Today we had the vet out for the horses’ annual shots. It was a routine visit, one that snuck up on me as I had scheduled it weeks ago. But what surprised me even more was the emotion that came over me after the visit.
The story actually begins back in the spring. That was when I heard the news that the large animal vet that we usually use was no longer practicing. I was sorry to hear this because he was someone we liked and respected, and (as a horse owner) it’s a big decision to find a new vet.
A few weeks later, I learned that Dr. Bob Gochanauer, a dear friend and wonderful vet, had passed away unexpectedly. My heart ached for his family who used to have a farm just a few miles away from us. Dr. Bob had also been my primary vet for Crimson for 13 years.
Between the time that Crimson passed away and we purchased Foxie for Sydney, Dr. Bob and his family moved further out in the country, about 45 minutes away. He was still practicing, but because of the distance, I had decided to use a closer vet for the sake of convenience.
After our other vet left the practice, I took some time researching vets. I’d heard it said that we had a “shortage of vets” in the area.
I decided to call Dr. Mary, who is Bob’s daughter. Yes, their office was farther away, but something tugged at me.
She and her assistant pulled up to the farm today in their big truck. I hadn’t seen Dr. Mary since she was a kid, when I used to give her riding lessons. Her face held the same open kindness that I remembered. We embraced for a long moment, and I whispered in her ear that I was so sorry about her dad. She nodded and smiled, her eyes filling.
When she entered the barn, I was blown away by how much she reminded me of her dad. Her mannerisms around the horses were spot on. She stood like him; she asked questions; she wasn’t in a rush. He had been an old country vet with gut wisdom about animals and true kindness.
I had forgotten how deeply I felt connected with him when he worked with the horses. Shady tends to get nervous around new experiences, and Dr. Mary helped him through his rotation of shots calmly and beautifully. Then she went on to treat Foxie, who stood quietly in her stall.
Before Dr. Mary left, I gave her a copy of Motherhood: Lost and Found, and told her there was a chapter that included her dad. He had euthanized Little Bit, one of my school horses, and he did it in such a gentle and loving manner that it always chokes me up when I think of it.
I’d been wanting to give her a copy of my memoir for some time, but it was one of those things I hadn’t got around to. (She lived far away, I didn’t know her address, yada yada yada.) She held the book to her chest and her eyes filled with tears. We embraced again, and I cried with her.
Later, with the horses turned out to graze, after their non-eventful vet visit, I found myself still full of emotion, thinking of Dr. Mary – on the road treating horse after horse, today and every day, the way her father did. I am so grateful for the kind of compassion they bring to this world.
I was just chatting with a “friend” on Instagram. We were connecting about our love of animals and nature, and our conversation suddenly took a turn. She told me that her mother’s birthday was tomorrow. I knew that her mother had died and sensed that she felt this loss intensely.
I felt a sudden deep empathy. My mother is gone too, and her birthday was in late June.
My Instagram friend is a writer like I am and her words made me pause. “We never fully stop grieving. It is an ever evolving process, and through writing they live on with us and through nature and animals communicate to us. Never the same, but comforting.”
As a poet and a nature and animal lover, I know this to the core of my soul, though I’m not sure I’ve spoken it out loud. My mother was deeply in tune with nature. I remember her awe over the spectacular winter sunsets on the North Carolina coast, her silent reverence for the beauty of Lake George and its wildlife as we paddled her green canoe, her passion for protecting undeveloped land.
Like nature, she was never in a rush. Mom taught me to appreciate the mountains around the lake and the long stretches of damp sand along the coast. With her eyes, I take in the tall pines that line the bay, and I scan the ocean’s dark grey green waves for the fins of dolphins.
I follow her footsteps as I hike the rocky hills of the Adirondacks. Is it her feet or mine that sink in the sand as I search for shells beside the ocean as the salt air caresses my cheeks?
Each time I walk on the beach or return to my ancestral home in upstate New York, I am soothed by visions of her.
To read more about my mother and her influence on me, order a copy of The Beach Poems, a collection of poetry about the Carolina coast and the crescent of sand we called “the beach” at Lake George in Upstate New York. To receive the pre-publication discount, click here.
Also, check out my friend @meditatingwithanimals on Instagram and learn more about her lovely book here.
