Julie’s Encounters

A letter I wrote to my children from the hospital while “watching and waiting” with Bill.

Cincinnati, Oh 45236

July 17th, 2020

To my beloved children:

Thank you, thank you, for the help you have provided to your Dad and me over this past grueling week. Your love has shone through your actions and I am very grateful. All these hours in the hospital watching your dad sleep and wondering about what is yet to come, have given me plenty of time to reflect on my life, my choices, and the impact my decisions have had on others and particularly on you.

I’ve been looking back on my life which has been fraught with struggle and suffering. Some of the pain was due to the choice I made with the best of intentions and hopes for a happy life, when I married at 18. Some of the pain came from my overly strict parents who believed in “instant obedience” and corporal punishment; using a stick and a belt, when, as little children we were considered bold, or naughty. The nuns, too, at school beat us daily, to keep us in line. I learned to be good pretty quickly, I can tell you. Some of the pain came from being bullied for being “four eyes”, and worse, when we moved to England, for being Irish, where my accent and any mistakes I made were mocked and put down to my ethnicity, (as everyone knows Irish people are idiots). I was teased because my parents wouldn’t allow me to dress in the current styles, insisting on modesty, to the point I wasn’t even allowed to shave my legs as a teenager, and so got made fun of for that and called a gorilla at school by mean boys. Some of the pain came from being violated and abused, as you are already aware, and more came from my miscarriage. But it was not all suffering.

There has been great joy, too, in my life. Time spent with my grandparents when I was a teenager and managed to forget the responsibilities of being the oldest child for a few weeks, time spent with my great aunt Mai, Uncle Martin, and my cousins in Tuam. Time to be all by myself, once in a while, in a field with the fairies, where I built homes for them in niches in stone walls, returning the next day to see if they had moved the sticks and stones and flower petals I used for furniture. Time spent writing letters to the myriad pen pals I had around the world, and the anticipation of a letter back from a person I would probably never meet, but with whom I had formed a close bond. Time chatting with Jesus and Mary and telling them my concerns and feeling consoled. I also remember fondly the time when Donald joined our family, and Lulu, too, and what a surge of love flooded our home. My parents, feeling that they had more to give, brought in two children to their home even though they couldn’t afford the family they had. They knew, even in their own clumsy way, that it is family that matters. That is why I wanted a big family, myself.

Your births, each in its turn, were four of the most welcome and joyful days of my life. I wanted, more than anything to be your mother and love, love, love, love, love, you.

So, even though time passes, (very slowly when you’re in a hospital) I have discovered we carry with us all the experiences; the joys, the sorrows and all the accompanying emotions. They never leave us, so we must make room for them, accept them and create more space for love with which to surround them. At least that’s what I have been doing for decades.

When Bill and I reconnected and chose to love one another, we believed our choice would also be a good one for you all. I have never felt so loved by another person as I do by him and I hope that his experience has been the same. We made decisions that would be in our family’s best interest at the time and were confident that life was going to be better because we were sharing the journey together. But sometimes life stinks. Life is difficult on a good day, for Heaven’s sake. However, it has been in the tough times, like now, that the love we have cultivated helps us get through. All the personal decisions we have made have impacted all in our circle, which of course, the most important members, as you all now know, are our children.

Decisions I made, especially as a young wife in England, may have caused some suffering to you. Please know that I am sorry. There were times I was so stressed and afraid that I probably couldn’t give you the nurturing and care you deserved in that time. I may have been too wrapped up in my own mess that I was incapable of providing you with the emotional, psychological and intellectual tools needed to navigate life well because I didn’t possess them, then. I have been working on forgiving myself for being less than you all needed and deserved. I’m getting there.

I have cried a lot this week, not in front of any of you, or your dad, but alone. The tears just come, and I think it’s because I know that my time with your dad is limited and I want the time we have left to be good and I want to do for him now what I didn’t do for you when you needed me as little people. He is scared, too, and frustrated with being confined to his bed for a significant amount of time, and we all know how much he values his independence. His past, of which he says very little, as he didn’t really know his dad who was very quiet, probably plays out in his mind as he waits to see Jesus. He seems ready. He uses the F word so much that I just listen for the tone and try to interpret what he is saying. I, selfishly, am not ready, though. I am learning to accept that each of us has our own individual journey to make, and that Bill’s journey is his, not mine.

