God Opens a Window

Stephenville Empire-Tribune, May 2018
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I’ve always loved to sing. I would find myself singing everywhere—the shower, the car, the laundry room—always in harmony, a perfect alto to any soprano. It was my artistic contribution to my family of artistic siblings. My sister and I brought tears to many eyes with a harmony so pure; it seemed to vibrate in the air... before my fall.

In 2011, I slipped on black ice. The sun, blazing after an ice storm, camouflaged the icy patch in a shaded parking lot. I was knocked out, taken to the hospital by ambulance and suffered from crippling vertigo, not at all like what Jimmy Stewart portrayed in the Hitchcock film, Vertigo, for a year or so afterwards. As I began the slow road to recovery, it dawned on me that I could not hear the music anymore, a fact that was both devastating and perplexing.

Having nothing to contribute at holiday family gatherings, guitars always coming out after a shared meal, I shrugged it off and awkwardly but joyfully watched our family’s newest generations of musical artists perform. So much talent—composers, musicians and singers—in our family; I felt like I 'd lost my way.

It has always been in the back of my mind to write a book comprised of stories--some funny—some sad--of my childhood memories and our numerous moves, usually living in sketchy areas and on food stamps at one point, brought on by my dad’s     
 a rolling stone gathers no moss philosophy.

I started a few times, but the writing just never flowed until last month, when a miracle occurred. As recommended by my daughter, I took melatonin to help me sleep just before bed, forgetting about the vivid dreams and nightmares it previously induced in me. I slept soundly but just on the edge of waking had an emotional dream. I tried to express my feelings to my husband, but couldn’t get the words out as tears flowed.

He had to get up and shower for work immediately following my tearful explanation, so I pulled out my phone and opened a Word document and began to type. The words poured out of me in one continuous flow, to the point that I later owed my husband an apology for the curt “sshh" I directed at him when he asked, “Do you want coffee?”

It was a lovely short story that, in hindsight, I now realize was about my relationship with my younger sister. (link below) 
I submitted "Star of the Show" to The New Yorker Magazine, at the urging of my husband. Of course I received a rejection email, which I later learned is a big deal because they don't typically have time to repond to emails.
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My heart has been opened and I can’t stop the words from flowing. This will be my artistic contribution to my family, memorializing the events that made us the strong people we are today.
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I am reminded of the adage that rings true, “When God closes a door, He opens a window.”

By Lisa H. Owens
May 2018
Read "Star of the Show." 

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