Followed by a Moonshadow

Reeds--photo by Fran Prescott

It’s been a rough couple of years.  My mom had her debilitating stroke in November 2009.  In June 2010, Bobby landed in ICU and almost didn’t survive.  Their emergency room visits and stays in intensive care were frequent.  Between the two of them, we have had more life and death crises in two years than I’d experienced in my entire life. 

We got to know the hospital staff pretty well. 

People were kind enough to tell me that they thought I was handling things well—that they didn’t know how I managed to stay positive despite everything that was happening.

My own family, of course, saw me at my worst.  The worry, the sadness, frustration, and despair that I felt—well, my husband and kids came along on this roller coaster ride, too.  So did many of my friends and cousins, who read my e-mails and called or took me out for lunch or a nice, brisk walk.

But, as my last blog post discussed, I learned to navigate the landscape.  We moved to a “new normal.”  And I made a decision about how I wanted to live my life.

In my story, Cara’s move from her known world to Sepia mirrored my own real-life transitions.  

Reeds in sepia--by Fran Prescott

The photos of the reeds are representative of the decision I made about how to live my life, about my change in perspective.   

I loved the original picture that I took—sunlight illuminating the tan reeds, which stand in contrast with the steely blue sky.  But I recently played around with some of the effects on iPhoto, and transformed the picture to a sepia-tone photo, framed in white.  I think I love this pic even more—it brings out the subtle play of light and dark, the texture of the frothy heads of the reeds, the graduated shading of sky and sun.

I think my life is a lot like the second picture now.  I look at things differently these days.  I appreciate the little things—the way the light illuminates the grass on a frosty morning walk, the way a wisp of fog hangs over the road like a ribbon. The way a full moon can cast shadows on a cold winter's night.

I miss Bobby and Jeannette.  Losing them has changed me. I see the world through a different lens now that they are gone.  It doesn’t mean the world isn’t beautiful any more—if anything, I appreciate the life I’ve been given even more now.  It’s precious. Different, but oh, so precious. And fleeting as a moonshadow.

If I ever lose my eyes,

if my colors all run dry,

Yes, if I ever lose my eyes,

oh if—I won’t have to cry

no more.

-- from Moonshadow, by Cat Stevens