The Literacy for Hope Project

I knew it would come to me, I knew one morning I would wake up and would know what it was I was supposed to do. I am so proud of the result and the work ahead of me, and all the possibilities that that can come from The Literacy for Hope Project.

Below is what I wrote this morning to post on the web site to explain to people who don't know me how this all came about. Please check out the web site: www.literacyforhope.org.

Two things happened in the last few years that brought this project to life. First, I interviewed a woman for a position at my job who had a touching story to tell. Karen was modestly dressed, literate, drove a car, had two children and a husband who worked full time. Unfortunately she didn’t have the necessary skills and I wasn’t able to hire her. But in the course of her interview we began talking and what she said astounded me.

Karen and her family had been homeless the entire time her children were in high school. No one knew, which made the kids lives even more awkward as they tried maintain friendships without revealing their secret. Living in a county where the median income is $76,000 per year, and with their combined incomes of less than $35,000, it took them four years and the generosity of a stranger to help them climb out of homelessness.

I was very touched by Karen’s courage and endurance and what I perceived to be the uniqueness of her situation. In fact I was so moved I made the main character of the novel I was writing a young homeless girl.

This past year my older son spent 4 ½ months in a hospital in TX, eight of those weeks clinging to life in the Critical Care Unit. I lived in the ICU waiting room for many weeks, praying, writing a blog and finishing my novel.

During that time I made friends with a homeless man who showed up a few minutes after 6:00am every day and poured himself a cup of coffee. He was so thin he had to hold his pants up when he walked. I knew he had to be hungry, and while there were many days I lived on peanut butter and graham crackers from the ICU refrigerator, I started leaving him granola bars propped up against the coffee pot. The first time he looked over at me and I nodded. He grabbed the bar and his coffee and left without saying a word.

I left him granola bars everyday, or sometimes when I didn’t have any money I left him the peanut butter and crackers the nurses had given me. He never said a word. One day when he lay his back pack down on the counter, it fell open and I saw a stack of books inside. I thought that was rather curious, but since my perception of the homeless had already changed by Karen’s story, this just added another dimension.

A few weeks went by and one morning the security guard said to me, Lady, don’t feed the homeless.

He isn’t like a wild animal you know, he’s a human, and he’s hungry, I said. By this time my son was getting better and I knew we would be moving out of ICU within a few days, so I kept leaving the granola bars.

On the last day I left the granola bar sitting on top of two books. One was s from Obama’s Dreams from My Father, and the other a more sophisticated book called Angle of Repose. My friend came in, saw the books, looked at me and I nodded. He read the titles and then walked to my table where I was writing and laid Angle of Repose in front of me.

I’ve already read this one. Thank you, he said. Then he turned and left.

That was the last time I ever saw him.

When you go through a life altering experience like my sons and I did, when you think you are going to lose your life, or your child, or your brother, something happens and all the rules change. Normal is redefined. All three of us came away with a strong sense we needed to do something to give back in a way that could be magnificent. We didn’t know what it might be, but I had faith we would be led in the right direction.

Because of our belief in the power of books I wanted to use the written word as a vehicle to offer hope to the weary. The fact that doing this could make even a tiny dent in the decline in book sales our country has experienced over the last few years is an added bonus. It's a win-win proposition.

We have been enormously happy at the response we’ve had in such a short time. It shows a genuine benevolence from people who understand the power of making a difference, one book at a time.

Thank you for your interest. Keep reading, and remember “There but for the grace of God go I.”

Parker's Birthday

I am so grateful. Today is Parker's 26th birthday. There were many weeks back in the spring when I agonized over what I might be doing on this day, and if Parker would still be alive to celebrate.

Yes he is! Thank you God, once again. Now let's eat cake!

I love you boys, have fun together in Austin!

It Was All Fake

I walked a different way this morning with the dogs and was so entranced by the scenery, I was glad I took my camera along. The photo here shows the corner of a pasture that must have been home to some fat ponies once upon a time, because at the top of the hill is a metal horse gate, and in one of the corners is a small old fashioned, two stall barn with Dutch doors. I love Dutch doors. It was a barn almost exactly like that in Connecticut where I had my first "real" kiss. I love that little barn and will walk that way again tomorrow.

