After my husband, Barry, died of cancer in 2009, I felt completely lost. I did not see how I could go on without him. We had spent the past year dealing with radiation, chemotherapy, his unimaginable pain, and my constant fear of losing him. After weeks and weeks in Emory Hospital where I was with him around the clock, I insisted he come home, not to our home in the mountains, but to my sister's and brother-in-law's house in Roswell, GA. It was evident that if he had more chemo, it would kill him. He had a heart condition already. It had been suggested to me by medical staff that unless I wanted him to have more chemo, I should call Hospice Care. That was my only recourse. When his body swelled horribly and he had to be sedated most of the time, I knew I had to do the hardest thing I had ever faced.
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| Barry and Glenda at Chimney Rock, NC |
With my loving family and our dear friends, I finally got through it all. I came home to an empty house except for our dog, really Barry's dog, Rocky, who grieved for his master. Our sweet canine kid, sat by the bedside for hours waiting for the man who would not come home again.
I had resigned from NCWN-West as Program Coordinator when Barry was diagnosed. I wanted nothing to interfere or need my attention other than his care. I did not go back to church after he died. I knew I could not face the kindnesses and sympathy I would find there. My tears were always on the surface and I didn't want to break down at church.
I lost interest in our writing groups. Nothing mattered to me anymore. Two months after he died, I had cataract surgery. I needed him to help me with the eye drops that were required, but I had to depend on myself now. I didn't eat anything that required cooking. What would I do with all the leftovers?
I had always wanted to attend Wildacres retreat in Little Switzerland, NC the highlands of western NC Appalachians. I was accepted for a residency there in 2008, but in a couple of months, Barry was diagnosed. I refused the invitation.
As I sat at home miserable and wondering what would become of me, I received a notice about the Wildacres Fall Gathering, a week for all artists, craftspeople, painters, or writers to spend time working on a project of their choice. I thought about going, but I felt so alone, and I would not know anyone there. I decided not to mention that my husband had just died. I would pretend all was well in my life.
Packing the car and driving alone for several hours was new to me. I had never gone off on a trip without him. For forty-five years, he drove the car when we traveled. He packed the car after I made everything ready to go. He was in charge of the route we took. I never looked at the map. I had confidence that Barry would get us there with no problems.
Filled with excitement and anxiety, I found a parking place near the front door of the building where registration was going on. I entered a big room with a huge fireplace and chairs and sofas. It was the lobby of the main lodge, a large two-story building, wood no brick, if I remember. Inside I signed in and was given directions to my room and instructions about meals, place and times.
Since it was a little while before dinner, a cocktail party was happening between the two large buildings that would house us, and I meandered down to the area. I stopped to look at the view to my right. Wow, I thought. I am on top of the world. I could just sit out here, feast my eyes on the mountains, the sky, and not think about anything else. I didn't need people. I didn't need to talk to anyone. I could sit and drink in the everlasting vastness spread before me.
I did not reach out to anyone or try to start a conversation. They all seemed to know each other. My misgivings stirred inside me and I thought, Maybe I will just go into the main lodge and sit down.
Just as I entered the door, an attractive woman with a sweet face, came to me and introduced herself. I relaxed and we struck up a conversation. I liked her. I learned she was the sister of the director of Wildacres.
I brought my mother up here because I thought it might help her. She lost her husband, my father a few weeks ago, they had been married for over fifty years. She said to me.
That seemed to be a cue for me to say, "I just lost my husband a few months ago." So much for keeping that quiet. Well, it changed everything.
(Names have been changed)
Kathleen told me she was a nurse. She had helped care for her father and was now looking after her mother. Let me introduce you to Mother. She took my hand and walked me over to a small woman with gray hair talking and laughing with others. Helen did not appear to be mourning. She was enjoying the people, chatting and laughing. I wished I could do that, keep the pain and grief buried so I could talk, laugh, and not think about the huge void in my life.
Throughout the week I spent time with Helen talking about losing our husbands and not knowing what to do with ourselves. The family made me feel welcome, and after that afternoon, I felt right at home.
When we went to dinner down the hill to the dining room, I sat with strangers because Kathleen and Helen sat with the director at a special round table out of sight of the guests. The round tables sat eight or ten people. Too big to talk across so I tried to engage with someone beside me. On one side sat a husband and wife who had their own private thing going on, but on the other side, a woman was more approachable. I met painters, quilters, potters, and other artists in the following days while eating family-style meals.
By the time I left Wildacres at the end of the week, I had become good friends with another writer. She was working on a memoir. We talked and shared our reasons for being there. We had an instant feeling of friendship. She was a Morman living in North Carolina. I found her to be most interesting.
My major goal for being at the retreat was to figure out what I wanted to do with the rest of my life.
I made lists. What did I really like to do? What did I not want to do?
I liked writing and taking writing classes. I liked being my own boss.
During that week at Wildacres, I devised a plan. I decided to make the basement level of my house a writing studio. Finally, I had a reason to be. I would help other writers and do something that I totally enjoyed. My mind went wild with plans.
I encountered some opposition from one of my best friends. She thought I was abandoning NCWN-West but I wasn't. I even asked if my studio could be a part of Netwest, but was told it would be best to do it as my own. With fresh paint on the walls and some simple decor, the daylight basement became my writing studio. Writers Circle Around the Table became synonymous with excellent teachers and pleasant classes.
Today I am in new surroundings. I am teaching from home using Zoom. But my business is still Writers Circle Around the Table. I will continue to teach and ask good instructors to teach at reasonable prices just as I did in 2010 in Hayesville. Beginning writers will be comfortable in an encouraging non-competitive environment. With technology being what it is today, most people have learned how to study online. Even the John C. Campbell Folk School offers online instruction. I will help anyone who doubts their ability to participate.
For the past 2 years, I have taught memoir courses with three 2 hour sessions on Tuesday evenings. I will continue that format with classes on March 11, 18 and 25. We meet from 6:00 PM EST - 8:00 PM EST. Many of my students register for each class I teach because they enjoy it so much and it helps motivate them to make writing a priority. As all writers know, few non-writers recognize your writing time as important.
I look forward to my writer friends who teach holding classes at the new Writers Circle Around the Table.
If you want more information or wish to register for the March classes, email me: at gcbmountaingirl@gmail.com Write "Writing classes" in the subject line.
