Song of Renewal

Table of Contents

 

 

 

dedication

In memory of Angela Sue Harvey

 

1962 – 1974

 

 

To Angie, my daughter, you are the reason I write. You were my first experience of loss and perseverance to rise above the clouds. Through God’s grace, I’ve been able to share renewal through my stories’ characters, and perhaps give others hope. You remain special, dear Angie, and are an inspiration to your family. Your memory remains vibrant and alive even to your nieces and nephews – those you left too soon to meet – who, on special occasions, send up colorful balloons to you in Heaven and share stories passed down about your unsinkable spirit of fun and your compassionate heart. We miss you.

And to Leland, my quintessential hero, the wind beneath my wings, lifting me above the mundane, inspiring me to be more than I ever dreamed or hoped to be. Your applause means more than any other. Your love, so unconditional and passionate, makes me a woman among women, fulfilled beyond measure. One of your greatest gifts to me is our beautiful children, who crown our love with beauty and glory. The other is that
you allow me to be me. For that, my love, I honor and cherish you.

And to my beloved remaining children and their spouses, Pam and David McCall, David and Susan Harvey, and Angel Callahan, with all my gratitude and love for the amazing people you are and for all the joy you’ve brought me. And for celebrating with me the good times and empathizing during the bad. Your compassion and respect are sterling gifts. May your years unfold with grace and ease. May you find joy, serenity, and love. And may all your dreams come true. I wish for you happy endings, over the rainbows, and all the good and lovely things life offers. I wish for, between you and your spouse, the freedom to be yourself, with all the wonderful love, passion, tenderness, and respect that I have with my life’s love. Daily, strive to be happy. Take kindly the counsel of the years. Nurture strength of spirit to overcome adversity. Be at peace with God. Remember that, despite rough places, it is a beautiful world. Thank you for grandchildren who are as wonderful as you are.

And to God Almighty, the author of life, who has blessed me with these.

 

With all my love,
Mama/Mimi/ESH

acknowledgments

Song of Renewal
grew from a lifetime of revitalization experiences. It is a novel fraught with seemingly insurmountable odds to overcome, that grew from a network of family and friends who loved and validated me, despite my human frailties and failures, and then rejoiced with me in renewal.

I am especially thankful for The Story Plant. Publishers Lou Aronica and Peter Miller’s unwavering belief in me enabled me to pen the Wakefield family’s amazing renewal journey.

Lou, you are an awesome editor and mentor who allows my stories to remain my own, only better. For this, I am eternally grateful. Peter, you believed in me from the first, and that confidence has remained steadfast. You and Lou both see my highest possible goals as doable and reachable. You two are God’s blessing to me.

Angel, my youngest daughter, is truly an angel. During the writing of
Song of Renewal
, she brainstormed with me during plot-stuck times and maneuvered her tech-challenged mom through the mazes of cyberspace research and such. Having studied classical ballet, Angel also tutored me on the finer points of related technique and terminology.

To authors and professors Brian Jay Corrigan and Dr. Dennis Hensley, who separately brainstormed with me at last June’s
SWA Workshop during my synopsis formulation – your insights propelled me in the right directions. You both have my heartfelt gratitude.

My grandchildren, Kristin and Russell Smith, Chelsea McCall, Kaleigh, Lindi, Ashley, and Trey Harvey; Peyton, and Jensen Callahan all served as muses for the story’s young adult characters.

My son, David Harvey, and oldest daughter, Pam McCall, celebrated each phase of my writing project with, “Mama, I’m so proud of you. I knew you could do it!” Thank you!

To my best friend, Charlene Holubek, and siblings, Patsy Roach, Karen Bradley, Roger, Mike, and Jimmy Miller, you blessed me with unfailing validation and resounding, “It’s time!” declarations.

Thanks to Dr. George Helmrich, my medical counselor friend, and to the real “Nurse Brenda,” Brenda Boiter Duncan, RN, my old high school friend. Your skill in medical procedures with comatose patients truly got me through. What you didn’t know, you found out. Thanks also to the staff at Spartanburg Regional Medical Center and Spartanburg Regional Restorative Care for your counsel on long-term medical care. Any mistakes made are entirely my own.

To Lori Shillingburg, my other “Angel,” the most courageous, beautiful young woman I know, who shared her own post-accident experiences to enrich Angel Wakefield’s journey to recovery. Be blessed, dear Lori – I so admire your generous spirit.

Deep appreciation to artist, Jim Baird and wife Frieda, longtime, extraordinary friends. Jim’s specialty is not only in portraits and paintings, but also in commercial graphics. Thanks for being on call for my endless questions. Your expertise, patience, and helpfulness aided me beyond words.

To Gerald Ballenger, talented artist and his wife, Othello – family to me – whose contributions are constant and supportive, thank you!

To my parents, I hope you see this milestone from Heaven. Without you giving me life, it would not be.

To the James F. Byrnes High School 59ers and the Blue Flower Literary Club, you are a warm, vital constant in my life and I appreciate each and every one of you for supporting me during this creative odyssey.

