S.H.E. Anthology... Something Special Filled With Heart

We can think of many book by many authors on many subjects, but what I have to share with you today, is something I think is special and filled with heart. Things are told that are born of pain and blossom into hope and healing in the S.H.E. Anthology. This is a book of many authors each telling their many stories. This is a book involving a subject of grief and healing, hope and survival, children and their hearts filled with fear and pain who go beyond that and grow sharing it with others offering empowerment and hope.

A majority the proceeds from the sale of this anthology will go to mental health institutions that address grief factors especially in children- our next generations of hope! Written by those who know first hand the pain of grief reaching out to others with their words. My blog is titled More Than Just A Story In A Book but this collection truly is more than just the stories in the book. This book is a story from the heart.

 

SPECIAL NOTE to the reader:

Each blog about the S.H.E. Anthology has a unique excerpt to keep things fresh.

A book without a reader is like a day without sunshine.

Newton, Connecticut? Where is that? A massacre? Please, tell me you’re joking! At school? You have got to be kidding! Dumbfounded! I listened to the news about Sandy Hook Elementary! Who didn’t feel disheartened by that story?

Due to my experiences with many deaths in our small community within a short period of time, I felt that the kids and folks in that area might feel less alienated and alone if they were shown the light at the end of their tunnels. I wanted to help find a way to be empower the children and their community while revealing to them a HOPE that things can and do get better. I thought that town might enjoy rhetoric from kindred spirits. PLUS, I felt others including health care professionals might enjoy the same types of stories.

After pondering a bit, God illuminated my next step. Thinking of three books that I had partial copyrights to, I began compiling a book. Plus, I immediately had the title of an anthology in my mind- the S.H.E. Anthology. It’s NOT a romance anthology but it was written by females. In this book, the girls recollected traumas, mostly related to death, that they faced while in elementary school. Their stories reveal their path out of mourning along with many minor miracles that they encountered. Their tales of hope and inspiration are true accounts from those children turned authors. This book is meant to empower Newton as well as others that read it. The authors hope that this anthology sheds some new light on grief recovery in the minds of teachers, mental health professionals, and adults handling major life changes.

The abbreviation ‘S.H.E’ also refers to Sandy Hook Elementary. Isn’t God the best at setting up coincidences?

In one part of this anthology, there is some great insight into being the victim of death and childhood loss. Stacey’s Song is an intimate look at a ten year old girl’s personal story about the results of her mother’s cancer death. She, also, deals with the aftermath that includes her dad going crazy and committing suicide. Obviously, tragedies, such as the Sandy Hook Massacre, touch home with her. Stacey talks candidly about overcoming her PTSD. Her honesty in her writing is only surpassed by the miracles and guidance from God.

In the excerpt that follows, God taps into the young girl’s anger and pent-up grief. In the book, near the end of her teen years, an unexpected person brings closure to Stacey’s mourning. She meets the man that tried to save her father from his suicide mission, which turns out to be another blessing from GOD.

…while at work, I met a man, a police officer. His name is John. As we discussed orphans and life’s ups and downs, I discovered he raised and orphan, too. That is not what caught my attention. We actually shared a different bond.

“How long have you been a cop?” I chimed into the ongoing conversation at work.

“About twelve years!”

“Oh, then you would not know!” I spoke thoughts.

“Know what?” He prodded.

“About my dad!” I added.

“What happened to your dad?”

“He committed suicide in 1991.”

“Oh?” My coworkers and he questioned rhetorically.

“Yeah, put the car on fire and died!” I finally spoke it aloud.

“Where?” The policeman showed interest.

“In this town!” I answered.

“When?” He pursued. “I used to be a fireman!”

“In 1991?” I questioned.

After a strange pause, he calmly stated, “I pulled his body from the car that night, then.”

