[stylist] Comments on Lynda's gratitude prompt

[Bridgit Pollpeter]

Lynda,

Nice writing. I like the metaphor and symbolism you use. Good
descriptions in the beginning.

A few things to consider:

You start with good, strong descriptions, but at a certain point, we
lose the power of these early sensory descriptions. Especially since you
weave your vision loss throughout this piece, try to recall any those
sensory descriptions. Were there sounds, smells, textures you can add in
beyond the visual?

This entire piece is full of reported scenes. Can you develop actual
scenes in order to place the reader in the moment as opposed to us being
mere observers. I think this would be a stronger narrative if it were
present tense and the reader were placed into the action- make us feel
what you felt.

You use a lot of past participles and passive voice a lot. I would snip
these parts out. Like, "she had emerged...," I would just write, "she
emerged," or, "she did emerge." One, I find it stronger this way, two,
it cuts down on words, and three, it helps with scenic development and
placing reader in moment.

We lose a lot of power of the early paragraphs in the end. I commend yu
for addressing a time in your life that was difficult for many reasons.
Really pack a punch but continueing with those descriptions. And don't
rely so much on your feelings, but display them for us. Take us to that
moment, be raw, let us feel things with you. Don't just describe
visually what happened, but evoke our senses- put us in that situation,
and more specifically, place us in that hospital room.

I think the second to last para is a stronger end, but just my opinion.

I like your voice and writing style. Whether you intend for it or not, I
think this piece has potential.

Sincerely,
Bridgit Kuenning-Pollpeter
Read my blog at:
http://blogs.livewellnebraska.com/author/bpollpeter/
 
"History is not what happened; history is what was written down."
The Expected One- Kathleen McGowan

Message: 13
Date: Sat, 10 Nov 2012 11:44:41 -0500
From: "Lynda Lambert" <llambert at zoominternet.net>
To: "Writer's Division Mailing List" <stylist at nfbnet.org>
Subject: Re: [stylist] Gratitude, a Reflection
Message-ID: <C98F24450F0C461285335D55BDCB02A2 at Lambert>
Content-Type: text/plain; charset="iso-8859-1"

Here is my contribution to the writing prompt recently handed down by
Chris. I will attach a copy of the Word document and I will copy/paste
it below this message as well.


"Butterflies Bring Healing" by Lynda Lambert



 

    In the spring time a  myriad of flowers begin to scatter themselves
over the acres of wild meadows and fields; along the rural roadsides; in
meadows overlooking swiftly moving waters of the creeks.   This is our
annual dance of life forces, when the earth becomes warm and every
living thing bursts forth in celebration.  The movement of this dance
comes forth in living color;  in Western Pennsylvania. 

 

    Months later, the dance of the butterflies and flowers comes to an
end. The days will once again   bring in the crisp mornings; the clocks
will be turned back; the grass grows slick and cold; there eventually
will be no more flowers or butterflies. There was one exception to this
though, as I think about it today.  I remember one miraculous afternoon
in January, 2008.   On that day, I watched quietly while two butterflies
played together in the air; it was perfectly normal.

 

    When I see a butterfly it brings back a specific memory for me. 

 

    It was over five years ago. I  had just lost most of my sight. I had
not yet had any help, and did not yet know about technologies that would
help me, nor did I yet know of rehabilitation for the blind. I had no
white cane; no way of doing  anything I had done just a couple months
before. Overnight, my entire life was transformed into something that
was new and unexpected. I could not use the elevator;  could not see the
buttons to press; didn't know on what floor it had landed. Simple things
like that, we took for granted, but those simple things were now a
mystery to me.

 

    It was at this very time that my second daughter, Heidi Melinda, was
diagnosed with ovarian cancer. Now, I stood at her bedside in the IC
unit in a Pittsburgh, PA hospital. Her surgery to remove the tumor that
had spread to a stage 3C cancer was completed a few days before. But
nothing had gone well, and within a couple of days she was near death.
They had put her in an induced coma to try to give her sick lungs the
opportunity to begin to heal.

Day after day, it was one step down after another. 

 

    Even though I could not see very much, I was staying at the hospital
day and night. I could find my way from the waiting room, to the
bathroom, and to my daughter's room. I slept for short periods during
the night, sitting in a chair in the waiting room of the IC unit. Then,
I would walk back to her room, to sit by her bedside.

 

    She was kept in a coma for over 2 weeks. Nurses and doctors were at
her side or directly outside her room working on the monitors and
computers continuously, monitoring her, searching for the right mix of
drugs to help her. We waited there in limbo as  each day flowed into the
next in this netherworld existence. There was nothing we could do but
pray and wait. Family members came and went, all helpless.

 

    One afternoon I sat in the chair at the bottom of her bed with my
eyes focused on her laying there with tubes and apparatus all over her
body. The hospital staff had named Heidi, The Sleeping Princess. On this
afternoon, the Sleeping Princess had two unexpected visitors. They did
not come in through the door.

 

    As I watched Heidi, two enormous butterflies were there. They
emerged from the base of her feet and they flew back and forth, playing
with each other as butterflies do when you see them in a field. The two
butterflies were a deep red crimson and they were the size of my hand.
They were bright and very large. As I watched them, it was the most
normal scene I could ever have seen. Heidi's body was the field over
which they were zig-zagging back and forth over as they moved towards
her head. It felt like I watched them for quite awhile. I believe it was
probably only seconds. It was like an eternal moment, when time did not
exist, and I had been a witness to timelessness.

 

    The butterflies had emerged from another dimension, it seemed. The
two had made themselves visible to me. They gave me new hope for my
daughter. I knew they were a pictorial symbol of the Holy Spirit. A
Spirit made visible.  I recognized that the Holy Spirit had come to
visit the Sleeping Princess that afternoon and that this would be the
afternoon when Heidi would begin to recover. I was assured at that
moment when I saw this vision that my daughter would heal and that she
had experienced a miracle.

 

    Today, after five years following surgery, Heidi remains free of
ovarian cancer.  This, in spite of the   tests done in surgery that had
shown the  cancer cells were throughout her entire body. She undergoes
tests and scans all the time in Pittsburgh. She has an entourage of
doctors who are keeping a close watch on her. 

 

    Heidi has lasting side effects from her surgery and her long
recovery time. Her body remembers the trauma;  is still responding to
it. It is clear to me that our bodies do carry memories. Those memories
in the entire body continue to have a response to the trauma it went
through.

 

    Heidi is an artist.  She has a studio in the woods,  on  a mountain
top.   She actively works at her art, and is in exhibitions including an
international invitation one that her work is in right now.

 

    Shortly after she recovered, she organized The Sleeping Princess
Team with her friends. The team raises money for the Ovarian Cancer
Coalition of Pittsburgh. Last fall was the fifth year that the team and
her family walked with her in the sunshine at the "Walk to Break the
Silence." Our little team has been able to raise over $20,000. in funds
to contribute to the cause. 

 

    Yes, butterflies are harbingers;  of renewal; transformation;
healing; Divine presence; gratitude.

This joyous dancing dyad of large crimson red butterflies,  were a
reflection of the Creator who sent them to me on a bleak winter day. It
was a message that came at the darkest moment of my life;  right on
time!

 

(the end)