After the Fall a Room Beckons

As many of you who read my Facebook page know, I recently took a nasty fall. Nasty because it came without warning and happened so fast. I was literally standing on a grassy field on a sunny Thursday morning one minute, holding my dog’s leash, and the next stepping down wrong on a curb, slipping and feeling my face and head slam into the concrete. I knew right away I had been seriously injured. I sat on the roadway dazed, my dog staring at me. As blood rolled from my face and splattered my cell phone screen, my hands shook so badly I could barely call my sons. I should mention that the last time I was in a hospital was 34 years ago with the birth of my younger son. And except for an occasional head cold and sinus infection, I had never been seriously ill in all that time. Doctors scare me, hospitals scare me. But when help finally did arrive and it did, thanks to the kindness of a stranger who pulled over and called an ambulance, and my son arriving minutes later, I am healing … albeit with a very sore shoulder and wrist, a couple stitches in my forehead, some bruises and skin abrasions and, most likely, a root canal of my front tooth after it was loosened by the force of impact of face on concrete.

As I watched the blood flow from my eyebrow and lip onto my hands and my cellphone screen that day, I experienced a moment of crisis. Time and age had conspired to make me realize how fragile we are and how it can all change in a heartbeat. Of course, I learned this years ago with the death of my husband from cancer at the age of forty-seven, which I wrote about in my memoir Again in a Heartbeat. Although X-rays revealed no broken bones, the thought of how a sudden fall on concrete could have been so much worse, haunted me and still does. The trauma lingers.

Both my sons’ speedy arrival to the ER, the friends who expressed well wishes, prayers and hope for a quick recovery, who sent cards, stopped by with wine, chicken soup and a blender … yes, I’ve come on board the smoothie train, albeit five or six years late … fill me with gratitude.

Although being on a liquid and soft diet for two weeks as my tooth heals doesn’t help and my shoulder aches at night, I grapple to feel the energy before the accident. It isn’t there. Healing takes time. The thought of our writing group meeting again … took root. After ten years of facilitating the Women’s Writing Circle, I thought that chapter had been closed. Over the last 18 months, many women asked me if we would restart. I always said no, I didn’t think so. I suppose the change in heart goes to feelings of irrelevance, of feeling invisible as an older woman, of the death of a writing colleague, of thinking maybe I need this as much as they do. Writing, after all, is a touchstone to what is true, to what matters. It’s a connection with others.

Chester Springs Library in Chester County, Pennsylvania

Friendship, family, the kindness of a stranger who just happened to pull up in his SUV as I sat on the roadway bleeding, offer lessons in grace. As serendipity would have it, I walked into the local library one recent day and by chance remembered a room in the back with ochre and burnt-orange walls, a stone fireplace and windows looking out on a wooded hillside. Would it be possible? As it turned out, the answer was ‘yes’. The library community room was available. As Virginia Woolf said, a woman needs a room of her own. Now we have ours. And so next month when our writing group meets in that room, I might feel the energy return. No matter your age, a life without meaning, without connection and reaching out to others is more injurious, more fatal, than a fall.

Published by Susan G. Weidener

Join me as I share reflections, always with an eye toward the challenges and struggles we women encounter and embrace in both creative and personal ways. My memoir, Again in a Heartbeat, was selected as a 2011 editor’s pick by Story Circle Network. Its sequel Morning at Wellington Square has also achieved critical acclaim. A Portrait of Love and Honor, a novel based on a true story, is centered around a story of two people destined to meet and one man's commitment to honor following his years at West Point. In 1991, I joined the staff of The Philadelphia Inquirer and worked as a reporter covering news and writing feature stories until 2007. A native of the Philadelphia suburbs, I attended the University of Pennsylvania. In 2010, I started the Women's Writing Circle, a critique and support group for writers in suburban Philadelphia, which meets the second Saturday of the month at the Chester Springs Library. I live in Chester Springs, Pennsylvania with my Yellow Lab, Lily.

11 thoughts on “After the Fall a Room Beckons

  1. Thank you, Anne. I definitely need those good wishes for renewed hope and joy. I live alone so sometimes I spend too much time thinking. By taking action and starting the writing group again, I feel more energetic and feel grateful for the women who said they are ready to meet again to share our stories.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. I fully understand, Susan.
      Keeping busy and meeting with people keeps us young and alert to the world outside of our living room. Very important! My mom met with her women’s groups until a year before her death at 94. When she couldn’t go there anymore, they kept coming to her house for coffee and tea. Most of these were women 20-40 years younger than her with lots of stories to tell, and that kept her going. Otherwise, I am certain, she would have died of loneliness before her time.
      Enjoy your new (old) group. It will do you millions of good.

      Liked by 2 people

  2. Ahh Susan! ‘So sad to hear. Sending healing thoughts to your writing shoulder and wrist as well as all your other bruised parts-both visible and invisible!


  3. Falls are nasty, and I’m so very sorry this happened to you, but your blog post reminds me of Shel Silverstein’s children’s book Falling Up. You fell UP to renew your decision to resurrect the writing group, which will do you and many of your writing sisters so much good. Here’s to healing. . . to fresh starts. . . to renewal of all sorts. 🙂

    Liked by 1 person

  4. Thank you, Marian, for the beautiful and humorous card you sent me … soup and quakers … so funny. I appreciate your good wishes and you’re right. It’s best to see a silver lining in that gray cloud. I couldn’t do it, tho, without the enthusiasm and support of my ‘sisters’ in the Circle.

    Liked by 2 people

  5. Susan, since a fall in 2016 until now, I’ve tried to console myself and take on a positive outlook. But today I’m still trying to recover that person I was before. All the while I’m aging and can’t find my energy nor any motivation to write, work toward other endeavors, finish my memoir, and it saddens me. These words in your post have lit a spark that I am hopeful will light the way to greater energy and motivation in me. “No matter your age, a life without meaning, without connection and reaching out to others is more injurious, more fatal, than a fall.” Thank you, dear friend.


  6. Hi Sherrey. I’m so sad to hear this. It’s not easy as the aging process does take its toll. And writing requires so much energy! Covid didn’t help either … disappointments with canceled international travel we’ve both experienced. I wish you could come to the Circle. It’s helped me feel more energized and many of the women said the same thing. I hope you feel that little spark soon.


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