More Than Words: Stories of Courage Page 9
“Nope,” he said immediately. “I never think that.”
“Come on, I know you. Your dream was never commissioned sales.”
“Maybe so, but you asked about my dream. And that’s always been you, Miranda. You and the kids. This family. Us. And that’s why I’m so happy to have our life on any terms. All the rest—the work, the traffic, the bills—it’s nothing but details. That’s what being at this cottage has reminded me. I’m going back to the same old thing but I’m different. I’m glad I had a chance to remember the things that are important to me.”
By the time he finished speaking, Miranda was staring at him with tears of joy running down her face. “I love you, Jacob. When you talk like that, it reminds me just how much.”
“Whoa,” said Valerie. “Way to go, Dad.” They high-fived each other.
“Now, wait a minute.” Miranda dabbed at her cheeks. “I hope this isn’t your very charming way of saying I should be thankful for what I have and go back to the same old thing. I meant what I said,” she insisted. “I want to make a change.”
Jacob regarded her with apprehension. “Can you be more specific?”
“I can be very specific.” She felt her heart speed up as she told them about Lucy’s café and her idea of joining her friend. It was the kind of excitement she’d felt when she was on the verge of realizing a longed-for goal—going to college, marrying Jacob, having her children. This was something she hadn’t felt in a very long time. “I know what I’m asking,” she said to Jacob. “I know it might not be the best thing for us right now, financially. But—”
“But nothing,” he said. “I can’t believe you never told us this before.”
“I thought you’d tell me it was a terrible idea, financial suicide.”
“Maybe you should check with me before you decide what I think.”
Later on, Jacob invited Miranda to come with him on a sunset paddle on the lake in the two-person kayak. The evening promised to be absolutely beautiful. There were only a few high, torn clouds in the sky, and the lowering sun turned the lake to a vast sheet of gold.
The hush of nature surrounded them—a light breeze in the high branches of the maples and willows, the lonely cry of a loon, the quiet dipping of their paddles into the still water. The lake gave all the colors and sounds a special clarity. Nature had its own special healing power, Miranda reflected. Each day they spent here she felt stronger, closer to her family.
“I’m so glad we made this trip,” she said over her shoulder to Jacob.
“So am I. It’s been good for all of us. I’ve finally stopped dreaming work dreams at night.”
“I didn’t know you had work dreams.”
“Nightmares. Workmares, I guess you’d call them. Classic stuff—I’m late for a meeting, or I show up without my pants on, or I get lost.”
“You never told me that. We used to tell each other all our dreams, good or bad. When did we stop?”
“When mine got boring because they were all about work,” he said.
“Maybe we ought to start telling each other again.”
They rowed toward the windward side of a small island in the middle of the lake. According to the hand-drawn map in the cottage, it was called Spruce Island.
“The people who own this camp—the Bellamys—were married on this island more than fifty years ago,” Miranda told her husband. “Last summer, they came back to reenact the wedding for their fiftieth anniversary.”
“Let’s go check it out,” he said. They paddled to the shallows and brought the kayak ashore on the sloping beach. Everything on the island was tiny and intriguing, a whole world in miniature. There was a path leading to a garden gazebo, now overgrown with roses and dahlias gone to seed. It was marked with a commemorative plaque that read, Charles Bellamy and Jane Gordon were married here August 26, 1956. Renewed their vows here August 26, 2006.
“They’ve been married fifty years,” Miranda said. “Imagine that.” To her surprise, she saw a dark flash of anger in his eyes. “Jacob?”
He made a visible effort to smile. “I just want you to get old, Miranda. That’s all I want. I try to be happy for people like the Bellamys, but it’s damn hard sometimes.”
“I know,” she said, slipping her arms around him. “I know.”
“I wish I’d been better for you when you were sick,” he said, his voice low with emotion.