My mind wandered around my first playground. The rope swing rested motionless because my soul decided to ignore its pleas to escape my current life, this time. My dungeons and their caretakers evaded my sight as well, which revealed my level of maturity and growth. Then, somewhere in the distance, fire engine sounds rang out. As a child, I’d run to grab the candy thrown from this Christmas decorated truck. That vehicle arrived, once a year; and I loved its sound. After dad died in the fire, his suicide method, I avoided all firemen, trucks, toys, and thoughts. Nothing convinced me that there existed any goodness in anything associated with fire. Today, life revolved full circle once again because this policeman witnessed it all. It never jaded him. At that moment, I thought about my mother’s last smile as Santa approached her window. The present is definitely the gift.

I called Cindy immediately with my news. She wasn’t as surprised as me. Nothing sent from God surprised her anymore not even my chance to share my feeling about Dad’s death with another participant from 1991. It’s cathartic!

Is Stacey’s Son a mournful tune or an upbeat journey out of mourning? Read her full story in Stacey’s Song or in the S.H.E. Anthology.

Also, in that anthology, The Evans Terrace Girls give their account of what happened when 7 or more parents died within a year or 2 of each other in a small subdivision of about 110 homes. People started saying their land was CURSED. The children heard those rumors about their subdivision and were scared to death. Some of the children formed a group that became a club and led their neighborhood out of grief. An excerpt from their story follows.

This next excerpt from The Evans Terrace Girls shows how good intentions encourage most people to noble acts that spawn random acts of kindness.

     As the first members arrived at my house to be car pooled to the
  
 shopping plaza, my mother pulled out the flyers as well as a poster.

 Secretly, she made us a poster with huge black and blue letters stating,

 “FREE POOL.” In smaller letters she wrote “safety flyers.” Her

 homemade concoction was hilarious but potentially embarrassing. At

 first, we expressed reservations about her artwork.
 

      “This will get their attention!” She explained. “Who will pass up a 

free pool?” My mother was serious about it being a useful tool to

 attract people away from the video store long enough to offer them

 the rest of the message or safety pamphlet.

    “Don’t laugh,” Joy defended. “She is right! I’d stop for a free pool!”
 

The morning proved to be slow. Mia, Ann, and I sat on the sidewalk

 discouraged. Suddenly, Mia began to sing her boredom away. “Drown

 do be do drown drown,” She sang to the melody of a real song.

      “Come on. Come on. Drown do be do drown drown.” Ann and I

 hummed along at first, “Come on. Come on. Drown do be do drown

 drown. Waking up will be hard to do....” 
  

      After that song, we made up other lyrics to popular melodies, “Um
 
 bop, don’t drop, into your pool, stop...in an um drop their gone...” and

 so on. Making up the best new words became a competition as

 crowds from church finally started arriving for their brunch. 
 

At that point, we begged people to take our flyers. Some people

 humored us but then left the flyers of their tables as part of the

 waitress’s tip. Others avoided eye contact as we presented out

 pamphlets. One man got down right mean. After a conversation

 begging him to take the paper, he said, “I work for a charity and can

 get anything I need. So, I don’t need your flyer. No, thank-you.”

     As he left, my mother muttered, “You may head a charity but you

 have no kindness in your heart.” We heard her but he was too busy

 wearing his lopsided halo to turn back.

   Cars started arriving in the parking lot, which also serviced a grocery

 chain. We held our poster high and tempted cars to come to

 screeching stops as people read the words free pool. This prank did

 attract attention. Some crowds did gather until they read the rest of 

the poster. In the end, we handed out fifty flyers on our shift. Then, Joy

 and Nicole arrived to relieve us.

     Joy tempted fate by standing as close to the video store as legal. She

 harassed people until they came closer to hear what her poster was

 offering. Nicole asked how we did; she decided her group’s goal was

 to meet or match our number. It was about that time that two people

came by to offer us money towards our cause. Since our flyers were

 free, we declined the money.

    As we stood hassling people, a manager from the grocery walked

 right up to mom. We thought this meant that she was being scolded.

 Watching for a minute, we noticed my mother was laughing. As he

 left, we found out why this man went out of his way to leave his post

 and greet our adult leader
.

