This time of year has always been special to me. Typically in the Carolinas, on the first day of fall the summer heat begins to ease and we get a hint of the cooler weather that is to come.
World Alzheimer’s Day and my birthday happen to fall side by side, which somehow seems appropriate.
Tomorrow is my birthday. For the past 16 years, I’ve also had the joy of celebrating with Sydney. Motherhood for me arrived three days before my 41st birthday. My daughter couldn’t have been more welcome, especially as she was delivered in the midst of my own mother’s long descent into Alzheimer’s.
The years before Sydney was born were tough and filled with loss. I had a series of miscarriages and every day my mother seemed to lose more of herself. There were times I forgot how to hope, which is one of the reasons I feel compelled to reach out to those who are traveling their own difficult path of caring for someone they love.
But grief passes…like the seasons.
I didn’t know that after close to a decade of infertility, I would be blessed with a beautiful daughter.
I didn’t know that six years after my mother passed away, my memoir would be released.
I didn’t know that last year, on my birthday, the eBook of Motherhood: Lost and Found would be distributed internationally by Divine Phoenix and Pegasus Books.
I didn’t know that my audiobook would come out on the day of the Kentucky Derby (this past May) where years ago Secretariat, the grandfather of my beloved horse Crimson, won the first leg of his Triple Crown.
There was so much I didn’t know.
This September, I’m honored to be working with a group of passionate and generous women who have created AlzAuthors, a blogsite with over 100 resources for people living with Alzheimer’s and dementia.
Next week, as World Alzheimer’s Month comes to a close, AlzAuthors will be holding an eBook sale from September 27th – 30th to honor those who are living with this disease.
In memory of my sweet Mom, the Kindle version of Motherhood: Lost and Found will be available at its lowest price on Wednesday, Sept. 27th, and deeply discounted through Sept. 30th.
As a special package, if you buy the eBook, the audiobook is available for only $7.49, instead of $21.95, a discount of almost 70 percent.
Last, but not least, my publisher is offering a drawing for a free audiobook on Twitter. To enter, follow Laura Ponticello https://twitter.com/lauraslist and Ann Campanella https://twitter.com/authorAnnC on Twitter and follow Laura’s instructions.
I like to think of Motherhood: Lost and Found as my love letter to those who are dealing with grief. Without support, it’s a lonely road.
Please feel free to share this post with anyone who is in a season of caretaking. Sending out prayers of hope to all.
After attending the Alzheimer’s Association Dementia Education Conference here in Charlotte, I am lit from within with a fire, a desire to make things better, to provide a sense of hope for the sea of people I saw whose faces reminded me of the Sargasso Sea that I rowed on for so many years while caring for my mother who had Alzheimer’s.
Don’t get me wrong. I didn’t start out inspired. In fact, a part of me wanted to curl up and go to sleep, not face a full day of being reminded what it looks and feels like her to care for someone with dementia.
I didn’t want to go back to that emotional place. It was hard and lonely. I didn’t want to think about other people who are facing this pain. I didn’t want to think about my mother, how I had become an orphan in a sense before my time.
It was easier to simply put a lid on all those emotions and hide them somewhere in my heart.
At the conference, I was one of four writers in the Authors’ Corner. I was there to sell my book, offer people the opportunity to win a free Kindle version of Motherhood: Lost and Found, hand out flyers about AlzAuthors (a group of 100 authors who have banded together to provide resources for caregivers in need) and share pieces of my story – how my mother showed signs of Alzheimer’s when I was in my early 30s at the same time I was trying to become a mother.
On the drive to the conference I prayed that God would lift me out of the swamp of my past emotions and use me as a vessel. I had no idea how this would happen. And to be honest, if I had followed my own feelings, I might have stayed in bed.
After all, going to the conference reminded me of my younger self. Twenty years ago, I went to this same conference, looking for help, seeking those who would understand, picking up brochures about places where my mother might one day be cared for. The landscape of caregiving is so different now — much brighter, with so many more options and offerings.
But what I remembered most from that long-ago conference was the sense of heaviness I carried within me. My mother was not the woman I grew up believing she would be, and I had no way of knowing how to move forward in this dusky night we both seemed to be trapped in.
I came away from that day so many years ago wishing that I had a book to share with the other attendees. I had already begun working on mine, but it was nowhere near finished as my mother’s story continued for at least another decade. But, even then I sensed that my story was what I could share with others. It was the thing that might bring help and hope to people who were suffering, even as I was stumbling on my own path.
This year I came to the conference not as an attendee but as an author with boxes of books as my gift. My memoir was skimmed from the 14 years of pain and loss and grief, distilled in such a way that hope and life and light rose to the surface. My faith evolved over that time period. The hardships filed away certain rough edges of my personality. My heart was changed in ways I am grateful for, even though the process was torturous at times.
The 2017 conference brought some special surprises. I ended up sharing a table with a lovely, warm-hearted author and former nurse, Mary Ann Drummond, who has written Meet Me Where I Am, a compassionate guide about caring for those with Alzheimer’s. Her tender approach was exactly what I would have wanted for my mother. I also met Barbara Ivey and Carol Howell, two other wonderful authors who are supporting others through their books.
Midway through the conference, Mary Ann and I were joined by Brian Kursonis, one of the most inspiring people I’ve ever known. Brian is 56 (my age), has early-onset Alzheimer’s and has become an important spokesperson for those dealing with dementia. Intelligent, soft-spoken and self-effacing, Brian is stepping up to the challenge of reaching millions of people in need.