I’m so pleased to announce that my collection, The Beach Poems, will be published by Main Street Rag Publishing Co. I’ve been working on this group of poems for oh…about 10 years. (Not long compared to the time I spent on my memoir.) 🙂
The beach has always been a place of deep beauty and healing for me. My mother passed away in 2007 after 14 years of living with Alzheimer’s. As you can imagine, it took some time for the layers of loss to lift. This collection of poems is special to me because it shares the story of my journey from grief back to joy.
Here’s the exciting part. My publisher Scott Douglass is offering a pre-publication discount. The book will be released in a couple of months. But if you order now, you can get it for $6.50 (plus shipping) instead of the cover price of $12. Not a bad deal.
Here’s a link directly to my author’s page:
The MSR Online Bookstore: http://mainstreetragbookstore.com/
*A note from the publisher: Those of you who don’t like buying online, Main Street Rag will take checks, but the price is a flat rate of $12.50/book regardless of quantity which includes shipping and sales tax. Please remember, though. This is for advance orders. It doesn’t mean the book will be shipped early, only that you are receiving a discount for ordering before it goes to press, but the price will only last for a limited time, so order now!
Thank you so much for all of your support! I send my deepest gratitude and blessings to those of you who have walked with me and been on your own journey through grief. May your beach days be blessed.
To read more about The Beach Poems, go to my website by clicking here: www.anncampanella.com
I’ve been at the lake for almost a week, just enough time to slip into the rhythm of a lake dweller. Someone who has forgotten the minutiae that occupied my mind before I arrived, someone who eats meals on the deck and no longer cares about washing my hair, someone who takes note of the wind and checks the surface of the lake each time I’m outside. Someone who cools off before dinner with a swim.
Here at Lake George the weather shifts from cool and windy to warm and sunny to damp and rainy within a few hours. This year, we’ve been blessed with beautiful days where we’ve enjoyed being out on the boat, swimming to the float at the family beach, spending a morning on a dining porch or an afternoon on a dock chatting with cousins, watching the sun set over the mountains.
The first few days, we rushed to get everything in, still running on the energy of our regular lives. But today, my last day here, I want to slow down and absorb the messages this place holds.
On our first days, we took Sydney tubing with a cousin, went kayaking around the bay, swimming at the beach. We gathered with cousins for our annual family meeting and picnic. There was a flurry of activity and fun.
Midway through our time here, something slowed inside me. My daughter and I canoed to Joshua’s Rock. The wind was so strong, we hardly needed to paddle on our way out. We sat on the ledge that I’ve shared over the years with my mother, my siblings and cousins and looked out on the expanse of lake. Neither of us said much. My daughter picked wild blueberries from the bush beside her as I studied patterns of moss on the granite under my bare feet. On the way home, we had to dip our paddles deep to keep from floating backwards with the current.
Before sunset, the wind died down and we took our friend’s pontoon boat out. The water in the bay was like glass and the sky a tapestry of greys.
Today, I walked down the hill to the beach and felt the echo of my childhood footsteps, how I couldn’t stop my young legs from running, skipping over the stones that rose from the green grass like the brows of my uncles.
The sight of water behind the tall pines along the shore never fails to lift my heart. And on a day when the sky is china blue and sketched with white clouds, this place feels like a small piece of heaven.
When you write a book, you don’t do it alone. And when you market a book, you stand on the shoulders of your friends. Through the promotion of Motherhood: Lost and Found, I have been so blessed and fortunate to make so many new friends in the Alzheimer’s world.
One of the first people I connected with as I tentatively opened the door to social media was Jean Lee. Both of her parents were diagnosed with Alzheimer’s on the same day, and her book, Alzheimer’s Daughter, is based on that experience.
Jean is one of the founders of AlzAuthors.com, a fantastic blog full of books and resources for those who are living with Alzheimer’s. She invited me to contribute a piece for the blog, and she encouraged me to be active on Twitter. She even shared about and taught me how to do Canva, a site where you can create beautiful images that fit the different specifications needed for social media.
Jean and I connected immediately because we both believe wholeheartedly that we need each other and that anyone going through the devastation of Alzheimer’s needs support. Neither of us had had the kind of resources that are now available at the time we were living with our parents’ illness, and we both wanted to provide that for others.
If you are looking for support and a wonderful selection of books and authors who understand Alzheimer’s, check out AlzAuthors.com.
