WHAT
HAPPENS WHEN LIFE HAPPENS
by
Andy Schell
I
must admit that of late, it has been difficult coming up with ideas for a
column that is supposed to be centered on Annapolis and the Chesapeake Bay.
I
spent some time living again in Sweden this past winter. Mostly writing and
taking Swedish lessons in town. And helping our neighbor train his team of
huskies out in the woods, when there was enough snow to hook them up to the
sled. We’d race around the farmland and the forest, at first with only four
dogs, then six and eventually eight when we felt comfortable enough that we
weren’t going to get thrown off the thing. The joy that we experienced with
those huskies was indescribable, childlike in its innocence. The dogs, if it
was possible, were more excited than I was to be out there in the snow. For
them it was instinct.
The
plan was to live in Sweden while Mia and I endured the bureaucratic process of
applying for her Green Card. We had the time. I had enough writing and editing
work and could be flexible enough to go out and train the dogs on a moments
notice when Richard came knocking. It was kind of a writer’s dream – living out
a cold, dark winter next to the fireplace and having all the time in the world
to put down my thoughts, with intermittent jaunts into the wilderness to clear
my head now and then.
And
then it became kind of urgent. I wrote about my Mom’s failing health several
issues ago (thanks for the supportive response I got from several of my
readers), but at that time she was still going strong.
Sometime
around Christmas we began noticing a change. Subtle, and difficult to pinpoint,
but over time it became obvious that she was slipping a little bit, mentally
and physically (she was diagnosed with a glioblastoma multiforme – the worst
kind of brain tumor – in November 2009). I’d call everyday from Sweden, as I
had everyday since her diagnosis, and I could hear in my dad’s voice a new hint
of stress, a slight variation in the tone of his voice when he told me how she
was doing. I talked to Mom of course, but she was – still is – so optimistic
that it’s hard to get a real sense over the phone.
One
morning my dad sounded particularly stressed. My little sister Kaitie had been
home frequently to help out in my absence, and I talked to her a lot on the
phone too. But I thought to myself that it was the first time since this whole
ordeal began that Dad really sounded like he didn't know what to do. Mom had
slipped in the bathroom and fallen hard on the floor, and he seemed really
worried about her. That night I booked my flight home, and three days later I
was back in Pennsylvania (without Mia). It was the beginning of February, a
week after my Mom’s 62nd birthday.
Mom
was getting worse, but she was still going strong (still is going strong. As I
write this, she’s in the living room of the house I grew up in, watching the
morning news with our two dogs, Oatmeal and Lewis, by her side). Physically,
she is better then ever – they stopped treatment in January, so none of the
poisonous drugs are coursing through her veins anymore. She’s in God’s hands
now.
It
was a relief coming home, for me more than anyone, but half of my heart was
still back in Sweden with Mia. Finally, one month later, sometime in early
March, my local Congressman, Tim Holden, wrote a letter directly to the US
Embassy in Stockholm on our behalf. Less than two weeks later Mia was on a
flight to New York, officially welcome as a resident of the United States.
Kaitie
was home over this past weekend, did my Moms nails so she looks nice for the 60th
birthday party her and I are planning for my Dad this week. The family as a
whole, who have been spread out for a while, geographically, is now back under
the same roof. It feels good to have that support.
When
I started this column this morning it was going to be about how I finally am
almost back to normal. How Mia and I were back in Annapolis last week, having
breakfast at the Leeward Market with our good friend Micah. About how nice it
was to be back in the boatyard over at Port Annapolis, watching the spring
unfold as covers came off, the cherry blossoms came out, boat bottoms were
being painted and people were busy, everywhere. About how next week we’re
finally getting back on the water, delivering a 47’ Vagabond ketch, Second Wind, from Annapolis up to
Albany. It will be our first time sailing since putting Arcturus away in Ireland last September, and a good warm-up for the
next trans-Atlantic we’re doing in May (which I wrote about last month).
This
might sound corny, but I guess this short column is kind of like life. I had
good intentions at the outset, and the plans changed. For Mom and Dad, who are
almost at retirement age, that notion is truer than I ever want to imagine.
Life happens, and not always as you plan.
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