    “The store offered us free cookies. All we have to do is tell them

 that manager sent us,” My mother explained. 

 

“Go get them now,” I yelped.

“We are hungry,” Joy added.

What other minor miracles happened (free cookies) when these girls join forces with others to make good things happen in this world? Read The Evans Terrace Girls or their section in the S.H.E. Anthology.

The eBook copy of the S.H.E Anthology is available

as a KINDLE @

http://www.amazon.com/the-S-H-E-Anthology-ebook/dp/B00B6C4NQ8/ref=sr_1_2?ie=UTF8&qid=1361303178&sr=8-2&keywords=the+S.H.E.+Anthology

in other eBook formats @ SMASHWORDS.com @ http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/278511

The paperback version comes in BLACK & WHITE on AMAZON @

http://www.amazon.com/S-H-E-Anthology--In-Black-White/dp/1482076225/ref=sr_1_19?ie=UTF8&qid=1359383172&sr=8-19&keywords=mchanson714

Plus, the S.H.E Anthology is in color paperback format @

http://www.amazon.com/S-H-E-Anthology-Cynthia-Meyers-Hanson/dp/1481987100/ref=sr_1_18?ie=UTF8&qid=1359382582&sr=8-18&keywords=mchanson714

So, come on buy to be inspired and help grieving children. It’s a WIN-WIN.

By the Way, a copy of this anthology went to Newton’s public library as well.

Other contact information follows.

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SOMETHING MORE (part 5 of The journey of Journey Home)

Trying to face the world with a face that was injured, broken bones, pins and pains was more than a challenge.  Everyday was an endurance and torture but there had to be a reason for all of it.  There had to be something that I needed to do in this life.  I had no idea what my purpose in life was and little time to contemplate.  I was surviving.  I had to work to be able to walk.  With the back problems it was difficult but using my arms to and hands to work a walker was torturous.  The broken ribs were amazing and the foot was pinned back together.

Days passed into weeks and weeks into months and they were all very much the same.  I was surviving.  There were days that I cried and days that I prayed.  There were days that I almost gave up all hope but not quite.  Things were healing inside and out but healing better than we could ever hope.  Even my doctor said God had a hand in my recovery.  There is no way to say how blessed and lucky I am.  I could have died and nearly did die in that accident…but why do I have this time and what am I to do with it?  What use am I to others?

If you want the truth…I still do not have the answers.  All I can do is be thankful for the many blessings that I do have and try to do and be the best than I can. 

I used to walk.  If my nerves were bad I could go for a walk.  In the early morning it was cool and the air was crisp and cool.  There would often be the sweet smell of flowers blooming and the earthy smell of the wooded areas.  There often were deer that stood motionless watching with curiosity or they bounded back into the woods.  The little squirrels danced in the branches and from tree to tree.  Stress and worry would seem to fade with each step and moment by moment.

If I felt sadness, it was hard to continue to feel so oppressed surrounded by such peace and beauty.  If I was happy I could take delight in the day.   Walking helped me to stay in shape inside and out.

We had been on the internet for a short time but with all of the bills could not continue to have the internet.  The world and people in it is a busy place and I felt isolated.  The healing continued and my face was unbelievable. 

Using my hands was a problem.  They hurt to move and were stiff.  We had no insurance.  (I have been uninsurable except with exceptionally high premiums and pre-existing clauses) for years.  I had no physical therapy or rehab and live out away from town.  I would have to be my own rehab and therapy.  I got more play doh and began to try to make my flowers.  For many years I used to make tiny flowers and put them is shells.  I wrote a thought or two about what they really are.  I am going to share that thought because it helped me as much as it could ever do for another.  I often gave the little roses away and would always receive a smile in return.  I heard from a friend not long ago that the one he got for one of his family members is still in place on a shelf in their livingroom.  Here is Playdoh………

            You may hold and see and think this is a Play Doh rose in a shell.  Have you looked?  Have you really looked?  You may see the craftsmanship it took to create it and think it is, or is not so good.  If that is what you see and feel as you hold it in your hand---then I give up and it really is a Play Doh rose in a shell. 

