Story as Window to the Soul: A Tribute to Stephen Lee Bussewitz

All of us are much larger than the good or
bad stories we tell about ourselves.Don’t get caught in
“my” story, “my” hurts, “my” agenda. It’s too small.

                                                                          ~Richard Rohr

I am a lover of stories.  Stories are a window to the soul.  They are metaphors that allow us to know, understand and embrace a life as gift.  Stories lead us experience and embrace the good and the bad.  They are a springboard for reflection that open us to live more deeply.  Because of what I know to be true about the power of story, the quote above that I received the as part of a daily meditation did not resonate.  It seemed to be contrary to what I know about story.  Is it contrary as I first believed? I suppose it depends on the story and the storyteller.  Here is one of my stories.  Actually, it is a story within a story…

Recently I experienced a death in my family.  My ex-husband, who is the father of my children and who has slowly and chronically become disabled by Parkinson’s Disease, from which he has suffered for over twenty years, passed away. Through the marriage and divorce and after, as Steve’s health slowly and steadily declined, I remained a caregiver and advocate.   Steve is a friend and for good and bad, he has touched my life and has been one of those people who have taught me about who I am.  Because of our relationship I am better.   I had the privilege of giving his eulogy with my daughter at his funeral several weeks ago.   At that time I told the following story…

“Steve had a bit of a Superman tendency.  “I can do anything.  It just has to happen.” That was a motto of Steve’s.  And most of the time, the tenacity that he would harness with this motto would make just what he wanted to happen to actually happen.  Like Superman, he did climb tall buildings.  A well-known and often revisited story about Steve is his trip to the top of what is now St. Ann’s Rehab Center.  Steve lived in the nursing home at St. Ann’s.  At the time of his climb, the rehab center was just a shell of a building.  Steve was out on St. Ann’s grounds and decided to explore, despite the construction site and do not enter signs.  He saw and he climbed—with his walker all the way to the top of this nine-story unfinished shell of a building.  He got to the roof and realized he couldn’t get down.  So he stood near the edge calling for help till someone came to bring him down to the ground.”

I love this story about Steve.  At the time that this story occurred, I hated this story.  At the time I got caught up in “my story…my agenda…my hurt.”  I got caught up in yet another story of Steve doing exactly what he wanted to do, disregarding the rules.  If truth be told, I was probably even a bit embarrassed.  Why would he do that?  I couldn’t let the story be bigger than the box that at the time I put Steve in.  At that moment the story was small and I was mad at a man who couldn’t live within his limits.

That’s just it.  Steve pushed his limits.  With what he could do, with people and against his disease.   This kind of tenacity is EXACTLY what propelled him on, living life on his terms.  He was a Superman of sorts.  He suffered.  And he climbed tall buildings.  He suffered and he played more golf on the St. Ann’s putting course than any resident there—beating many very able people.  (They hung a golf course outside of his bedroom door in recognition of something he loved and refused to give up.  He was talking to Ben in the past month before his death about wanting to get out to play golf—despite the fact that he could no longer get out of a wheel chair.)  He suffered and he walked across the busy four-lane Portland Avenue with his walker, from St. Ann’s to Rochester General Hospital, wanting to visit a friend who was in the hospital.  He found ways to try to get to the chapel on the first floor of St. Ann’s when no one could take him down.  He kept people hopping.  That tenacity was his gift.  And it served him well.  This gift of Steve’s offers a lesson for all of us.  It teaches all of us how to not accept the status quo.  It teaches us to plow through and dig deep when it seems that no doors are open.  It shows us that despite adversity, we can find a way.

This story—once small to me—has become very large.  It has opened me up.  It has become a life lesson.  It has propelled me to compassion and a greater understanding of chronic disease and tenacity.  It has helped me to be more tenacious.   More tender.  More touchable.   If we only live out the stories of our life, if we only walk the steps of the story, as Rohr’s quote above implies, the event only becomes a story and most probably a forgotten story.  If we embrace the story—if we let the story teach us—the story expands from smallness to greatness to teach us about life…about self…about humanity.   Our story is a window to the soul.

Thank you to Two Writing Teachers for dedicating space and time for teachers and teachers of literacy to come together to share ideas, practice and life experience.

Sometimes Currents Take You Places Least Expected

Sometimes currents take you places you don’t expect.   

Last summer I spent a long weekend with friends in New York City.   I was there to cheer lead my friends as they swam the length of the Brooklyn Bridge in the East River as part of NYC Swims.  All three are strong swimmers and all three were not able to complete the race—along with about one third of all of the swimmers who were part of the race.  An unexpected current came about, making dangerous conditions for the swimmers.  The event was cancelled mid-way through and the swimmers were plucked out of the East River and brought close to shore where they swam the last 200 yards.  My friends were initially disappointed and then grew to appreciate the adventure they just had and that all of the swimmers were safe.  Under different conditions, the swim could have been finished by all—in fact in previous years, had been finished by all.  This year was different.  The current took them to a place they did not expect.  With a story to tell from the adventure along the way.