Whenever the inevitable occurs, and I am on my own, I will be leaving the US. I know this is no surprise to you all, but I want to say now what is in my heart, as who knows when I will have this much time on my hands again.

I am so very proud of each one of you and what good people you are becoming (we are never finished becoming our best self).

In spite of seemingly insurmountable challenges in your lives you have maintained your integrity, cultivated compassion for those in life’s margins, and found the most loving souls to partner with on life’s journey. You are all caring, nurturing and loving parents and all round decent human beings. I do not agree with some of your ideas, your choices, your political views or your beliefs, but that’s not my business and I refuse to allow my views on that stuff to interfere with the love I have in my heart for you, or the pride I take in being your mother.

I am so in awe of what great people you are, considering the difficult start we had as a family. You have taken on the tough soul work needed to be people of integrity, continually working toward being your best selves. All credit to you, for being so intentional in your lives. I couldn’t love you more than I do at this moment.

It has never mattered to me what you chose to do with your lives, in terms of work, it only mattered that you were good people and in that you have excelled. My one prayer is that you continue to work on the relationships that matter; the connections you have with one another and with Heather, Laura and Pete. It is why I work so hard to create opportunities for you all to be together, like the Buckhorn tradition.

Sometimes I find it hard when examining my conscience or checking my motives for doing something, to face my selfishness. I continue to call myself out for my shortcomings and get back on the right path toward peace. I really do try to do the right thing in all circumstances, but like anyone, I am human and make many mistakes. So, please, don’t allow my past mistakes, or your own, to spoil your potential for happiness. I encourage you to continue to choose love, choose joy and choose Life.

Life is too short to be miserable. It is such a gift. Find things every day to be grateful for and keep the challenges in perspective working creatively to overcome them. Be confident in my love and know that you have greatness within you, and you deserve to be happy.

To end my letter, sorry, it’s a bit rambling, I am going to list 20 things for which I am grateful (there are plenty more, but I don’t want to bore you).

1. Life

2. Bill

3. Your partners in life

4. My grandchildren

5. Helpers

6. Art

7. Flower gardens

8. Rain

9. Work

10. Learning

11. The Buckhorn Inn

12. Second chances

13. My faith

14. Belly laughs

15. Impromptu get togethers

16. Live music

17. Singing children

18. Memories of good times together

19. Hugs and cuddles

20. YOU

I love you. Thank you, for choosing me, when you were spirit babies, to be your mother.

Wherever I am, wherever I end up. Know that you are loved.

Mom xxx

While books are being banned in parts of the US I reflect on the value and impact of reading on my life.

My earliest memory of books is of my father reading Little Women to me, followed by Little Men, and Jo’s Boys. Then sending me on my way to choose my own stories from an approved list of classics that included such titles as Heidi, Black Beauty, Robinson Crusoe, and The Water Babies.

While attending The Royal Latin School as a teenager, I recall reading The Hobbit by Tolkien, Chaucer’s Prologue to The Canterbury Tales, Time and the Conways by JB Priestly and Shakespeare’s Twelfth Night.

When I came to the US, I knew nothing of American Literature as I embarked on my studies to become an English teacher and felt extremely foolish when I received an answer from my professor, Dr. Finkelstein, to my question, “Did Edgar Allen Poe ever write anything cheerful?”.

His reply, “Everybody knows, good literature is NEVER cheerful” exposed my ignorance.

I realized there was an unexplored world of stories waiting to be discovered and I was excited to excavate meaning, find myself in the pages of other’s words, discover the beauty of language, get uncomfortable, recognize truth, challenge my assumptions, grow in empathy and realize, gratefully, that I was not alone.

Now that I have written a memoir, I am understanding something else about books. Some people are threatened by the truth contained within the pages. To those people I say, “Do not be afraid”. Read, read, read and choose Eros.

To my father, I say, “Thank you.”

“Banning books is just another form of bullying. It’s all about fear and an assumption of power. The key is to address the fear and deny the power.” ― James Howe

As my four seasons in Corris come full circle, I am increasingly aware that life’s mystery and grace is contained in the simplest things. Happiness is not something to be pursued, rather, happiness is already available inviting our embrace. We need look no further than to the grass beneath our feet or the clouds above our heads to witness the awesome miracles of which we are a part.