I have been taking the hundreds of emails I sent and received over the first three days that Parker was in Critical Care, sorting through them and putting them in proper order for the book. With each one that I read, I remembered more of all the things that happened. Somethings surprise me. Like I remember one nurse in ICU who shall remain nameless because she was so nasty. Plastic nasty. Fake smiles. Rolling her eyes nasty..... ugh. But I didn't remember that she was the nurse on day two, I thought she was more like week two. I guess the fact that I was in such shock kept me from telling her to give up the attitude, because I certainly spoke my mind a lot as the days went on.

Anyway, the thing that surprised me the most was the tone of my own emails. If I were the reader of those emails I would have thought wow! She is in such control! She is so strong! Indeed, I sound focused, and completely in control of my emotions, not falling apart, able to write about things other than the fact that my son was in the other room possibly dying.... I surprised myself. But guess what? It was all fake. I just didn't realize how good a faker I was. I was totally and completely falling apart. There was a burning sensation in my heart that comes back even at this minute, while I am merely remembering it. My insides shook, my legs quivered when I walked, I threw up constantly, and felt as though the skin on my face was the only thing holding back so many tears I was afraid to let loose in case I never returned from crazy. I still have that fear.

Anyway, so that's the truth. I think it is probably those emails and my blog posts were the best thing I had to keep me sane during those very dark, horrific days. And I am glad, in the end, that my true feelings were not exposed as I thought they were. But I also wonder if someone who read them might have thought I was emotionless? I hope not.

Through the Tunnel

I feel better about things since my visit to Austin. I had been gone 6 weeks and it was the right thing for me to do, to go back to the "scene of the crime." It made me see that I had started to push my way through the tunnel. Like there would actually be a "normal" in our lives again.

Yesterday I set a timer for 2 1/2 hours, during which time I wrote about the darkest days of Parker's journey. April 14th, 2009. I only got through 3/4th's of the day, but today I am gearing up to revisit and write about the rest of that day. It was hard, and I was surprised that I felt that same horrible burning pain in my chest that stayed with me all those days when his life was termed "imminently critical."

Before I started I propped up the prayer book for parents that the stranger on the plane gave me way back in April, and lit three candles, one for each of us in our little family. I did this because I ran into Nurse Nancy in the parking lot of the hospital and told her I was struggling, trying to get to the writing of this book. She said, "Well then, light a candle for it." Silly me. So I did. Nurse Nancy practices Native American spiritual traditions and I think she knows what she is doing.

But every time I started to cry, or felt like I was going to throw up while writing yesterday, I stopped for a moment and looked at the candles and the book, closed my eyes and said a little prayer. Somehow I got the energy to push forward again. Thank you God for continuing to be there for me. For us.

Today the sun is shining and on our walk it felt like a true autumn day. The deer teased the dogs, running away with their white tails flying. My hands are raw from holding their leashes. But it was nice. Nature is nice to start a day when I know I'm going back into the dark place, even if just for a few hours.

No more procrastinating, I'm going in now.

Today Was A Hard Day

Today was a hard day, and it is reflected in my writing. But tomorrow I will wake up early, walk the dogs and start again.

The Power of a Praying Parent

Today is the six month anniversary of the ambulance ride from hell, the day Parker went into septic shock and had his first surgery in the middle of the night. Sherrie, one of the nurses from IMC, rode in the ambulance with us, and kept us somewhat sane. Parker and I both will always be grateful for her steady compassion. She was our rock.

I am trying to write about that day for the book, but am struggling, so instead I want to bring your attention to the photo to the left and ask for your help.

On April 2nd, when I left work in the middle of the day and flew back to Austin, when they were beginning to tell us the seriousness of Parker's illness, I had a very strange thing happen to me. I had made it a point not to talk to anyone on the plane about why I was going to Austin, I was afraid to talk about it and fall apart and be stuck 40,000' in the air, flipping out. So before I got on the plane I took big, deep breaths and extra airplane drugs and kept my mouth shut.

As we were exiting the plane in Austin, I saw a woman sitting in a seat about ten rows ahead, facing backwards, looking at me. I could only see her from the eyes up and she bore a startling resemblance to Dovie, my ex-husband's mother who was surely one of God's busiest angels.
As I got closer to her, this woman who I had never met before, stood up and looked at me with a sad smile on her face. She held out a book, the one in the photo, and said, "I think you need this book... read it, it will help."

I was fairly stunned, and paused for a moment to thank her, not really sure what to say, but aware of the people behind me who were waiting for me to move. So I thanked her quickly and left, clutching the book in my hands, and rushed off to the hospital.