“Jacob—”
“No, let me finish. I wish we’d spent more days like this. But I was just so scared. The cancer took over our lives, and no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t fight it. So instead, I focused on something simple—my work. I shouldn’t have done that. I should have been there for you more, instead of burying myself in work. It’s no excuse, but the truth is, I was freaking terrified, Miranda, at the idea of facing life without you, and at how much that would hurt. And so I…I stepped back, bracing for a blow. As if, by pulling away before you were even gone, maybe I wouldn’t miss you so much.” He shoved a hand through his hair. “I’m a freaking idiot. I should be shot.”
Miranda took hold of his hand and brought it to her mouth. “I’ve got an idea. Let’s do this. Instead of worrying about being married for fifty years, let’s just work on being married right now.”
He held her gently, yet she sensed a desperation in his embrace. “Good plan,” he whispered.
They waited for sunset, then paddled back to the dock. Miranda frowned, seeing an unfamiliar car parked in the cottage driveway. “I wasn’t expecting anyone,” she said to Jacob. “Were you?”
He didn’t answer, but his telltale grin gave him away. “Help me tie up the kayak, will you?”
“What’s going on?” she asked.
Just then, Sophie and her two kids, Daisy and Max, came out of the cottage. “Surprise,” yelled Sophie. “We were just in the neighborhood…”
Miranda laughed with joy and went to give her friend a hug. “It’s fantastic here. I can’t thank you enough.”
“We have a little something planned for your last night at the lake,” Sophie said, leading the way into the cottage.
Miranda gasped. The table was set for a candlelit dinner for two, with a linen tablecloth, a bottle of wine and a beautiful meal set out. “I’m taking the kids to the drive-in movie in Coxsackie for the last show of the season. We probably won’t be back until late…if that’s okay with you.”
“We already said it would be okay,” Valerie said, coming down from the loft. She looked a lot more like her old self, in cropped jeans and a Camp Kioga sweatshirt.
“Fine by me,” Miranda said, feeling a little thrill of anticipation.
They left in a swirl of laughter, and Miranda found herself alone with Jacob. He held out a chair for her. “Dinner is served.”
It felt exactly like a date, with a lovely meal, a glass of wine and the knowledge that they would make love afterward. She looked at her husband’s face in the glow of the candlelight and felt such an intense wave of love that it brought tears to her eyes.
Though she hadn’t said a word, he must have felt something from her. He set down his wineglass, and said, “Let’s go to bed.”
She took her time getting ready, putting on a spritz of perfume the way she’d done when she was younger, and taking out a nightgown she’d bought just for this trip. It was cream-colored and floor length, gathered softly at the waist.
She stepped out into the bedroom. Jacob was standing by the night table in boxers and a T-shirt. He’d turned down the bed and was flipping through some photographs.
When he saw her, his face lit with a smile. “You look good, Miranda.”
“I feel good.” She crossed the room to him. “What’s that?”
“These are the pictures I took of you the night before the surgery,” he said.
Miranda felt as though she’d been punched in the stomach. She remembered that night well. She had wanted him to photograph her, naked and whole for the last time. The pictures had a quality of searing intimacy, t
he camera somehow revealing more than a mirror ever did. She remembered how they had talked that night, and cried together, and made love with a fierce intensity they’d never recaptured.
“I had no idea you carried these around,” she said. “My God, Jacob. No wonder you can’t get used to me the way I am now.”
“Miranda, no.” He grabbed her hands. “You don’t understand. These are pictures of my wife, my best friend, my college sweetheart, the love of my life. You were getting ready to face unbelievable pain, and you still had the strength to look at me like that. I don’t keep these around to remind me of what you used to look like, Miranda. I keep them to remind me of how brave you are.”
It struck her then that they hadn’t made love in the daylight since before her surgery. And whenever they did make love, Jacob was careful and considerate, straining to hold her gently—too gently. “Then treat me like I’m that woman, Jacob,” she said. “That brave woman. Not like someone who’ll break. That’s what I’ve missed this past year. You’ve been too careful with me.”
“I don’t want to hurt you, Miranda.”
“I swear I won’t break.” She moved forward and kissed him—not a good-night kiss but a frank, sexy, openmouthed, how-about-it kiss.