I find myself reflecting…where are the currents of my life taking me?  I have not written in my blog for a while because of unexpected currents.   The currents have swept me away to places where writing in my blog has had less importance. Writing actually was painful.   A sick son who has needed my attention.  The death of my ex-husband—a man who has been sick with Parkinson’s Disease and who I cared for even long after our divorce.  A new position in a Charter School with work I love and a commute longer than I anticipated.  All of these currents have swept me away from the course I thought my adventures would bring me these past few months.  And as I have struggled with the current, some of the activities I love that feed me have not been able to be nurtured.

The swirling of the waters continue.    And momentarily I have been plucked out of the water, with time and space.  Like my friends in the East River, who had bruises and cuts from being pulled by the current to a wall where they clung, waiting to be picked up, I have my bruises too.  I am experiencing a weariness, not like me.  Or perhaps it is a mourning.  They are bruises that need tending and that will heal with time.  Like my friends, who were picked up by the coast guard and brought to a safe place to be dropped back into the water to swim to the shore line, I, too, have been buoyed by friends  and family who have supported me along the way.  And are watching as I now swim toward the shore in safer waters.

The mourning and sadness will change to appreciation and gratitude.  And, I must say, even in the mourning and sadness, I recognize my life with appreciation and gratitude.  The currents of life change, moving through moments of deep sadness and exhilaration.   All currents have a story to tell.  Like my swimmer friends, whose adventure was not what they expected and excitedly talk about the next swim, I, too, will dive into the water, knowing the next current will take me to a new place with a new story to tell and an adventure along the way.

Sometimes You Have to Get to Give

Get—to benefit by receiving e.g., get flowers; to retreat or go to a new place, e.g., get away

Summer break in New York is finally here and I find myself in the “not-often-the-case” position of getting.  Two plus weeks ago I had surgery—something planned so that I would not miss the end-of-school-year activities and would not miss out on consulting/work time over the summer.  Get—both the receiving kind and the retreating kind have been part of this summer life.  Friends and family have showered me with visits and food and flowers and words of inspiration.   On a daily basis, it seems, someone arrives on my porch to offer support of some sort.  I have never been one to put myself on the receiving end…I can actually state that I am uncomfortable on the receiving end, yet I have found great grace and joy in receiving the gifts that have been poured out to me. 

This summer has also been one of getting away—not physically because I really did need the time to heal and a jaunt to the beach or to the mountains would have been impossible.  Rather, I have gotten away by turning off.  By sleeping, by being entertained by series where thinking is easy and the work to understand is minimal and by sleeping yet again.  I got lost in the world of series I have long wanted to watch but have not allowed myself the space to do so.  At first I thought I would get away through the pages of a book.  I found instead that soon after the first paragraph, my mind would wander, my head would nod and my eyes would become heavy.  Not so with Downton Abbey.   I can honestly say I never saw an episode before June 24 and I am now a proud viewer of all four seasons.  I retreated to England where beauty lives in the vistas of the plush countryside, the lilt of the language and the costumes of eras past.  What a retreat!  I became entangled in a land where civility and propriety are mainstays.  I got lost in the lives of Mary, Daisy and Grand mama.  I am not one to get away through watching, much less sleeping—especially in a few week sitting, and I find that it has been a delightful way to heal and renew.  Sleep, watch, sleep—all forms of getting away have served me well.

Today I got in yet another way of receiving.  Most of my work life is about teaching writing and writers’ workshop to others in one form or another.  Today I found myself on the receiving end of the writers’ workshop—and what a delightful experience it was!  Denise Leograndis, presenter for the Accelerated Learning Institute and author of the book, Launching the Writing Workshop: A Step-by-Step Guide in Photographs, led me and a number of other educators down a path where we got to look at writing through the lens of writer.  I happily wrote, revised and conferenced with the goal of creating my own writing—a means to its own end—not a means to teach others.  To simply get.  And from that get—to create.

I am a fortunate girl.  It has been a summer of getting, of stopping, of slowing down.  They say, “It is better to give than to receive.”   I live by that life principle.  But this summer I have viewed this life truth in another way.  What better gift can I give to others than to allow them to give to me?  What better gift can I give to myself than allowing space to get away? If we are all givers then who will receive?  If I receive in gratitude and humility, am I not giving? 

So, I joyfully and gratefully get this summer.  I get to heal.  I get to write and create.  I get to renew by allowing mindless entertainment and sleep.  I get meals and cards and flowers.  I get to be loved.  And I get to love myself.

I get to give by receiving.  What could be better than that?