| Home | |
| About Us | |
| Experts | |
| Columns & Essays | |
| Feature Articles | |
| Community | |
| Things We Like | |
|
HTMAF Online Logo Shop |
|
|
|
|
|
|
Out of My Comfort Zone Back to The Expanded Sky |
|||
| by Alice Wisler | |||
|
The trip down seemed long. Perhaps drives to the unknown do. My destination was Kiawah Island, South Carolina. It wasn't that I'd never been to this part of the country before; it was that I'd never been with this particular group. As I drove on narrow roads shaded by huge live oaks with Spanish moss dangling off their wide limbs, I wondered what I was getting into this weekend. My adolescent-type fears began to climb. What if the women, ones I had never met, but who already knew each other, and I didn't get along? What if I was a misfit? What if…? Life is made up of taking risks, I preached to myself as I drew closer to the oceanfront resort community. Via email I'd been encouraged by Debby, the director of a charity organization, to be part of this weekend. A weekend others would not understand — mothers who'd had children die of cancer all getting together to have, believe it or not, fun. | |||
| More from Alice Wisler | |||
| Five hours after leaving
the security of my driveway, I stood at the door of a mammoth-sized beautiful resort home, given to this group
for the weekend, by the owners. As I looked upon the manicured lawn and gurgling pond, I knew I was out of my
element. How would I be able to relax and have an enjoyable time if this area was going to make me feel
inadequate because of thoughts of my own tiny lawn at home with the scraggly bushes and a door to my humble
abode that was peeling paint? But when two smiling women answered the door, the lump in my throat disappeared. By dinnertime, I'd met many of the women, all of them as awed as I was by the gorgeous three-story beach house with a basement and even an elevator, and all of them as crushed by the death of their children to cancer. We ate, we spoke of chemo and bone marrow transplants, we cried. Laughter abounded. I don't know when I have
laughed so much with people I have just met. No wonder it is said that laughter is the closest distance between
two people. We talked of bargain shopping, pet dogs and parrots and tanning beds. We stayed up way past anyone's
bedtime. We were taken care of as cooks prepared lavish and delicious breakfasts for us and massage therapists
were brought in to soothe each aching muscle. In this beautiful coastal setting we had been given a gift —
this weekend together, to mourn and celebrate, to find humor, to remember our children, and to reinvest in our
lives. |
Living Life from the Graveyard Is There Laughter After Death? Grief Meets the Answering Machine There is Nothing Wrong with You! Scared to Death of Dying and Denying Grief | ||
|
On the veranda, with a view of the shimmering ocean, I feasted on a cherry-filled croissant, and freely shared about my son Daniel with a newly-bereaved mother. I listened as she spoke - the same words that had come from my own heart when Daniel first died six years ago. It became so clear to me that I had made the right decision in coming to this place. What if I had chickened out? What if I had let my fears overtake me? I was grateful I had allowed myself to venture out of my comfort zone, only to be able to find comfort and a bonding among women, now no longer strangers — moms, like me. The ride back went fast, secured with the memories of the new friends I'd met. And within me, the weekend had also produced a new strength — one that made me more determined to march forward with the many tributes I have and dream to add, in memory of Daniel. | |||
|
|
|