I have been restored, rejuvenated, and reminded of God’s greatness by taking time to watch and wonder at the limitless beauty of the natural world, and at the innate goodness of the people I encounter through their simple acts of kindness and generosity.

Finding a baby lamb dangerously close to the road and working with a friend to reunite it with its frantic mother on the other side of a gate, filled me with indescribable joy and a deeper appreciation for the biblical analogy of the good shepherd. Once again understanding that we are all interconnected and interdependent. Each one of us can choose to respond to the invitation to care for one other in order to realize the divine promise which is Love.

I LOVE people. My life is enhanced through sharing experiences, ideas, time, space, stories and hugs.

Since childhood I have rarely been alone. I am the oldest of eight, and left home at 16 to work as a residential housemother to 18 children, (still just a child myself). Then, I married and had four children before I was 30, eventually choosing a teaching career where I interacted with hundreds of young people daily. Every encounter, in its own way, a blessing.

Until recently, when aloneness imposed itself on me with the death of my beloved, Bill, and retirement beckoned, I did not know if I could endure the unique loneliness.

I discovered how grief, my uninvited companion, relentlessly elbowed it’s way in, pounding every atom of my being searching for a permanent place to settle, undisturbed.

Returning to Wales gifted me with time to reflect in exquisite, natural surroundings while my soul rediscovered the need for solitary silence.

Over time, immersed in that silence, I have come to understand that grief, once settled in, is a considerate resident and great pals with gratitude.

I am also discovering that although being with others brings me most joy, the lesson from this year of transition, that has most deeply settled within my heart, is that with God’s grace I can find solace, happiness and peace in my own company.

While struggling to find a space on the train for my carry on bag, and aware that I am holding up the other passengers, I breathe in and lean in toward an empty seat to let them pass by.

As the train pulls out of Crewe station I hoist my bag onto the nearest empty seat and plop down next to it as I exhale. My eyes meet the sympathetic smiling gaze of an older lady sitting across the aisle. I smile back.

“You are very well put together”, she tells me, gesturing to my overall look.

I feel far from “put together” in that moment but I thank her, nevertheless, understanding that her remark is an invitation to connect.

And so begins our conversation that continues for the entire journey to London.

Suzy shares her story with me, of becoming a widow at the age of 44 and the shock of learning her husband had suffered an aneurism and dropped dead. She regrets not being able to tell him one last time how much she loved him. Now, married again, she is caring for her second husband who has some form of Parkinson’s and can no longer speak. She is grateful that she can show him and tell him each day, the love she has for him, “probably, a bit too often, sometimes” she adds with a chuckle.

“I don’t think it’s possible to love too much”, I tell her.

Two women, who only minutes before were strangers, are sharing their journey and their stories and lifting each other up.

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I visited Powys Castle a few days ago, and although impressed by its architectural features, captivating gardens and magnificent location, once inside I was overcome with a deep sadness as I followed the guiding red cord through halls adorned with tiger skin rugs, and rooms stuffed with the spoils of war and death: the glittering ornamental gold and silver objects, the weaponry glinting in the light, ivories, intricate tapestries, jewels, statues of Hindu gods, many acquired through violent oppression at the beginning of the British Empire in India when Robert Clive ( 1725-1774) was hired by the East India Company to forcibly invade and conquer the Indian subcontinent, making him an obscenely wealthy man, one of the richest in Britain.

I felt saddest when I entered the room containing 18 glass display cases housing an array of stuffed birds and animals staring blankly from their perches. Perhaps it is because I am still grieving the loss of my beloved Bill that life, in all its forms, has become more acutely precious to me and increased my sensitivity and awareness to the wondrous gift it is.

I now ponder the history of places like Powis Castle and the dehumanizing impact of Colonialism. How the seized treasures were flaunted and displayed to symbolize the dominance of one group over another. How we still have much to learn from history about how to treat one another. How our collective past is linked inextricably to our future and how critical it is for us to know the truth, no matter how horrific, so that we choose to be and do better.