            A year from now or five or ten, you may someday (if it is really well preserved.  Play Doh really is child’s play clay) look again.  It really is just Play Doh because, where is the child in us all?  Where did the joy and enthusiasm go at seeing a flower bloom?  I know porcelain, but Play Doh makes me feel.

            Winter can be long and cold and hard.  It can be dreary in winter and then a single flower blooms, or was it the only flower we took the time to see?  In your hand you hold the power, mystery, and changing seasons of the sea.   The strength of that shell cradles a flower, a bloom of many petals, each crafted and sculpted to form not only the sight of a flower, but a feeling.

            We all need a feeling of hope and rebirth.  The strength and passion of the sea holds the beauty and simple times in life.  If passed from one to another, what greater gift could one give than heart, soul, feeling and love that was crafted in each and every single petal to pass along a good thought, loving care and a good feeling?

It’s a good feeling.

May God Bless and keep you and let you feel peace.

By

Linda Nance

I wanted to be able to feel joy and hope again.  I wanted to be able to reach out in some way and live instead of just being alive.  I wanted to make my little flowers bloom.  Most of the time I make larger blooms.  They are easier for me to form.  Every once in a while I am able to make the tiny ones and was determined to see my flowers again with colors I blended individually. 

I worked and worked until I could hold one in my hand and close my eyes seeing the beauty of the ocean.  I could picture the sunsets and the waves.  I could hear the sounds and feel the fresh ocean breezes.  Winter was cold and hard and brought aches and pains and loneliness at times.  For that moment of memories it was warm in my heart.

I inspected each tiny petal for the way it curved and folded to form the flower bloom.  I felt the hope and peace of taking the time to look at the flowers.  I began to have a feeling of hope and rebirth.  It was time to do more.  I was very limited on time that I could be upright sitting and especially standing but every day I grew stronger and worked harder.  I began to get ideas for the book I had been working on and went back to writing.

I wrote for hours.  I thought and worked to make this story special.  I wanted anyone who read it to not only have an interesting story but one that they could feel the emotions along with the characters and see the sights, smell the smells, love some, hate some and fear some of the characters.  The more I wrote the more I wanted to write.  It was a dream to actually write a whole book.

Time passed and the story continued but it was slow.  We often take things for granted until they no longer work or are painful.  This was not only occupying my mind and giving me something special to do; it was working my hands too.  I did not give up.  Click, Click, Click, Journey Home was becoming real.

Time had passed and I had healed beyond our hopes and dreams.  I was still writing and clicking away as they end of the story neared.  I hoped that the reader would not piece it all together and know the ending before they read it.  So far everyone who has contacted me has said they were so surprised.  I loved the story but it needed more.  It needed to be more.  There were things that I had not accomplished….but I needed more.

I got an idea.  I would take a class.  I wanted to learn.  Surely there would be some way that I could take a class about writing and would do my best to learn all that I could.  I would write and re-write and re-write again until I could make it more than a story.  I wanted it to be a novel.  I wanted it to be the best that I could make it and was determined not to stop until it was something I could be proud of and satisfied with.  Journey Home.  It was almost there, but not quite.

Face the world, find a way and make each day filled with something more.         The Journey of Journey Home continues. 

With every sunrise I could begin to feel the hope of a new day.

My flowers may not be perfect but each one is and was special.  I began to get outside and begin to marvel at the delicate beauty of the tiniest wild flowers

FACING THE WORLD ONE STEP AT A TIME

FACING THE WORLD ONE STEP AT A TIME
PART 4

I am back.  As hard as it is to find words to write these things it was even more difficult to live them.  I have been able to talk about all of this before and even find humor at times.  There have been times that I pop off with some comment and people including me laugh weather they want to or not.  One time my husband looked concerned and asked me why I would ever joke or laugh about such a thing?  I do not remember what the comment or topic was but I know the reason.  I told him, “There are times if I do not find a way to laugh, I would cry all the time.”