How could I not be encouraged and deeply moved by these amazing individuals?
I wanted to grasp the hands of all the attendees who walked by whose faces were filled with sorrow, squeeze their palms, look into their eyes and say there is more…. There is hope… This is but a moment in time. I see you, but more importantly God sees you and He sees your loved one. It is okay, even good to cry. Your deep sadness is a stamp of your love. You are not alone, even if it feels that way. Each of us here at this conference has a story, each of these stories must be held preciously. Let us share them with one another and watch our burdens grow lighter. If we link hands and spirits, we will find room for hope.
The evening after the eclipse, Sunny and I take a walk. The sky is mostly clear, except for a few dramatic clouds hovering behind the tree line. The horses are grazing as usual, their coats covered in fine sweat that is just beginning to evaporate as the heat and humidity slowly lift. It is 8 o’clock, four hours after the sun and moon finished their dance through the sky.
Joel, Sydney and I went down to the barn and watched the eclipse from there. We did the pinhole through the cardboard trick and used eclipse glasses to take short peeks at the scooped out sun.
Sydney and I let the horses out because they seemed eager to enjoy the grass under a slightly cooler sky. The temperature gradually dropped from 91 to 87°.
At one point I brought a chair and sat in the shade under a tree. I was surrounded by the shapes of crescent moons created by the sun filtering through the leaves.
As the moon covered 97% of the sun I looked and listened for anything that might be a sign. The cicadas continued chanting, a single bird chirped behind me, the horses eagerly cropped grass. Sydney noticed that one of the cows from next door was looking at us and the herd was slowly making its way toward the neighbor’s barn. Maybe the unusual light made them think it was time to come in.
And suddenly the crescent shapes shifted from one side to the other, and the scrim over the sky seemed to lift.
I thought of all the people looking up – friends and family in the mountains, at the beach, in town, in faraway states. For that one moment, we were linked. Held together by a celestial ribbon, an awareness perhaps of the beauty of our sun – its strength and fragility.
When the eclipse was over, I was exhausted and empty, as if a part of me had been scooped out. I hadn’t expected to feel that way. Actually, I hadn’t thought about what would come after. Maybe I was picking up on the collective sigh from our country.
Tonight, I am grateful for the presence of horses grazing in the fields, the dog who walks by my side, my family and friends who share this wide world with me and the glorious colors left behind by the setting sun.
The beach has always been a place of deep nourishment for me. When my mother passed away, after living with Alzheimer’s for 14 years, I was physically, emotionally and spiritually depleted. I fled to the coast in search of the parts of myself I had lost.
Each morning, I got up early and walked the damp sand, studied the shore birds, listened to the roar of the waves and inhaled the salt breezes. My mother had always loved the ocean and images of her inspecting shells or pointing out dolphins gradually began to float back to me.
As I remembered and grieved for my mom – the woman I had lost, the mother whose physical form had departed this world – tears filled my eyes and slipped down my cheeks.
At the same time, descriptions and words filled my head. and I began jotting down lines of poetry that turned into poems. In this period of solitude, I gave voice to the myriad emotions that came to the surface.
Little by little, a lightness began to permeate my soul. It was as if my grief had been clogging the pathways to joy. And as I gave my feelings permission to take flight through words, a sense of the sacredness of life filled me. Gradually, I awakened to some of the day-to-day blessings I had been blind to over the years as I numbly cared for my mother.
I’m excited to share my journey from grief to joy in my new collection of poetry called The Beach Poems. It will be available through Main Street Rag Publishing Co. The list price is $12. But If you live in the U.S. and you order now, you will receive the pre-publication discount of $6.50 (plus shipping).
Click here for your pre-order discount. The collection will be mailed to you upon publication. Thank you for your support, and may your beach days be blessed!
As someone who has lived through a parent’s Alzheimer’s, I have deep appreciation for AlzAuthors and the compassion of its authors. I traveled a lonely path, caring for my mother whose memory began slipping when I was in my early 30s and trying to become a mother myself. Mom’s slow dance with Alzheimer’s lasted for 14 years.
Most of my friends had no idea what I was living through and, as a writer myself, I was hungry to read about the personal experiences of others who had gone before me.
I have a memory of standing outside my barn, feeling a light breeze as I watched the horses graze. I had no idea what was ahead on my journey with my mother, but I somehow knew that it would be important for me to share my own story.
Good books have always inspired me, and I wanted and needed to know how people not only survived this disease, but thrived in the midst of the grief and exhaustion of caregiving.
I remember spending hours late at night with a laptop perched on my knees searching every site that had the word Alzheimer’s in it. Twenty years ago, there was very little information and few books available for people like me.
Thankfully, all of that has changed. At AlzAuthors, caregivers can find a wide array of supportive resources – from handbooks on caregiving to memoirs about caring for parents, grandparents, spouses and other loved ones to fictional stories with characters who suffer from dementia to books explaining Alzheimer’s to children and more.
Part of my role on the management team will be to expand the reach of AlzAuthors on Facebook and Instagram. You’ll be able to find us here on Facebook, and I’ll keep you posted about the upcoming Instagram account.
I’m honored to help spread the news about this wonderful resource. Let me know if you have any questions or ideas that might help get the word out to those in need.
You can find “Alzheimer’s Support, Part I: Spreading the Word” here.
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