no longer existed.

“Where am I?”  Edgar asked.

“You’re living out my adventure.”  Murdock said.

Copyright © 2011 Tracey Pooler

All rights reserved.

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Remembering When

The crunching of the brittle leaves devoid of all moisture resting on the forest floor rustle beneath my feet as I walk along the dirt path surrounded by towering trees full of chirping birds. Maybe they are warning others of my intrusion into their private serenity or maybe they are simply making noise to break the unbearable silence that falls over everything just as dusk settles in. I stroll slowly down the path with my hands in my pockets and my shoulders drooping, leaning slightly forward with my eyes fixed on the ground in front of me and wondering where it might lead and why I had never been this way before. Thoughts swirl around in my head colliding with each other, mingling together and separating again to form new thoughts adding confusion to what is already in my mind.

My mother was a short woman with more than a few extra pounds on her and the warmest smile.  People always complimented her on it.  That smile would always be firmly in place except on a few rare occasions.  My brother and I dreaded those rare occasions because we knew something bad had happened. Mother never opened up right away about bad news, she would deal with it herself first. She had a routine we quickly learned to recognize.  First the smile would disappear for two days which included total silence, then we would come home on the third day from school or playing outside and there would be a fire in the fireplace even in the middle of summer.  Mother loved the fireplace.  There would be the smell of chocolate brownies baking in the oven and she would meet us at the front door, usher us into the living room and sit us down on the couch. Then she would poke at the fire for a few moments, dragging the silence out and with a deep sigh she would turn to us, shake her head once and sit down in the chair across from us. The smile was still absent and her eyes were very focused like two black beads boring into our souls. We tried to sit still but as the minutes ticked away with her steel gaze upon us we would start to squirm, feeling like this scrutiny was worse than any possible news she may have to share with us. We didn’t like the two days of silence but the moments immediately preceding the actual news was the worst.  It was sheer torture to sit there on the old worn out couch having those eyes drill into ours as if trying to tell us what happened without speaking. Just as we reached the point where we thought we would explode she would look down at her hands as if suddenly realizing the intensity of her gaze upon us. Just as we started to relax a little she would look up at us and blurt out the news.  There was always a long pause afterwards when we all sat completely still, not moving or speaking.  Then mother would release her breath in a deep sigh and my brother and I would breathe again, too.  With one more sigh mother would reach over and pick up the plate of brownies, pausing for a moment.  When she finally looked up at us the smile was firmly back in place and we knew everything would be okay.

But this time was different.  This time there would be no comforting reassurance.  This time everything would not be okay.

Copyright © 2011 Tracey Pooler

All rights reserved.