Atlanta Writers Group

Feature Article – August 2006

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By Karen Pickett-Woodland

It was one of the worse years of my life.  Like that old song says, “Momma told me there would be days like this,” but I didn’t know it would be years.   Of course had she told me, I still would not have believed her.  How could something so good go so bad?

My baby boy was a joy from the beginning.  He was the best baby and became a balm to my spirit after the death of his father.  He was rarely sick, slept through the night and his smile brought sunshine to my heart.  His older teenage sister quickly became enamored of him and took him under her wing like a protective eagle. 

It became apparent that my parents needed help.  The day to day struggle to handle a large house and do simple chores, seem to be taking a toll on them.  We decided to combine the households and purchase one house that would satisfy all of our needs.  After moving twenty-five years of my parents stuff and sixteen years of our stuff into one house, we realized how wonderful it was to be together again.  The house was big enough to allow each of us to have our own space, coming home was a pleasure. 

The month after we were all moved in, my mother was diagnosed with kidney failure, and a shunt was surgically implanted to allow her to have overnight dialysis at home.  Nine months later she was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer.  Less than a year after moving in together, she passed away in her bed.  My father, who constantly reminded us that he was supposed to go first, followed her sixteen months later by having a massive heart attack; in other words, he died of a broken heart. 

Shortly after, things started looking up.  I married the second love of my life and began rebuilding our lives, again.  Short of one year after our marriage, my best friend, my first mother in law, died of cancer.  My god-mother followed her a few months later passing of a heart attack.  My surviving two aunts on both sides of my family and my uncle passed within seven months of each other.  My current mother in law who moved in with us (after living in her house for over fifty years), had been misdiagnosed for years with cancer, went to visit all my other deceased loved ones, less than a year later.  

In four short years I was now the matriarch of my family at 43.  My spirit and head was spinning with the weight of losing so many people I loved.  How do I continue, who do I go to for advice and wisdom.  It was now my job to impart knowledge to the next generation.  Yet, I felt useless and detached from reality.  It was like floating in a quiet ocean, with little to keep me buoyant as the waves rocked and bobbed me.  Knowing the pitch black of the deep was waiting patiently, if I didn’t keep struggling to keep my head above water. 

We decided to move to Atlanta, Georgia after living in Detroit for over 40 years.  This was no small move, we weren’t prepared.  Due to the job situation in Detroit, we needed immediate cash; my husband had to move to Chicago to work.   This left the bulk of the work, kids, my job transfer, three IRS audits and disposal of almost 100 years of residue from all the combined family members that have resided in our home, on my plate.  I had ninety days to complete this move. The cloud surrounding me was dense; I often felt as though I would smother with the weight of it, and found myself crawling into bed with the covers over my head trying to shut it all out.  I wanted it to all go away, I wanted my mother.

There were little voices that constantly spoke to me in at my hardest times.  They said,” keep coming, it will be better, it will be welcoming, you will do well.”  They would speak when I least expected it, and force me to keep going, force me to listen and keep looking through the fog to a very faint pinprick of a light.

It was my sisters, my younger sisters that kept the light going.  They were the ones that encouraged me, called me, and helped me. It was their voices that I was hearing when the phone rang.  It was their love that came through in those dark hours and dark days.  They were telling me things I had always told them that kept them moving.  It was the things God had given me to say to them, coming back to me.

And the fog lifted.  When I got to Atlanta, the sun was shining, the warmth was surrounding me, the love was filtering in.  When we got in from the 14 hour drive, dinner was waiting for us, my son was reunited with his favorite cousins, my daughter was given her job transfer, and I was physically and emotionally embraced by my family.  They smoothed out the past couple of years by using intoxicating love.  They smiled at me and put me to bed.  They gave me a place to stay with time to recoup and heal.  They helped in everyway a person can help another person, with an abundance of love.  I am home. Thank you, Lord, I am home.

Karen Pickett-Woodland, a replanted Michigander living in Alpharetta, GA is the current editor, and a contributor to the Atlanta Writers Group website www.atlantawriters.org. She is a freelance copywriter, editor and author with over 20 years experience in high-tech environments. She has authored and published newsletters, short stories and articles on small business marketing, management, financing, franchising, customer service, hi-tech training manuals, brochures and management techniques. Karen is a wife, mother and grandmother currently completing her Master’s degree in Information Systems.