Seh wanted to go for a walk

[hoops]

She wanted to go for a walk. This was just fine and i was waiting for the time when she would ask since she was advised to do so to keep her body somewhat limber and strong. It was an average February day in upstate Ny, the air was chilled but the sky was clear and when the sun touched you you could almost feel warm. We dressed up in our coates, scarves and gloves and stepped outside into the day. we arrived at the place where we usually stop and turn around to go home, "let's keep going." she said to my surprise and fear, she had only been home a few days. I tucked my fear away for a bit and took a deep breath. Trying to be pleased i said" ok" and we turned right onto the larger road. I stood strong by her arm and the inside of the road, protecting her was my devotion. As we walked a bit further we chatted lightly, as we always chatted. the larger things in our lives had rarely a need to be spoken aloud between us, we knew each other that well. Without even my asking, when we reached another milestone she said, "A little further." and i gave her a smile as strong as my worried face could muster. I never got to ask " are you ready to go back now?" because she would repeat at each new place, " A little further". Traffic was light that day, it's always light on our out of the way road, but it was lighter than usual this day. And tho her gait was slow and measured she did not stop or slow down even to rest. It had been weeks, maybe even a month since she'd walked more than 50 yards, and remembering that last day when she had fallen going to her mail box at work and it had taken an hour for her to crawl back to her car because no one was around , my fear was well grounded but i put it away because she asked me to. We'd gotten to a place where a large farmhouse sits up on a hill overlooking the valley and sitting just under the mountains. We were at the stream that met the road on the farm land and she said to me " I want to go to the sign". I knew which sign she meant, a stop sign where our little road met up with the highway. Though we'd already walked almost a mile, i could see the desire in her eyes, the need on her face and i agreed and remained at my post right on her arm to cath her, or hold her or just touch her so she would know i was there. we walked carefully around tunrs and past streams, ponds and woods before the sign came into view. By this time she was breathing harder and i could feel the concern groing inside her, but as soon as she saw the sign it seemed as if all of that had gone away. She stood taller and walked a little more quickly and there was a slight determined smile on her face. "we're almost there" I said to her talking hold of her arm for a moment of moral support, We're almost there' she repeated to me. In that 200 or so yards between then and the sign she we repeated to eachother over and over that very same line "we're almost there" We'd finally arrived and she asked me to "touch it" so i reached up and touched the stop sign and we feel into a tearful hug. "We did it " she whispered again and again. "You did it" i replied. we stayed a minute or two but no more and headed back to home, althe way there crying and smiling and joyful and repeating those words "We did it", and in her joy she would retell the story of her fear and her determination in qa short " I wasn't sure, but we did it, we walked the whole way." I told her ohow proud and happy i was and she would just say "we did it" and we would stop now and again to hug and cry but only for a moment, now she was going to make it all the way home. We'd walked an entire three miles when we reached home and from that spot where she used to stop she we cried without stop till she was in the door and could share her story with my dad. I made the trek again today and many times since that day, but Mom would never make it again, but she did it. I place flowers there when i go, roadside weeds that i know she would love, dandilions like we used to as kids bring to her all smucshed and dying but proud to be giving them to mom. Queen annes lace, one of mom's favorites, black eyed susans, like the ones that grew plentiful at her mom's house on the lack years ago, thisile and cat tails, all the flowers i could find that God made for me to give mom at this place, this stopsign where a tiny road meets a highway and a dying woman walks her last walk.

[marjan]

Thats quite a storie hoops!
I think it is wonderful to have such a great memory about your mom, walking those last steps with her, thanks for sharing it with us.

[Bat]

This child is a writer!

[Rickster]

Hoops, Brilliant writing!

