We started with a 15 minute free-write on the prompt The Olympics and this was my offering.
For some people the Olympics must be everything. They'll go to a number of the sporting events, their hearts will swell when they hear the national anthem and someone from our country gets gold. Twenty years from now they'll say to their kids, "Remember when the Olympics were on and we did this or that.."
In contrast I find that my life is never defined by these big events and that I remember them in the context of what I'm doing or where I am. Thirteen years ago I was sitting by my daughter as she lay dying in a children's hospice and while watching TV a newscaster came on to explain that Princess Diana had died. Over the next few days people took flowers to the British Consulate & because there were so many of these expressions of grief they started taking bouquets to old folks homes and places like the hospice. I arranged vase after vase and filled every room including my daughters with them. Two weeks later when she had died I threw out all of the fading blooms in a symbolic gesture. That is what I really remember about the time when the Princess Diana tragedy unfolded.
Last week, when the world was glued to their TV's or standing in the streets of Vancouver, waving and cheering on the Olympic torch as it made the final leg of its journey I sat across from my girlfriend in a local chemo treatment room. She sat on a leather recliner with her arm outstretched on a tray while poisonous chemicals ran into her veins. I looked around the room at all of the other people there for treatment; young and old sat there, proof that cancer doesn't discriminate.
The TV was on and some people watched the event, others were too distracted by the book they had brought or were sitting with their eyes closed. Suddenly the news broke through and it was announced that a young man doing a training run for the luge had died. Everyone in the long line of chairs seemed to come out of themselves, the staff stood still and we all turned our eyes to watch in silent horror as the fellow careened down the chute and flew off his sled into a pole. Involuntary sounds of shock and dismay passed from every person watching.
The room was dead quiet and no one moved for a time but then the nurses began checking chemo bags and IV's, machines started beeping and we were all pulled back to the reality of what was happening in the room. My friend tugged on her hat, pulling it lower to hide the fact that her hair was starting to fall out again. The gentleman two seats over looked up at his chemo bag, sighed and grimaced, clenched and unclenched his hand and shut his eyes. Another young man adjusted his Ipod and turned back into his world of music and song.
It occurred to me then that every cancer patient in that room was like an Olympic athlete fighting for the gold; Remission. Others, like myself, were there to cheer them on in their struggle. Some will win and their lives will carry on and some sadly will not. And twenty years from now when I'm talking to my children about this time I know I'll have a different view than many others. "Remember when my friend was going through Chemo and the Olympics were on?"
Salynne ©2009
Info on Grind Writers: The Grind Café Writers' Group - Vancouver
Meets every 2 weeks (alternating on Saturdays and Sundays) at the Grind Gallery Café, 4124 Main Street @ King Edward Ave (25th Ave). 10 am to 12:30 pm. Writers of all ages, stages, genres, genders, orientations & outlooks are welcome. We write at every meeting, so bring pen & paper or your laptop. Occasionally we do move the venue, so please email before you come to your first meeting, or if you have any questions, email Margo - wonderwords@shaw.ca.
We chose the word "Compass" because one of our members, whose keys were sitting on the table, carries a small globe compass on her keychain. My offering was short and to the point. I stopped writing not because the time was up but because it felt right to do so.
Other members wrote on a similar theme-the direction of life. Some did not. Some wrote prose, some wrote poetry, and some wrote word lists. Every single piece was unique and wonderful.
