The Old Life Ends

Glenda and Barry at Chimney Rock in WNC mountains

Finally, my house is sold and someone else lives where I spent the past thirty years, the happiest years of my four and one-half decades with Barry. 

Our first Christmas in our mountain house with Kodi

When I think about why I was so happy in the mountains, there were many reasons. For the first time, Barry and I were completely alone with no family members near us. I had not realized that living close to most of my family, which was involved in our lives, we never felt alone with each other. I remember one night close to Christmas, Barry and I sat on the floor in front of our blazing fireplace in our large living room on the farm. It was to be a romantic time for us. We drank champagne and there in our darkened room with only the forests surrounding us, we felt a deep closeness. 

Suddenly a loud knock at the front door startled us. He looked at me and said, "Just ignore it. They will go away."

But next, we heard a voice, "Glenda, it's Max." I knew my brother would not go away. He knew I was home, and he wanted to see me.

Our romantic moment was shattered. We had to open the door and invite him in.  He had no idea he was intruding on our quiet time. 

Barry and I lived on the family farm with my three brothers, their families, and my parents. All were within walking distance of each other, and Max often took a walk at night and ended up at my door. I never knew when he would appear after dark and expect to come in and talk awhile.

But when we moved to the mountains into our "tree house" where we sat on our deck among the high limbs and leaves with a wide view of sky above us, we delighted in being totally alone. We knew no one in the county and liked it that way. For the first time, we depended only on each other. We had no one second-guessing our actions, or our lifestyle, watching us. I had no big brothers telling me what I should or should not do. The men in my family had always been in charge and I was used to taking their advice.

The homes on the farm, often called the compound, were a small community of 10 adults, and several children, who felt it important to know everything about each other, good or bad. My sisters-in-law seemed to find fault with each other and found a listening ear in me. I became the confidant they felt safe to open up to about whatever was their latest gripe. I loved all of them and tried to be sensitive to their complaints. I never betrayed their trust as I knew they needed someone to whom they could vent with no consequences. 

I am sure you understand why being alone in our mountain house made such a difference in our lives. I am happy to be a part of a large family and all seven of us were close, but being super sensitive as I was in my younger days, I felt their resentment toward each other like an invisible blanket when we were together as a family. 

The brothers worked together every single day and Barry worked with them. They had their own relationships to manage. Often my husband came home frustrated and upset over something that happened between him and one of my brothers. I always listened. I sympathized, but too often I tried to make him see my brother's point of view. That did not go well. Looking back now, I wish I had supported him in his differences with them, but in our family, we are prone to try to fix every problem. I stressed out over his problems because I could not help him. So he spent twenty years dealing with my family but learned that sometimes when he wanted to get a plan accepted, he had to make his ideas seem like they were my brothers' ideas. 

Those years in the western NC mountains were calm, and unworried most of the time, and we finally got to know each other as we had never done before. I feel that peace even now remembering us sitting on our deck in the dark listening to the night sounds all around us. Looking at the stars above and loving each other and our lives together.

We always had a furry friend with us who made our family complete. First was Kodi, our beautiful and sweet Samoyed. Later, Barry rescued Rocky after 13-year-old Kodi died. He was definitely Barry's dog. They communicated silently but always understood each other.

There was so much love in our home, that I could hardly believe how happy I was. Both of my parents had died before we moved off the farm, and soon after, my dear brother Ray died. During the years I lived in our mountain home, my four brothers died, and my older sister, too. Those were sorrowful times that we shared with each other. Barry's only brother also passed away.

Still, we had many joyous times with my sister, Gay, and her husband, Stu. Barry and Stu were so close they seemed like brothers. Our vacations together each year were highlights that we talked about every time we were together. We still often remember the fun we had and sometimes it brings tears to our eyes as we miss Barry.

Barry and I bounced back from surgeries in Atlanta hospitals. One doctor told me he was positive I had colon cancer. I was in the hospital for a week after surgery but did not have cancer.

In 2008, after months of pain in his knee, Barry was diagnosed with lymphoma. A tumor grew in his leg just above his knee. We were assured by doctors in the city that it was a common ailment that could be treated and was no immediate threat. He died in 2009 after months of horrible pain which I will never forget.

I was sure my days of happiness were gone to never return. I wished I had died with him. I could not see how I could go on. Grief overcame me and anger seethed near the surface of my emotions. I was rude and self-pitying. But I finally found a way to move on. 

After much soul-searching I decided to do what I enjoyed best. With help from good friends and family I remodeled my large daylight basement and created a writing studio. My plan was to teach classes and to bring in good writers of poetry and prose to teach at my studio. It turned out to be an excellent business for me and all our local writers signed up for classes. That was a big turning point in my life and I accepted the changes I faced without Barry.

At this time in my life, I am facing another big turning point. I have moved to the city and must learn new ways to live. I have learned my deficiencies, where I need help and when I should ask for it.

 As I recover this year from a fall that caused a broken shoulder and surgery to replace it, I grow more confident in becoming independent again or at least as much as possible. I am happy to be near my family. With my sister, Gay, my niece, Lee, and their husbands, Stu and Dave, I always have someone to call on if I need them.

Although I miss my mountain house, I don't have the stress of keeping it up, the costs of repairs and maintenance which I could not do alone. This morning I sat on my deck overlooking a lake and enjoyed the coolness that followed the hurricane that whipped through Georgia last week. My little Lexie is happy here and always near me. 

In October I will teach again online. I have goals and plans for the future, a reason to get up each day. I continue to work for NCWN-West and keep in touch with my friends and fellow members of our large writing organization. I see good things happening for them in the coming year.

I hope your days are happy and healthy. Until next time, be kind.