He pulled back and smiled at her. “You sure?” he whispered.
“Of course. I’m ready to quit acting like a patient, you know?”
“I know.”
There was something shining in his face, a love so strong that she felt warm all over, as though she were standing in the light of the sun. And she realized something then, something she’d always known but had managed to forget in all the busy chaos of their lives. Their love was a force so strong that it would never end, no matter what happened to her.
“Oh, Jacob,” she whispered. “I feel like I’ve come back from a long trip. And I’ve missed you so.”
He pressed her down on the bed and unbuttoned her nightgown. “Ah, honey. I’ve missed you, too.”
EPILOGUE
“Smile, just one more time.” Miranda knew she was probably trying Valerie’s patience, but she couldn’t help herself. “You look incredible in that dress. How about right here, on the front porch?”
“Okay, Mom.” Valerie seemed happy enough to pose but cast a worried look at her date, Pete. In a crisp, rented tux, his hair newly cut and his shoes polished to a sheen, he appeared both nervous and elated. “Just a few more minutes, okay, Pete?”
“I don’t mind.” He blushed, looking so boy-next-door cute that Miranda herself wanted to hug him.
“I lied,” she confessed. “I don’t want just one more picture.”
“Miranda,” Jacob said. “You’ve probably got enough.”
But she didn’t, and in the end, she got her way. She took pictures of every possible combination—Valerie with her date, with her dad, with her brother. And then a shot of Valerie and Andrew and the puppy, Kioga. When they returned home from their week at the cottage, they had adopted the pup from a local shelter. At about twelve weeks old, he looked like a shepherd mix, with one ear up and one flopped down, and he had become the center of Andrew’s universe. Andrew was raising the dog, training him, and it was hard work. So hard, in fact, that he almost never had time to get on the computer anymore. And he didn’t seem to miss it one bit.
“Good night, Mom and Dad,” Valerie said. She gave them each a hug before getting into the car with Pete. As she hugged Miranda, she gave her an extra squeeze. “Thanks, Mom,” she whispered.
Jacob stood behind Miranda and put his arms around her as they watched the car drive away. The last of the evening sunshine lingered, painting the front garden with a deep sheen of gold. She leaned against Jacob, grateful for his solid presence, grateful for…everything. This past year, she’d learned not to fear death but to accept its presence—a reminder that you can do anything with this day except waste it.
Dear Reader,
Thank you for spending some time with Miranda and her family. I hope you were as moved as I was by the great work done by Cottage Dreams. Marie S., a cancer survivor who corresponded with me about Cottage Dreams, writes, “Even though I feel a part of my spirit was taken from me during my cancer journey, I can’t help but look at the importance of people who continue to reach out to others in trying times.”
Now you have an opportunity to reach out. In the fictional story, Sophie took inspiration from Cottage Dreams to offer a haven to a family that desperately needed to heal and reconnect. In reality, this organization is able to carry on its work only through the charitable contributions of caring people. If possible, please open your heart and your purse strings and make a contribution to Cottage Dreams. There is also a need for items to go into “Welcome Baskets” for arriving families. To find out how you can reach out, please visit their Web site at www.cottagedreams.org or send a check to Cottage Dreams, The Heritage Building, 33A Pine Avenue, P.O. Box 1300, Haliburton, ON K0M 1S0.
Thank you for caring,
P.K. BEVILLE
SECOND WIND DREAMS
One month shy of her 100th birthday, Flossie’s dream came true. She got her very first motorcycle ride—in a pink leather jacket.
Flossie’s dream ride was made possible through Second Wind Dreams, a nonprofit organization that fulfills the dreams of those living in elder-care communities—improving their lives and changing society’s perceptions of aging. Flossie and hundreds like her have shown that our elders can still dream, and dream big, even when society is telling them they’re too old.
Paula Kay (P.K.) Beville, Ph. D., began Second Wind Dreams with the goal of bringing seniors to the forefront of our society and making them feel what they are—special. Since 1997, Second Wind Dreams has made dreams come true in over 400 facilities in 41 states, Canada and India.