After seeing my face for the first time after the accident I slept so soundly there were no dreams that I recalled.  The shot they game me made that possible.  I woke feeling drifty and almost fell back to sleep when I remembered what I had seen.  Such emotion welled inside of me it felt like a pressure from within and bearing down.  I drew in a gasping breath and knew tears would do no good.  With that thought, came the next.  What would help?  How would I survive?  How could I face life, family and the world looking as I had observed in the mirror? 

The medical care was so good they were there like magic any time I needed them showing not only care but compassion.  They explained how what I saw was not what it would be.  The swelling would go down and the bruising would heal.  There were amazing things that can be done with plastic surgery.  The doctor patiently sat and visited and talked with me explaining honestly that it might require multiple surgeries but I would not have to live looking as it was right then.  I will never forget him or the nursing staff.

I explained that without insurance I could not afford that and he assured me not to worry.  He made me promise right then to concentrate on getting better, healing and getting stronger.  I was so weak.  The bones in my foot were still broken and joints dislocated but there were other issues more important.   In addition to all of the other injuries we could not let my lungs fill up.  I had to get up.  I had to walk.

Just standing was a problem.  Walking would be a problem for not only me but the staff.  The danger of me falling was real.  I was weak, hurt, and on a broken foot.  They normally have a big strap they put around you so they can support and protect you from more injury if you go down.  There was no way they could put anything around me or pressure of any kind with broken ribs. 

I could do it.  I had to do it and I did do it.  One step at a time.  That is what I thought.  I refused to allow myself to dwell on all of the problems or what I looked like….just one step at a time.  At first that was all I could take.  Little by little I made it three or four and to the door.  The time came to go out that door into the hall.  The hall had many people coming and going.  The expressions on the faces ranged from shock, sympathy and those who had to look away and quicken their pace.  The staff and family were keeping a close eye on not only my physical progress but emotional too.  I was surrounded by love, care and compassion.

My husband and daughter came all of the time as they could.  Friends and family came and showed their love.   I was not alone but in some ways I was all alone.  No one could deal with the emotions and have to find a way to face life but me, and I would need more than any human could give.  I really do believe in prayers and the power of God’s love.  I do not believe we are puppets on a string or that God was punishing me.  I think it is his strength that helped me find my way.

I worked.  I worked as hard as I could.  It was amazing how I was recovering.  I was healing.  When I say amazing I do not use the word lightly or for a way to describe good progress…I mean amazing for the shape I was in.

At one point not long before I left the hospital, the doctor sat and visited with me.  I thanked him.  He asked for what?  “You saved my life.  From the time I hit the ER and you sewed me back together and all of the care since.  I would not have lived, let alone be doing this well if it were not for you and all you have done.  Thank you.”

He sat quietly beside me before he spoke.  “I did not save your life.”

“Who did, the nurses?  I know how close I came to leaving this world.  Dieing was easy.  Living is hard.  You will never know how hard it was to come back.”

I could see how serious he was.  “I did all that I could do to help you.  I worked and tried my best to save you.  You needed more than any and all of us could give.  The man upstairs is who saved you.  He is the one we need to thank.  I did not do it.”  He pointed upward toward the heavens as he spoke.  “It is unbelievable how well you are doing.  It is more than that.”

When I left the hospital, my face was still a mess.  They did not want me to leave but I was adamant that I had to go home.  I had to.  I had been there for so long and assured them that I would have round the clock care.  They told me I could not do it.  It was too soon, but I was so sure that I was tough enough.

I had not told the whole truth.  My daughter had to go to school and my husband had to go to work.  I thought if I had water there and what ever I needed I could do just fine.  I would stay still and take the pain meds if I needed them and I did need them.  The foot would have to wait to be fixed.  I had lost too much blood to go through a surgery for another month.  The ribs were unbelievably painful.  Everything on me hurt but that was nothing compared with the muscle spasms that set in.  The back felt as if it would bend me backwards until it broke but the muscles around the ribs nearly killed me.  I could not breathe.  I found out later the hospital was so sure I would be back that they had even kept my room for me.

