The Stones Beneath My Feet

The Stones Beneath My Feet

Poetry is a way of life and life an ever changing, never ending poem. A poet cannot help but take his pen in hand and record life’s joys and sorrows, while life continues on, blissfully unaware of the need for metrical pattern or imagery, yet creating it on a day to day basis whether in limerick, elegy or sonnet. It is all there for the taking.

Life is but a gravel path
occasionally strewn with flowers.
The sun’s above, the earth below;
there’s sunshine shadow and showers.

Have I always been a poet? I think so. The first poem I remember writing was in the fifth grade. We were asked, as a homework project, to submit lyrics for a song which would be performed in the school’s Easter program. My lyrics were chosen and put to music by the teacher. I wish I still had a copy of that song, but it didn’t seem important enough to keep at the time. I’m sure I wrote other poems as I grew up, but I don’t remember them. It wasn’t until I left school, married, and began a family that I began to really see the shadows and the showers of life. It was then that I began my journal of personal poems which was, for me, a catharsis.

We realize that each new day
is fresh but fraught with challenge...
to climb the hills and mountain tops
and still maintain our balance,

to wander lost on unknown roads,
then seek and find our way,
to run or jump or speed along...
or stumble day by day.

My husband Doug and I wanted children. I once had wanted six. Our first child, David, born at Hunter Air Force Base in Savannah, GA was a trial to a young 19 year old mother with no one to turn to for guidance; but oh, what a ray of sunshine as he grew. Our second child, Russell, was different, very different. He never learned to sit alone, never learned to crawl, and could only drag himself along by his elbows. He never spoke beyond “Mama” or “Dada”. The doctors at Westover Air Force Base in Chicopee, Massachusetts (our next assignment) said Russell was retarded, but they didn’t do any tests of any kind.

Russell died at 21 months of age, November 22, 1964. I withdrew inside myself, afraid, wondering if it had been my fault somehow. Doug missed his wife and David missed his mother.

It was then that the soft warm sand of youth turned to the rocky gravel path of adulthood and my running in barefoot innocence was gone forever. I didn’t quite know how to ease the pain. It was then I picked up pen and paper and began trying to find some rhyme or reason to what had happened, by rhyming words and phrases. I wrote about my children. I wrote about myself. I wrote about a loving God because I couldn’t believe that He would have set me on this path and spread the way with stones to cause me pain.

With Heaven’s door a step away,
but just beyond our grasp,
we hold on strong to Hope and Love,
and Faith which must not lapse.
I see the ever growing glow...
the Light I wish to meet,
If I could but rush to Him...
but I’ve stones beneath my feet...
I’ve stones beneath my feet!

It took a year for me to get myself together again and function as a living, breathing human being, but somehow I found my way. And then, what do you know, by the end of the second year David had a little sister, Peggy Sue. What a beautiful little angel God had sent to take Russell’s place!

The clouds broke and a rainbow appeared when our fourth child was born just ten months after Peggy’s birth. Two babes in diapers! Little Freddie was healthy and lively and about as normal as any child could be.

But wait...Peggy’s not sitting up by herself, not until she was a year old. But she did it! But wait... she’s eighteen months old and not standing on her own. It was time to talk to the doctors again.

This time they took notice, decided to run some tests, and sent us to the Boston Floating Hospital for Infants and Children. When I entered the room to finally hear their diagnosis, I found another person there, a representative of the Muscular Dystrophy Association. Peggy Sue had, I was told, Werdnig-Hoffman’s disease. I listened as they gently made me aware that my daughter might not live past six or seven years of age, but the MDA would be there to help in any way they could. And they were.

I’ve traveled far since first I trod
this gravel path of life.
Through many roadblocks, large and small,
I’ve handled pain and strife.
I’ve walked through storms and flooding streams, always moving on,
I’ve walked through sunlight, bright and
warm, and rainbows looked upon.

Okay, so this is what the rest of your life is going to be like. Get used to it. Get on with it. Make the best of it. Teaching Peggy how to stand, we wrapped magazines around her legs and secured them with Ace bandages while we waited for that first set of leg braces to be made.

Later, we watched as she took her first steps in the real braces and learned to use the tiny little crutches. She took it all in stride and “made the best of it,” always continuing to smile.

And then in 1968 Doug went to Vietnam and David, Peggy, Fred, and I went to live near my mother in Florida while he was away..

I’ve seen injustice, hate, and war,
disease and constant fear.
And where the worst of these held on,
the Savior hovered near,
protecting, healing, loving all,
and whispering to “Come...”
“Come let me take you home again.
“Come let me take you home.”
I see the ever growing glow
and when the Light I meet,
He’ll take me in His arms and sweep
these stones from ‘neath my feet...
these stones from ‘neath my feet!