I’d love to hear about who has helped you on your journey.
I woke early to the raucous sounds of birds and the early morning light filtering through the pines and into the windows of the Owl’s Nest, my great great grandfather’s home. It’s always a bit disorienting to wake here, after the flurry of packing, a long day on the road and the rush of unpacking, checking the house, settling the dog and so on.
Suddenly, all is quiet … except for the birds. Actually, it’s more like time has stopped … or I’ve entered a place where time has new meaning … it loops back on itself, reveals spirals, reinterprets the life I thought I knew.
I am deeply attached to this place, and yet I don’t always like it. Maybe it’s the fact that the layers of memory are so deep. It’s never a simple vacation … a place where we can “get away from it all.” Rather, it’s a place where the old returns.
Sometimes that is a gift and a deeply comforting one. My mother is near to me here. I see her making beds, walking up and down the creaking stairs of this old house, sitting on the stone porch. And I feel her love of place and family. It is so ingrained in who I am.
But this place also holds memories of losses – the years when my mother’s mind was slipping away, her confusion, the hurts she held onto. Things I don’t want to see.
Yet, it also reminds me that these things are like the rings on a tree. Passing phases in the life of a family. Last night when I walked down to our dock, I took a photo of the waning sun and studied what used to be my grandparents’ boathouse.
I remembered making my way as a child through spider webs to climb into the old teak motorboat. For years, the boathouse was dilapidated, until a cousin recently did a major renovation on it. Now it has new life, yet its image still holds the past within it.
Perhaps some of what is difficult about being in this place is the jumble of old and new all mixed together, like the chaotic blend of birdsong this morning. A part of me is busy sorting, sorting through the amalgam … trying to understand the different songs and figure out where I fit.
Is it really July already? For some reason, I thought June would continue on for a while longer. It was jam packed with so many special events and days. As usual, I need to take a moment to slow down and process all that has happened. From a family trip to the beach to my 35th college reunion where I had the opportunity to gather with classmates and hear astronaut Tom Marshburn talk about space as I shared about the experience of writing my book to the week of the summer solstice when so many people affected by Alzheimer’s joined together for #TheLongestDay campaign.
During June, Motherhood: Lost and Found also reached #1 on Amazon’s Bestseller List. This happened during the week of the anniversary of my mother’s birthday and my father’s death. And just before spending the last two days of the month in a wonderful writing retreat, I got a glimpse of the cover of my new book of poetry, The Beach Poems. Is it any wonder that I feel overwhelmed with emotion and gratitude?
None of this could have happened without the support of my amazing community – my family and friends, my publishers – Laura Ponticello of Divine Phoenix and Scott Douglass of Main Street Rag, my writing friends, my Alzheimer’s connections, even my new friends on Instagram and Twitter.
It has been such a gift to make new connections and renew old ones. At my college reunion, I found myself talking with people I had hardly known at school and feeling so grateful for the opportunity to find common ground.
I’ve been wanting to write a “gratitude post” for some time now. When you have a book that reaches wider circles than you ever dreamed, it only happens because of outside support.
A year ago, when my publisher Laura said she wanted me to become active on social media, I groaned inwardly. Instagram was something for younger folks, and I had no idea what a Tweet was.
Little did I know I would fall in love with taking photos of our horses and posting them, and that I would find a community of others who loved horses and animals and books. When they heard I had a memoir about my mother and my beloved Crimson, a grandson of Secretariat, (to my surprise) they bought it! And not only that, they wrote reviews, shared my posts and told their friends.
A special thank you to @fabfortykindnesschallenge, @leslie.jenny, @walkingfortheloveof books, @monasheeandme, @bellasdogtrot, @shelley.b.new.zealand, @dmjohnston54, @missmayaslife @originalteddybutton and @skyes.mom. These are just a few of the wonderful folks who have supported me. I know I’m forgetting some of you, and I apologize for that. But I won’t forget your kindness.
If you have an Instagram account, check out these lovely people and their accounts.
In my next post, I’d like to give a shout out to some wonderful connections I’ve made in the Alzheimer’s world.
*And coming soon, a post about my new poetry collection….
p.s. If you enjoy horse photos, I’d love to have you join me on Instagram. My account name is @horses_2nd_time_around.