I hurt so bad the thought of riding or moving to go back was the only thing that kept me from returning.  I had to keep working to recover.  I could not just sit.  I did work and try.  When I first saw my face it was not just depressing it was shock.  As the shock wore off the fear and depression set in.  Life goes on and one way or another I would have to find a way to deal with it or it would destroy me.  I thought, I prayed, I cried a lot and then I decided to make a plan.

I would face life.  I had always dealt with stress by walking.  I loved to go for long walks and for a while was walking 3 to 4 miles a day.  I would see deer occasionally or the birds and squirrels at play.  I would see the clouds drift lazily across the sky and feel the gentle breezes and warmth of the sun on my face….my face…..

I would never be able to walk like that again.  I had to use a walker to walk at all shuffling along.  I did not even want to think about facing the world with my face.  If I smiled at anyone would they even see the smiles or would they only look at the scars?  We often see what we look for and they might only look and see that and never see me.  I would have to find a way to find me and then deal with the world.

The time finally arrived for the surgery to try to rebuild my foot.  They had to take out one of the joints completely and put in pins, reposition the dislocated joints and hope for the best.  I will go ahead and tell you now it did not work.  The bones are too damaged and fragile and they broke back apart.  I can still walk but it is with pain and a limp.  I am still able to walk though.  I may not go far or fast but I will not give up.  I have heard many times I should ride in the carts at the stores but I believe if I give up. I will end up in a wheel chair.  Use it or loose it.  I use the baskets that you push as a walker and a shopping cart.  The more I do, the long and more I can do.

I was taking one little step at a time.  I remember the first time I did go anywhere in public.  It was one of those times you never forget and a time that made an impression allowing me to adapt a new outlook.

We stopped to get gas and I was determined to go in and get a soda.  There were other people there in the store but I was determined to face the world no matter what.  As I hobbled in the door with my walker, there was no way to miss the sight.  I was crippled and appeared as if I might fall in the floor.  My foot was encased in a special thing with pins sticking out of it after the surgery.  My face was better but still did not look like a human.  My hands had been sewn back and were bruised and discolored but healing well. 

I could do it.  A small child stared at me with mouth hanging open and his eyes wide with shock and fear.  It was fear in that child’s eyes so great he seemed about to break into tears.  Instantly he clung to his mother’s leg trying to hide behind her and said,  “Momma, Momma…IT’S looking at me.”  The tone of his voice was almost hysterical.

She looked horrified.  The sight of my face may have shocked her but she understood that I had suffered some kind of horrible injury.  She was upset with her child’s reaction and words. 

The child was not trying to be mean or bad.  He was so frightened he literally shook.  I did not try to get closer to him.  He would surely have broken into tears.  The thought that the sight of me could evoke such a response was enough to make me cry but there was no time right then.  I could cry later.

As I was trying to squat lower the mother instantly reprimanded the child saying,  “Be quiet.  That is a lady.  Just be quiet.  I am so sorry.  I am so very sorry.  He did not mean it.  I..”

I interrupted her.  “He did nothing wrong.  He really is afraid and I have seen my face and it scared me.  Trust me…it scared me a lot.  It is all right.”

I looked at the child and took my hands to cover as much of my face as possible.  I spoke softly.  “I want you to look only at my eyes.  Only my eyes.  You can see me now.  I am just an old lady that was a little ugly to begin with and got hurt really really bad in an accident.  You don’t have to be afraid.  If you understand… it makes it better… and I am not near as scary anymore now, am I?  Just because someone is different does not make them bad…just different.  You have to look and see the real person inside.”  As I said that I was slowly removing my hands. 

He still did not want to come closer, but he no longer appeared to be ready to cry.  In helping him to find a way to look at me, I had found a way to face the world.  I could do it.  Life was not over.

I chose these pictures to share because it remind me that as the with the end of one day and new day will begin and we have to look for the good in life to find it.  Albert and I were so happy there.