Swimming Free with Sheela Wolford: Let us be grateful to people who make us happy, they are the charming gardeners who make our souls blossom. Marcel Proust

Moab, Utah, 1972-ish

This is me when I was 17 or so. My hair in curlers, we were preparing for my maternal grandparents' 50th wedding anniversary and reunion. It was grand. My mother made the dress I am wearing. I loved it. But if you could have crawled into my mind, you'd know how confused I was, about so many things. Looking at this photo now, I realize I was so cute (humble I am) and full of life. My uncle encouraged me to board a plane upon graduation and head for NYC where my aunt, he, and my cousins lived. Perhaps I should have, but I would never have met the father of my children and someone I truly loved and who loved me, as troubled as our marriage proved to be. But he was part of my destiny and for him, Edward William Wolford, I am grateful.


Our wedding day, October 22, 1983.

I often tell my daughters what I loved most about being married was going to the front and back doors of our duplex and making sure they were locked as we prepared for bed. When the lights were turned off and the place quiet, I'd lie in bed, feeling so thankful for this roof over our heads that held us, a family. My older daughter, Leila, was asleep in her crib in the room next to ours and I could see her through the French doors that separated us. I felt so whole and happy. That's what I love about marriage.

But things don't always go as expected and in May of 1987, Ed and I said good-bye to each other, our second daughter growing in my womb at four months. It was the best thing to do even though I will never forget Leila's sole tear run down her three year old face as I told her. That was the hardest thing to do. But I am grateful that I had the courage to split for it allowed Ed and I to continue on with our lives in civility. He wanted to return a few months later, and I still don't know where I found the strength to say "no", but no I said. He died on Jan. 29, 1998, and I miss him, still, but know he is watching over us, really watching, and I feel such gratitude to him for this.

Leila and I moved in with my parents, my sister and my nephew, three months older than Leila. Sarah was born on November 2, 1987. She is a good girl and I love her so. In January of '88, I returned to college to earn my bachelor's in creative writing. Then I got a job at Providence Memorial Hospital in its public relations office. I began graduate school in the Fall of '90 and received my master's in creative writing in '92. I am grateful to my family for allowing me to do this.

From left to right, Robert, my nephew; Sandy, my sis, Merle, her husband, me,
Sarah, and front row, from left to right, my father, Frederick Reed, Leila, and my mother, Nancy Lee.

And now 2012 is nearly done and 2013 is about to show her face. I am excited for this new year. I feel the seedlings of all my work ready to sprout, and the vines already in motion getting healthier by the day. For all the stops and starts, promises and broken promises, I feel my urgency and forthrightness breaking free from hardened, infertile ground. I see the bigger picture of my purpose in writing the works I am writing. I see my poetry as the grand reason I was born. I understand why I needed to give birth to the two sweetest girls on the planet, and I know what I can do for them. I feel such love in spite of obstacles, heartache and disappointment. I see the wholeness of us all.

Yesterday, I submitted three poems to a winter anthology and it felt so right, no matter what happens. I am grateful to each of my mother's tears that ran down her face when I read her my poetry. And to my daughters, especially Leila, who keeps telling me to PUBLISH THEM! And to Sarah for knowing I am capable of books of all kinds. I no longer feel frozen, thawed I am ripe, and the promises perhaps way off deadline never looked more real.

Me, just a few days old.

This is me when I was born in October of 1955. How cute am I? (Humble, yes?) And now I am 57 and I feel so grounded and pure, almost as I was on this day. We can become clean, ya know? It simply requires one fundamental tool:

forgiveness.

I feel free of all the past and I bravely walk into the future, but not before tipping my hat to the present. She is glorious and the only place I want to be.