Sadly, current signs reveal a reluctance to bravely confront the the systemic evils in society as an insidious, creeping contagion of revisionism and book banning seeps into our lives where too many of us are ignorant, unaware, or worse, indifferent.

When I began this post my intention was to explore the notion of living simply, without too much stuff to clutter up my life and distract from what is most important – loving my neighbor. Yet, my creative spirit took it it along a sequestered path. I see now that my neighbor can also be those from distant lands who came before.

Over the past couple of days I have been delighted by quirky things which has me contemplating the concepts of conformity, compliance and “fitting in”. I have concluded that embracing the novel, the creative, the different, the quirky, enhances our lives in unexpected ways.

While traveling through the smallest town in Britain, Llanwrtyd Wells, I noticed a sign promoting an upcoming annual Bogsnorkelling competition. I later discovered that this town also hosts a marathon where man versus horse. A race that surprisingly a man sometimes wins. By celebrating its quirkiness this town attracts visitors from all over the world and so maintains its vibrancy.

Similarly, the town of Hay on Wye, close to the Welsh border with England, known in literary circles as the largest second hand bookstore in the world, credits its growth and reputation to a quirky man named Richard Booth (1938 – 2019). Mr Booth, an Oxford scholar and bibliophile had an idea to inject some life into an area he saw deteriorating by going to the United States in the 1970’s to buy up crates of books being sold off by libraries that were closing and shipping them back to Hay on Wye where he then opened seven second hand bookstores including converting an old fire station and cinema. A man of means he also bought Hay castle with the aim of drawing attention to the town which he accomplished through some very novel stunts.

Mr Booth proclaimed himself King Richard of Hay on Wye and made his horse his prime minister. Then, with the consent of the people of the town, and with tongue in cheek, on April 1st., 1977, he declared Hay on Wye an independent territory with its own flag and national anthem.

King Richard printed money on rice paper which was accepted in many shops as legal tender, he sold passports and baronies and earldoms for about 25.00 pounds and threw in a T shirt. His antics were successful in focusing attention on the town through his love of books, which has proven to be a boon for the town which boasts an average of one bookstore for every 55 residents.

An annual book festival now attracts Nobel prize winning authors, scientists and presidents including Salman Rushdie, Presidents Carter and Clinton, the latter calling it “The Woodstock for the mind.”

Today I met another quirky person, Tom Goddard, who has preserved the Victorian practice of decorating envelopes and turned it into an art form and social commentary solely for his own and our enjoyment . We chatted for about half an hour as he described his art which he displays but does not sell.

Thanks to people like Tom, the residents of Llanwrtyd Wells, and King Richard Booth, whose passion for books combined with his quirky personality helped a town flourish, people from all over the world enjoy the fruits of their efforts.

Perhaps we all could more readily embrace our own quirkiness and be less concerned about fitting in. Who knows, if we can do this, how much we might improve the lives of others.

Two weeks ago, while browsing the weekly open air market stalls for my fruit and veg for the next seven days, I spotted some home grown rhubarb. It is one of my favorites, probably because I can recall a childhood watching Grandad yank the stalks out of his vegetable patch and then hand them to Granny to make a delicious pie. I would hover by the table as she cut up the rhubarb hoping she would dip a piece in some sugar for me. When she did I eagerly bit into the one inch wedge of tartness, my face puckering as I waited for the sweetness of the sugar to increase my pleasure.

No surprise then, that once I had returned from the market and was back in the kitchen, my first thought was to prepare my own rhubarb dessert while reminiscing on those cherished childhood memories. As I unpacked the groceries I discovered, to my dismay, that I had left the rhubarb at the stall. It took a few minutes before I stopped scolding myself for being so careless and tried instead to console myself by remembering the saying that the anticipation is often more enjoyable than the event. I’m not so sure when it comes to rhubarb.

Well today, I revisited that stall and picked out some carrots, an onion and some plums. There was no rhubarb. I recognized the young man serving me, whose name I later found out is Bryn, and mentioned to him of my carelessness the last time I was there. He remembered and told me that he had kept the rhubarb for me (which I had paid for) in case I returned. Then he told me to take the produce I was planning on buying today, free of charge, to make up for my disappointment. The lesson I learned from this encounter is that people are good. So, thanks to Bryn and Tommy, stallholders.