Doug made it safely home a year later and we moved to Elkhorn, Nebraska just west of Omaha for his assignment at Offutt Air Force Base. The Muscular Dystrophy Association continued to assist with her needs and in 1970 and 1971 chose Peggy as their State Poster Child. In 1972 she was chosen their National Poster Child and was able to travel all across the country acting as their good will ambassador.

Peggy met Jerry Lewis, the first lady Pat Nixon, and other celebrities and movie stars in a whirlwind of flights, meetings and dinners. I wish now that we had taken David and Fred along with us, but somehow I felt that leaving them at home with their grandmother was my way of saving money and contributing something to the MDA. I didn’t know until many years later that they resented not being able to go. Unfortunately, there are many things I didn’t think clearly about and ended up regretting later on in life.

In 1973 we were transferred to Langley Air Force Base in Hampton, Virginia. I had begun to drift away from my husband’s love even before he went to Vietnam and I’d met a man in Omaha whom I loved but could not have. Now, in Virginia, I allowed other men to enter my life as well. Now I wrote about the death of love and the birth of new love, about lost love, and unattainable dreams, about love that should have been and love that never was.

Many times the stones along the gravel path of life have hurt my feet and the pain, almost unbearable, was only eased by the fragrant scent of a newly opened rose peeking through the briars along the edge of the road, and the sight of that distant glow on the far horizon. Many times I’ve lost my way, stumbling, trying to catch my balance, and stopped beneath some shady bower to take a deep breath, gather my thoughts, and put them down on paper. This is my poetry, my life, my lifeline, the silver cord which keeps me anchored to myself and to my faith. It’s where I go to sort my thoughts, to write the things I cannot say, to wish away the hurt, to dream the impossible dream, to express my love of God, my children, of people I’ve known, and of all His creation.

He’ll set my feet on grassy paths
where soft the heather grows.
He’ll hold me close and comfort me
with a love like no one knows.
His voice will sing like violins
played by ancient masters.
His eyes will shine and sparkle bright
with mirth and joyful laughter.

As of this writing, my firstborn, David, lives in Seattle, Washington and is doing well with his internet business. My youngest, Fred, is married and lives near Winston-Salem, North Carolina. He and his wife are truckers and their son (my only grandson) is attending college and has recently married.

And Peggy? Well, I guess she didn’t have Werdnig-Hoffman’s disease after all and was later on diagnosed with Spinal Muscular Atrophy. She has been in a wheelchair full time since Jr. High School. She works at NASA in Virginia and is married.

I’ve divorced, remarried and my husband Merle and I have retired to my home state of Florida, back into the sunshine of life. I can’t help but think, though, that the sun has always been shining on my life, even though some days were cloudy and some rain did fall and the road I walked was rough. Had He really placed me on this path? Now, looking back, I think He did. This earth plane is, after all, a classroom... and I had a LOT to learn.

My poetry, my poetry is my life. I don’t know how else to say it. And, if I never sold or published one line of it, I’d still go on writing it as long as there’s a path to follow and the Light to look forward to.

He’ll show me friends and loved ones there
who’ve gone along before me.
His wondrous Name we’ll all proclaim
in song of love and glory.
He’ll rub my feet with oil so sweet...
His tender touch will heal.
No more life’s corns and calluses
or blisters will I feel.
I see the ever growing glow...
His Light makes me complete.
the gravel path is far below...
and no stones beneath my feet...
no stones beneath my feet!

© 2005
By Ruth Y. Nott
http://www.creativewordspoetry.com

** Author's Note:

Since this piece was written and published in my first self-published book of poetry, "A Pure and Simple Faith" in 2005, family circumstances have changed. David still lives and works in Seattle; however, Peggy and Fred and their spouses also reside there.

In recent years Peggy transferred from NASA to a position with the Treasury Department in Seattle and subsequently retired on disability as her condition continually took away her ability to do her necessary office tasks. Her father Doug moved to Seattle to be near her and to assist when needed.

Her husband Eric has had a major operation on his foot due to his diabetes, from which he has not completely recovered, making it difficult, if not impossible, for him to care for many of Peggy's physical needs.

My son Fred and his wife Alice moved to Seattle about 18 months ago so that Alice could be Peggy's caregiver while Eric was incapacitated. Just recently Peggy has hired a live-in assistant to help Alice with her care.

I sadly report that Peggy's father passed away this spring and will be missed by all. He was a good Christian man who was willing to do anything for his family or his fellow man.

We are still a strong family, one which acknowledges its imperfections and embraces its differences. Our many talents have emerged over the years and we are currently working on self-publishing our second family anthology. The first, "Family Matters" was published in 2006. Although the everyday barriers of life may keep us physically separated, we cannot and will not let those things build a wall between our hearts and souls. We are forever connected because... family matters

Story ID:	3878
Written by:	Ruth Nott (bio, contact, other stories)
Story type:	Musings, Essays and Such
Location:	Chiefland FL USA
Year:	2008