One woman’s passion
P.K. is a trailblazer in her passion to bring something positive to nursing homes and develop ways to improve them. For the past twenty-four years P.K. has designed and implemented mental health services that are currently provided to more than 800 nursing homes throughout the United States. She coauthored Second Wind, an uplifting, heartwarming look at people in nursing homes, and she worked with seniors in nursing homes as a psychologist for over 20 years.
P.K. was continually struck by how much spirit and excitement residents had, even though they were frail and living in nursing homes. Yet, as a frontline caregiver, P.K. knew too well how these seniors were slipping into insignificance at the very time they should feel important and honored.
The idea for Second Wind Dreams came when P.K. asked some nursing home residents, “If you could have anything in the world, what would it be?” The answers were small and relatively simple requests, such as a new dress to attend a church group. P.K. realized that the hopes and dreams of residents were so simple that she was determined to make these dreams a reality. So P.K. gave up a six-figure salary to begin Second Wind Dreams, working single-handedly for one and a half years from the basement of her Marietta, Georgia, home. Even today as CEO of Second Wind Dreams, P.K. has never received a paycheck.
A forgotten population
Second Wind Dreams focuses on fulfilling the dreams of those living in nursing homes and elder-care communities. Nursing homes are where the frailest, weakest and, some say, the most burdensome among us spend their final days. These are the seniors who most need the program’s assistance, yet nursing homes occupy the last rung on America’s health-care ladder. Only 2% of nonprofit donations go to the elderly. Funding continues to be challenging, but P.K. believes that through programs like Second Wind Dreams, much can be done to improve the lives of those who live in nursing homes as well as those who work with them.
The lack of dreams and goals can have physical and mental consequences. The Dreams program stimulates residents both physically and mentally—fighting the triple threat of pain, boredom and loneliness found in so many of these residences, while giving seniors the special attention they deserve. As P.K. points
out, you need only look at the faces of these seniors to see the results.
Dreams fulfilled
Second Wind Dreams makes possible about three dreams a day. Need-based dreams—something as simple as a cup holder for a wheelchair or a new pair of bedroom slippers—account for a humbling 22% of the dreams. Others are relationship-based dreams like the one of a resident who was flown across the country to reunite with a brother he hadn’t seen in forty years. Many seniors dream of reliving past experiences such as driving a big rig again, or getting back out in the fresh sea air to catch the big one. And for residents like Kay, lifelong dreams are fulfilled. Ninety-two-year-old Kay, who never got the chance to graduate from university, was given full honors, with cap and gown and all the pomp and circumstance.
But as P.K. discovered right from the program’s inception, an unbelievable 46% of the dreams are just for fun! The first dream P.K. fulfilled was that of ninety-two-year-old twins who wanted an Elvis impersonator to visit their nursing home. So many seniors are still kids at heart—like Mae, who was wheelchair bound, blind and on dialysis, yet dreamed of riding all seven roller coasters at a Georgia amusement park. In P.K.’s eyes the dreams are equal, big or small—even if the price tags for fulfilling the dreams differ. The dream itself is what it’s all about.
Inspiring staff and the community
P.K. knows the only way to change society’s perception of aging is through community involvement. Second Wind Dreams relies heavily on volunteers—individuals, families, church groups, student groups of all ages and corporations. Participating in a dream often leads to long-lasting partnerships with facilities and special relationships with residents. Those who have been a part of a dream-come-true are never sure who got the most out of it, the volunteer or the dreamer.
Those who work with the elderly are motivated by P.K.’s passion and vision. She pays positive attention to staff, knowing how hard they work and how they are underpaid and often feel unappreciated. P.K. recently completed a study to determine the impact of the Dreams program. The study showed that through Second Wind Dreams, depression among nursing home residents decreased by 56% and staff morale increased by 65%—proof that long after the dream has been fulfilled, the effects linger, giving all involved a sense of renewal and hope.