[hoops]

I just tell the truth, but thank you all. Mom wanted me to write a book, but not one about her. She asked me that last two years when i was vcaring for her to make sure i write the book that she knows in inside of me. She has read some of my poetry and heard others talk about it, though i have never read it aloud myself. so I have written a book, for years i've been writing books, but this one is for her and i'm gonna try to get it publihsed and into the book stores in thenext year. It's not about mom but she certainly helped me, with her encouragement and prompting, to write it. I don't know if i'm a writer, i just know i write. The very last week of her life she hasked me constantly to sing to her, she loved to hear me sing, tho i've never considered myself a singer, i did sing at a few of my siblings weddings. in that last week, when she asked me, i could only remeber the words to one song "Lover's lullaby" and i did sing it for her over and over till the very night she died. I do what i'm asked to do by the peole who i feel the most. So far it has made them happy and others feel things, that is what makes it al worth it to me. I think I am a little like janis in that it's not so important that i make a great living doing these things, but that people hear or read what they really need. so i graciously thank you for the compliments, still i just tell the truth
peace
hoops

[Agnes]

Wow, Noel, that's been an important walk. I sat reading it with goosebumps on my arms. Thank you for sharing.

[hoops]

thank you agnes

[SongDragon]

Good story, Hoops. My family keeps pushing me to write that novel someday, too. Though I may leave the novels to other people, I enjoy writing, but I can only ever get through a few short stories here and there, and several poems scattered about.

~Song

[snakegrl]

Wonderful story Hoops. The emotion is deep felt. Keep pushin' that pen girl.

[RedjackRyan]

Excellent writing Hoops!

[hoops]

thank you my friends

[DaveM]

If you are going to write a novel, do not tell your family. What you will write will not be what they will want to read. I've often wondered what Stephen King's family thought of his work when he began publishing.

[hoops]

my 11 month old nephew hit the keyboard so i'm not sure if my reply went thru, but i'm thinkin i didn;t so...dave, i agree whole heartedly. i'm even considering using a nom de plume so that they don't know i wrote it ...seriously. family sdesont; always realize that a story is just a point of view and not necessarily your own. thank you for the advice
peace
hoops

[snakegrl]

If you are going to write a novel, do not tell your family. What you will write will not be what they will want to read. I've often wondered what Stephen King's family thought of his work when he began publishing.
Cousin Carrie was bloody pissed. Even the dog was mad. Afew turned over in their graves.:p

[DaveM]

During my late teens, I attempted to write a never-completed novel involving a hostage situation in a high school classroom. It wound up being a finger exercise--a fine example of my reach exceeding my grasp--but family members (parents) who got hold of bits of it (remember, one wrote on a typewriter back then, so hard copy was all over the place) decided I was "sick" and never let up.

Not until well over a decade later did I learn that my plot had been anticipated by Stephen King some years earlier, while he was still in college, and published under the pseudonym Richard Bachman in 1973 under the title "Rage". After "Bachman's" true identity was revealed, it became a bestseller as part of the anthology "The Bachman Books" and earned King several million dollars (so far). I've often wondered how sick people thought he was then....

Mind, my ever-snooping mother once got hold of a copy of "Carrie" that I was reading for the first time, turned to a random page, and decided that the author was sick and that I was sick for reading the book. Hard to imagine how many tens of millions of sick people there are out there reading those sick books....while Stephen King cackles all the way to the bank.

If he and the rest of us are sick....I'm none to eager for a cure.

And by the way--no one sees my manuscripts any more before an editor does.

[Dee]

"If you don't have the time to read, you don't have the time or the tools to write." [Stephen King]

In 1999, Stephen King began to write about his craft -- and his life. By midyear, a widely reported accident jeopardized the survival of both. And in his months of recovery, the link between writing and living became more crucial than ever.

Rarely has a book on writing been so clear, so useful, and so revealing. On Writing (http://www.simonsays.com/content/book.cfm?tab=1&pid=409246) begins with a mesmerizing account of King's childhood and his uncannily early focus on writing to tell a story. A series of vivid memories from adolescence, college, and the struggling years that led up to his first novel, Carrie, will afford readers a fresh and often very funny perspective on the formation of a writer. King next turns to the basic tools of his trade -- how to sharpen and multiply them through use, and how the writer must always have them close at hand. He takes the reader through crucial aspects of the writer's art and life, offering practical and inspiring advice on everything from plot and character development to work habits and rejection.

Serialized in the New Yorker to vivid acclaim, On Writing culminates with a profoundly moving account of how King's overwhelming need to write spurred him toward recovery, and brought him back to his life.

Brilliantly structured, friendly and inspiring, On Writing will empower -- and entertain -- everyone who reads it.