Some Way to Live: Pam Roberts
It is some way to live, to sit here writing in this comfortable chair, pen in hand, notebook on lap and glance out the window, startled that the view is totally filled with pink magnolia blossoms from the tree that you swear was bare last time you looked.
It is some way to live, to be able to spend a week in Florida with your grown children, completely taken care of by your two older brothers who have always loved you and treated you kindly and never like the pesky little sister that you once were.
It is some way to live, to walk along the Deerfield River in the quiet morning, catching sight of a lone white duck floating ahead of you on your way back from yoga class at the light-filled studio. This morning there were only a few of you at that early hour, taught by the kind young man who gave your bare feet a gentle rub as you readied yourself for the ending reclining pose, shivasana.
It is some way to live, to spend an afternoon with an 18-month-old girl and her mom. To hold this laughing blonde baby on your lap just the way you held your own dark-haired daughter 20 years earlier, to walk in the spring afternoon past the high school softball players, while the girls with their long bare legs and swinging ponytails jog by and you and your friend and her baby amble about with no particular place to go and no particular time to get there.
It is some way to live, to have a sweet home with daffodils trumpeting in the front garden and violets carpeting the backyard. The freezer is full with berries and peaches from last summer, leftover soups and beans, and the refrigerator has everything you need to eat and especially the things you like.
It is some way to live, to sit in the evening next to your son, both with your feet up on the hassock, watching your favorite show on TV, while the yellow lab sprawls, snoring, on the rug nearby.
It is some way to live, to answer the phone and it is your daughter, calling from the sidewalk in NYC, wanting to spend her last couple of minutes before she goes in to work chatting with you.
It is some blessed way to live, 16 years after a breast cancer diagnosis, gray streaking your hair, an old knee injury bothering you more or less, feeling the plentitude and gratitude and beatitude of this precious thing that you have come to know as your life.
Pam Roberts first experienced the healing power of writing when she was diagnosed with breast cancer in 1993 while a member of a weekly writers’ workshop. Inspired by the deeply transformative nature of writing and sharing in a workshop setting, Pam began leading Spirit of the Written Word writing workshops for people affected by cancer or loss. Pam is Program Director of Forest Moon and also co-facilitates One in Eight: The Torso Project and other daylong and weekend retreats. A published writer, artist and yoga teacher, she is an ordained energy healer from the IM School of Healing Arts. She lives in western Massachusetts and has two wonderful children, Thomas and Victoria.