To all my writing pals in Southeastern Writers Association, former presidents Pat Laye and Becky Lee Weyrich, who encouraged me from my early beginnings, who celebrated with me each rung up the success ladder. A big high five, especially to Debbie Brown and Meredith, Harry Rubin, childhood friend Eleanor Payne Mitchem, Holly McClure, and all my fellow members on the SWA Board of Directors: my husband, Lee Harvey, Sheila and Tim Hudson, Lee Clevenger, Charlotte Babb, Chris Wilkerson, Adrian Drost, and Amy Munnell.

A special acknowledgement to my late writing buddy, gorgeous, brilliant author Nelle McFather, who unflaggingly nurtured me all through the years, encouraging and supporting my writing dreams. I miss her unconditional love. I miss her. I really do.

So many of you, too many to mention here, are woven into the tapestry of my life, rendering it even more vibrant and colorful and beautiful. Those of you who celebrate with me my victories and grieve with me over my losses – you know who you are – I give my undying love and appreciation.

And thanks to you, dear reader, without whom all my efforts would be fruitless.

Keep peace in your soul. Enjoy.

“The only things that stand between a person and what they want in life are the will to try it and the faith to believe it’s possible.”

Rich DeVos

prelude

Even before the baby was born, things began to turn strange. Everything seemed too brilliant. Too vibrant. As Liza nested in preparation for the brand new life nestled deeply inside her, she felt that invisible Strobe-like emissions warmed and lit her entire world. The Wakefields knew it would be a girl because the ultrasound declared it so.

She and Garrison had been watching videos and studying parenting books for months now in anticipation of one of the most important roles of their lives. They discussed at length their philosophies on parenting and family life.

“I want to be a stay-at-home mom,” Liza resolutely insisted from the first. “Those childhood years go so swiftly. Once they’re gone, we can never get them back.”

Garrison readily supported her sentiments. “I wish my mom had spent some of those years with me,” he said a bit too mildly. Liza knew just how hard he worked to tamp down his emotions regarding that time of his life when his parents didn’t always have time for him.

This slice of time was reshaping them for brand new responsibilities. They would nurture and care for their own little creation.

Baby showers had filled the new nursery closet and chest. Tiny bunnies decorated the door and drawer surfaces, compliments of the artist father. When building the manse, Garrison and Liza had been intent on providing hallowed space for their future children.

“Six,” Liza insisted.

“Four. Two boys and two girls,” Garrison laughed as his paintbrush added touches to Oz-Dorothy’s pigtails. “Hell’s bells, honey, I am but a poor, struggling artist.”

So they laughingly settled on four.

The entire pink room sported Garrison’s vision of baby paradise, with everything from peeking cherubs to Seven Dwarfs to Cinderella, to a prima ballerina who looked remarkably like Liza in her role as Giselle, all tenderly inclined toward and watching over the baby’s crib.

What fun they had decorating. It made it all more real.

They made love a great deal in those first months, celebrating their accomplishment. That’s what they considered it – an amazing, miraculous triumph – their making of another life. Their appetite for each other was insatiable, as though they must somehow imprint each others’ souls and bodies on themselves in a quest to never lose that sacred connection. The excitement of creating a family was at once agony and ecstasy.

Would it change things? Would the
us
alter?

It seemed that they must hurry and pack in all the
us
they could. It wasn’t a spoken thing. It just happened, everywhere, in new places, the slow, intense way of first discovery, in ways unforgettable.

This continued until the last month. The pressure in Liza’s abdomen grew painful in those final weeks, so they abstained, instead showing inordinate affection in every other way possible.

Liza loved all of Garrison, heart, mind and soul. Even his melancholy idiosyncrasies. And his physical beauty, his leanness
and hawkish features turned her knees to mush and her senses into a flailing mess. Theirs was a blissful, blessed lust. Good. Right.

While she was pregnant, Garrison was happier than she’d ever seen him, singing in the shower, whistling as he worked. He made lists of things to do when the baby came, including ridiculous trips to Disneyland or Six Flags. Liza indulged him, thinking how lucky she was to have such a man.

“Can’t plan too early,” he insisted, cleaning his wire-framed glasses as he leaned over the lists spread across the kitchen bar. “Why, the way time flies, she’ll be a year old before you can say ‘scat.’ She’ll be old enough to enjoy all the fun.” He was deadly serious, which tickled Liza pink, but she hid her goofy grins, not wanting to dampen his palpable enthusiasm

The only thing that slowed Garrison down was his lack of painting commissions. He’d advertised in both the daily and weekly papers. Liza had spread the word in her ballet circles and had reaped a few commissioned portraits. However, with insurance and mounting utilities expenses, the money ran out quickly. Liza shared Garrison’s frustration. She had been tempted at times to take on a clerical or typing job, but a difficult first two trimesters had knocked that notion out of her head. She had, in fact, been forced to rest much of the time.