At age 18, I started fearing my parents would die. From that point on, I dreaded the day that would happen, imagining what it would be like to lose them in a swift blow. How many years did I have, I wondered. Was it just a few? The answer was no. All these decades later, they are still very much alive.
When I got married the first time, I thought, “How will I go on if something happens to him?” I thought I could not survive his death. But he didn’t die. He left, sure, but from divorce, not death. And yes, it was hard, and I cried, and I grieved, but I got on with the lessons I was meant to learn and pulled on my big girl panties and went on with rebuilding and working and dancing.
From the time I was in my late 20s and had my first big health scare, I worried constantly I would be diagnosed with a particular disease I was told I had a high likelihood of getting. When I went to my check-ups every six months, sometimes I would cry before and during them. I had scare after scare after scare—almost but not getting the dreaded disease.
Which reminds me of a story my mother told me long ago, about how my dad took a work trip across the globe—back then, that meant unreachable by phone easily or at all. My mother was young, and my sister and I were very small. My mother was so scared to be alone. The first night my dad was gone, she stayed up as late as she could, with the TV turned on in her bedroom for company. Back in those days, the TV programs would end late at night, and all that would be left were static bands of color until morning. She turned off the TV when that time came, and she tried to sleep, and then BOOM she heard a crash somewhere in the house.
Sometimes you must go looking for and face trouble even when you don’t want to, and my mother, cognizant of her own safety and those of her two small children, got up and checked the first room outside of her bedroom: the bathroom. There were two small shelves in that room, both filled with items (shampoo, razor, conditioner, soap, those kinds of things). But one of those shelves was swept clean, as if someone had taken their hand and pushed everything onto the floor. All of it lay there, tumbled down, scattered, but with the shelf perfectly in place.
She checked my room, my sister’s room—we were both asleep, and no one had broken into the house. She tried to go back to sleep, but she could not.
The second night, same routine: she put us to bed, went to her bedroom, turned on the TV until the programs ended. She tried to sleep, but then BOOM another crash. She rushed into the bathroom, but the shelves were filled with all their bottles and lotions. She checked my room—I was asleep; She checked my sister’s—she was asleep, but something else, too had happened. One of my sister’s shelves—filled with toys and dolls—was swept clean, all the items on the floor, except the shelf was in place, perfectly positioned still on the wall.
No one had broken into the house. All the doors were locked, no windows shattered. My mother was perfectly awake.
Who can explain fear, and how it comes to us, and how we learn to let it go?
That third night, my mother was exhausted. She put us to bed, and then went to lie down in hers.
Go ahead, she said to whatever had been, come get me. She was too tired to be afraid anymore. That night and all the nights that followed, the house was quiet, peaceful, and my mother slept.
When I finally did get the disease I had feared for so long, it was detected early and taken care of and gone, and soon I was running again and living the life I so wanted.
So many things I feared never happened, or didn’t happen in the way I thought they would, and the hardest things I have faced have been ones I hadn’t even imagined—other deaths, other losses, other hardships, ones I had never even considered worrying about. And they came anyway because life is filled with all of it—the joys and sadness, the ups and downs, the good and bad and in-between.
I am learning to accept it and, however slowly, how to let go of all that unwanted fear.
Upcoming Online Writing Classes
Prompt-Writing like Speed Dating: Prompt, Write, Next, Prompt, Write, Next (online)
Sunday, August 4, 3-5:00 PM Eastern
If you’ve attended Let’s Write Together with me, you’ll recognize the format: I’ll share a piece of writing to inspire you, offer a prompt related to it, and you will have time to write. Except I’ll be offering a new piece and prompt every 7-12 minutes during this two-hour generative class. Think of it like speed dating—there’s another piece and prompt ready to inspire you just around the corner, with plenty of time for sharing at the end. This class is in partnership with Press 53. THIS CLASS WILL BE RECORDED AND SENT OUT THE SAME WEEK. Cost: $45. Register here.
Poetry Prompts for Publication (online)
Wednesday, August 14, 3-5 PM Eastern
This is a generative poetry-writing class where you will be given prompts to write to, time to write, and then a specific publication where you can send each piece for consideration (if you want to). Come warmed up and ready to put pen to paper. This class is in partnership with Press 53. THIS CLASS WILL BE RECORDED AND SENT OUT THE SAME WEEK. Cost $45. Register here.