My Great Aunt Doris was a fabulous writer. She wrote a book titled Of Ghosts and Angels: A Memoir by Doris Cheney Whitehouse, and she was, in fact, related to the Cheneys. I remember her from when I was around five or six years old. We visited Pappy and Memaw, my mother’s parents, and gathered in the living room to hear the old folks tell their stories.
Aunt Doris was married to Memaw’s eldest brother, Forrest. Yes, Forrest and Doris. I was utterly drawn to her. She would effortlessly conjure up playful and slightly irreverent tales, and I would drape all over her with wonder and love. She could calm me down with the slightest touch and redirect my attention with her smile, movement, or words. What struck me the most was that I could feel her belief in me. She made me believe I was extra special – dare I say magical.
She was a nurse during World War II, and that’s when she met and fell in love with my Uncle Forrest, a soldier who came and went to different stations around Europe. They wrote letters to each other. It’s a beautiful story full of love, pain, and sorrow that encapsulates how much it hurts when we love hard.
Uncle Forrest died on May 17, 2000, and Aunt Doris died about six months later, on January 10, 2001. I am proud to speak of my Aunt Doris and why she is so important to me. She has been inspiring and encouraging me my entire life, especially now, as I am putting the finishing touches on my first book. I can feel her guidance and see her brilliant smile as I write this. I wish I could have shared this accomplishment with her, but something tells me she’s been reading every word.
After raising their family in Raleigh, North Carolina, Forrest and Doris sold their house and moved to the coastal South Carolina island of Kiawah, named after the Kiawah Indians who inhabited it before the English arrived in the 17th century. Aunt Doris tells of summer days on Kiawah, collecting seashells, watching Loggerhead turtles, and walking along the perfectly packed sand. What a writer’s paradise…
Living through a painful experience can make us stronger, allowing us to learn valuable lessons about ourselves and fostering resilience that ultimately leads to a deeper understanding of our own needs and desires. It’s real life, and it is beautiful. We all have a love story. Mine is full of laughter, painful timing, and a marathon of patience with an unknown ending. There’s nothing like a little heartbreak to fan the flames of creativity.
So here I go back to my writing space in a tiny corner of my living room with thunderstorms playing in the background. The time has come zip up my jumpsuit, put on my helmet, and crawl back into my deep, dark writing cave, where I am surely surrounded by my ghosts and angels.
From the Outside,
Margie
