By Lorraine Glowczak
The living room was in disarray as we were moving old
furniture out and new furniture in. Once my husband and I returned order to the
room, I noticed a small, delicate folded piece of paper with various shades of purple
laying haphazardly on the coffee table. The thin paper, made of a cotton-like
material, had a vague familiarity. I picked it up to unfold it – and as I did –
memories fell out.
Image from Institute of Creative Research |
That small piece of artwork was a homemade note from a
friend. It simply said in silver ink, “Happy Valentine’s Day,” followed by her
signature. Somehow, that note had slipped deep into the creases of the old sofa
– and just as mysteriously, slipped out and back into my life. As it did, I
remembered my promise to her. This December will mark 14 years that ALS took my
friend’s life at the age of 36.
The promise occurred on a cold December evening at a
Christmas party. She was two years into her ALS diagnosis and had just
published her book. There were many things we had in common, and writing was
among them. One conversation that evening centered around all things writing.
We first talked about her new book, but she quickly shifted the conversation to
me.
“How is your writing going,” she asked. I wasn’t doing much
to reach my own publishing goals at the time and I don’t remember the answer I
gave her. Through my response, I suspect she saw the truth in my lack of
dedication and said: “I want you to promise me something.” I leaned forward to
capture her words as ALS was beginning to rob her of her speech. It had already
taken away her ability to type with her hands – she used her eyes through
technological advances to finish the final edits of her book. “I want you to
write in my place when I can no longer do so.” I promised her I would.
And that is the reason why I’m here as a managing editor and
writer for The Windham Eagle newspaper as a step along that promised journey.
I have mentioned in previous Insights that it is my goal to
also publish in mainstream media. But some days it feels like swimming upstream.
For every instance I try, a hurdle is placed in my way. I jump over that
successfully, only to be met with another, taller hurdle.
“Are these challenges suggesting that I go in another
direction or is reaching my goal like salmon swimming upstream and I need to
continue, despite it all,” I recently asked a new friend. Her response: “One
way to help you determine the answer to that,” the wise beyond her years 30-year-old
advised, “is to ask yourself whether or not you’d regret it if you didn’t
proceed.” I had my answer. I will continue jumping the hurdles to published
writing on a national level until I can no longer do so.
What I have discovered is that sometimes living like salmon
is a part of life. Author Julia James had this to say about the subject: “When
we think of salmon swimming upstream back to their place of birth or the
thousands of miles birds travel to migrate, we see them as enormous
undertakings.
However, I wonder if it is even possible for healthy salmon to
choose not to return to the river that is their spawning grounds? Could a
healthy migratory bird think ‘hmmm, maybe I’ll just stay put this winter here
in Canada, rather than flying all the way to Mexico’? It is natural for the
salmon to swim upstream. Yes, it takes a lot of energy, but this energy is
expended in a manner that maximizes life fulfillment.”
In addition to living the life of my dreams – for me,
swimming upstream is keeping a promise. In this particular circumstance, I will
live like salmon.
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