She was right, that book helped. It kept me upright during some really dark moments. I held on to it, along with Critter, I propped it up next to my chair when I slept in the ICU waiting room, read passages from it, posted scripture from it on this blog, and thought a lot about who the person was who gave it to me, and how did she know?

It was a day or two before I was able to open it up, but it was a week before I found the photo tucked inside. It is the photo of a handsome man, maybe about 40 years old, smiling, on a sail boat.

That photo torments me to this day, because I am worried it was the adult child of the woman who gave me the book, and maybe he had died. Maybe it was the only good photo she had, and now I have it and I don't know how to get it back to her. There was a phone number written in the book, and the words Jordan Plymouth. For the longest time I thought that must be the man's name, but eventually I found out that is a hospital in Plymouth, MA.

I tried calling that hospital and gave them the date the woman was flying from Baltimore to Austin, but they couldn't help me without a name. I gave them the phone number written in the book, but they said they couldn't trace it without a name, or if I wanted to, I could send the photo and they could see if anyone remembered him. But I didn't want to let go of the photo in case I could find the woman myself. I mean, what if the hospital lost the photo?

So if anyone has any thoughts on how I can track this woman down, to thank her, and to return the photo to her, please let me know. If I were her, I'd want it back. Not to mention, I want to tell her that Parker lived, and I survived, and her gift helped. And I also want to tell her I know God was working through her, and how lucky she was to have been chosen. How lucky I was, too.

The Decision

So here's the thing, I had a decision to make about which book needed to be written first. I have all the materials for the 2nd in the Tugboat series, and a lot of it done in a first draft. And while I have some interest in the first book, it has not sold yet, which I am assured by at least one reputable editor and another pony book author, is due to the economy, and that it will be swooped up soon.

I also have the non-fiction random and fun pony fact book which I was writing primarily because I can do it blindfolded with very little effort (compared to the three years it took me to complete the first Tugboat book), and because it was suggested to me that it would help build my "platform" to launch the Tugboat series from.

But then there is The Other Book. The one that keeps nagging at me, but the one I am afraid to write. That is the book based on this blog, that needs to be done before I will really be able to put the trauma of this year behind me. But it also needs to be done because there is a deeper truth to our story which has not yet been unveiled, a truth that makes the story even more valuable, more heart breaking, and more victorious than most people know.

No, I am not going to tell you what that truth is.

I have been afraid to write that book because there are several weeks of this blog that I have not yet been able to go back and read without breaking down. I am still tormented by visions of Parker laying with his body opened up on his hospital bed, attached to a jungle of machines that were keeping him alive. I am tormented by things that were said to me about his chances for survival, and things I overheard being said about him.

When these memories pop into my head I force them away and refuse to allow them to break me down. But I am also stuck. Emotionally, I am frozen in place and know that I will not sleep through the night again, I will not feel safe, and I will not experience the full scope of joy due because my son lived, I will not have any of those things until I face my own fears.

Courage is the resistance of fear, the mastery of fear, not the absence of fear itself.

My dear, sweet friend Elizabeth, who grew into an adult while I was away, told me I needed to write this book now. She sent me a private message which said, in part: "I feel that your writing is so captivating and interesting, that an adult audience would really take hold of it. It's true. It really happened. I'm not trying to diss Tugs, but I can see you becoming an author that gets their book on Oprah's book of the month club. It's really powerful, and you've already got a ton of it written."


How could I not take this sage advice from my 16 year old friend and former student?

So I am going to take a deep breath and plunge in. And if the publishing Gods smile on me and the first Tugboat book is swooped up as promised, well I can always take a break from this book and do whatever work is required to get the Tugboat series moving forward. I am prepared to dig in with everything I've got.

As far as this blog, well, this blog is like an old friend and a cup of hot cocoa. It got me through many months of crazy, and I am hoping it will get me through many months more. I don't know how often I will write, but if I need to vent, or cry, or visit an old friend and cry on a shoulder, this is where you will find me. The fear of writing this book taunts me, and suggests reliving everything may send me over the edge, and I might never come back. Elizabeth assures me I have the strength to do it, so I will, with a little help from my friends.

I am also going to encourage Parker to write on this blog as he continues on his journey toward complete wellness. He has a lot to process himself, a lot of emotional and physical work to do. He told me the other day that every time he takes off his shirt he is reminded of what almost happened to him. And it makes him cry.

So stick with me friends. I'm goin' in!