Retreats for Writers - The One I Refused

This is the time for writers and poets to enter the NC Writers’ Network contests. Visit the website: www.ncwriters.org to learn about them. If you are a member of NCWN, you receive the information in your weekly newsletter.

I noticed in the most recent communication from the Network that several places are offering residencies for writers who can come and stay in a private house or cabin for a week or two and have time to write! No other responsibilities.

In 2008 I received a letter from Wild Acres, a beautiful place outside Little Switzerland NC. Wild Acres offered a residency which I applied for, and I was overjoyed when I received the letter saying I was accepted for September.

A cabin at Wild Acres for someone who was chosen for a Residency 

But in July, Barry was diagnosed with lymphoma. 

He had a tumor in his leg just above his knee. We had been sent to Emory for a second opinion. The doctors agreed Barry must have chemo and radiation. They seemed to ignore it was stage 4 and he was 73 years old. Barry had the most positive attitude of anyone I had ever seen. But it was obvious he did not want me to go away and leave him for two weeks. I would never think of doing that. I was disappointed that I had to refuse Wild Acres, but I was definitely going to be by my husband’s side during his fight to overcome cancer.

I feared the journey we were facing but had no idea what was going to happen. 

He struggled for a year in and out of hospitals, dealing with doctors at home and in Atlanta. Doctors told me when his pain grew worse and his leg looked like it had been badly burned, that they could give him more chemo. We tried one round of the stronger chemo and it was awful for him. For two days he was on IVs as the poison leaked into his body.

“It will damage his heart and he will eventually die from a heart attack," I was told. He did not have more chemo.

Finally, in July 2009, the cancer had become a horrible nightmare. His entire lower body became so swollen that it scared us, and no one was doing anything to help him. I knew he didn’t want to be kept alive to suffer, so when Hospice was suggested, I took it. He had turned over his medical care to me. He suffered extreme pain that could not be stopped. We had always agreed that we did not want to be kept alive when we knew we could not be healed.

The oxygen was removed. No meds were given except to try to stop the pain. He slept.

Within three days, his heart failed, and he died. I was devastated and grief overwhelmed me for a long time.

Several years later, I applied again for that residency at Wild Acres but was rejected. It would have been a wonderful time up in the smoky mountains, the green trees, the long walks in the quiet, but Barry came first, and I am happy that I spent all the days he had left with him, and I spent each night, too. 

Big Sur

I drive along the freeway,
cars like inchworms creep.
I visualize a moment
far removed from traffic jams.

High above the scene,
we picnicked on cheese and wine.
The wind swept up the cliff
and kissed my face with droplets
from the great Pacific which crashed
on rocks one hundred feet below.

Wind tossed our words up to the gulls
who shrieked them back at us.
The day was dazzling in its brilliance.
Our love, not young, refreshed, renewed.
We dreamed, made promises.
That perfect day - a perfect place,
away from all the world.
                        --- Glenda Council Beall