Other good people who have helped me out this week are people I have never met and yet they responded to my requests. I posted in a local Facebook page that I like to crochet, and as there is no TV where I’m staying, it is one way to pass the evening. I asked for any unwanted surplus yarn and within a few minutes Nancy and Menna, strangers to me, were offering to drop off what they had. When I returned from my walk, there, hanging on the door handle, was a bag full of wool. Lesson learned from that exchange is that people are good. Thanks to Menna and Nancy.

I also asked if anyone could lend me a classical guitar for a week, as we have a writer coming from Italy who enjoys playing. Yet again, a person I have never met, offered his to me. When I returned from the market, it was propped up outside the front door waiting for me. Lesson learned from that interaction, people are good. Thanks to Godfrey for trusting me with his guitar.

There are so many helpful and kind folk about who are ready to step up and make life just a little easier for others. Veronica, for generously sharing her space, the pub landlord and landlady, who showed up with a memory foam mattress topper, for my added comfort, and Mike and Andy who have offered to help remove a heavy oil container from the back yard as well as provide a guitar.

Lesson learned every day is o be grateful that there are more and more good people.

Bryn.

As I adjust to life on my own I find myself paying more attention to the interactions between people. I am becoming more observant and maybe even ( I know it’s hard to imagine) more introverted. I’m certainly more reflective.

At a family wedding on Monday I felt particularly alone even in the midst of lovely people happy to chat. I noticed all the couples enjoying the occasion and each other. The loving glances, the gentle reach of a hand to another, the affectionate shoulder squeeze and comforting back rub and the warmth in the embraces as friends greeted friends. I noted the subtle, seemingly insignificant gestures of kindness offered by many to people they had just me and felt simultaneously both happy and sad, acutely aware of the absence of Bill’s physical presence and his tender touch.

Returning to Corris the next day, one of the hottest days in Wales ever recorded, I anticipated train delays and decided to make the most of the journey whatever happened.

While enquiring about alternative trains due to missed connections, I met a lady who was traveling the same route. with a two hour wait til our next train I was resigned to sitting still in the sweltering heat and daydreaming of cool breezes. She, decided to walk into Shrewsbury and explore the town. I offered to watch her luggage, a carry on bag and an artist’s portfolio. She hesitated at first and said she would manage, but I explained that I had no plans to do anything but sit and wait. She was persuaded and entrusted me, a stranger, with her belongings.

Ten minutes before the train was due to depart she returned, excited to show me the summer dress she had bought for her daughter while explaining what a rare treat it was for her to shop alone. Helping her out had been no sacrifice at all to me, but to her was a significant kindness.

The train conductor approached us on the platform and suggested we would be more comfortable in the front carriage which had air conditioning and once we were on board he provided us with bottled water. When we sympathized with him about working in such intolerable heat, he plopped down in the seat opposite us and chatted for a few minutes reminding us cheerfully that once Autumn arrives it will be leaves on the tracks that will cause the delays.

The inconvenience of delayed transportation allowed for pleasant exchanges between strangers and the 90 minute train ride passed swiftly as Sian Bennett, children’s book illustrator, and I, chatted about our lives and discussed the nature of kindness.

The final leg of my journey was by bus. The Polish bus driver waived my fare when I mentioned I have applied for, but not yet received, my bus pass. “Sit down, relax and enjoy the ride” was his comment to me.

So, I am learning to “relax and enjoy the ride” while trusting in the kindness of strangers.

For one year I have been learning to live my life without Bill. The lessons have been difficult to accept at times because I have wanted to determine my own path and have been resistant to the reality that I am alone.

What I know now, that I hadn’t fully understood before, is that I can waste precious time wishing things were different, wishing time would stand still as I relish a tender moment, or wishing time would pass more quickly as I anticipate a happy event.

All the mysterious gifts of Life are presented to me in each moment if I can learn to pay attention and be in the now. I am so grateful to be in a place where Nature reminds me daily in the blossoms, in the leaves on the trees, in the rippling brook, in the meow of a cat, and in the warmth in the greeting of a passer by, that life is continually renewing us. I am filled with gratitude for the gift of memory and choose to be happy while carrying the Love that continues to sustain me in my heart. I will honor that love and honor Bill while cherishing each moment by choosing a healthy and joyful life.