Have you ever felt terminally unique? Like a square peg unable to fit into round hole? Has being physically different or feeling alone in the world been challenging? Waiting for life to begin after itâs half over isnât necessary.
Thalidomide survivor, Laura Kendall, will tell you how she discovered letting go was possible without leaving claw marks. She hopes her story will pave the way to:
⢠Acceptance despite oneâs differences whether obvious or internalized
⢠Gaining peace through healing and willingness to change
⢠Learning to love yourself by getting out of your own way
This memoir is for you if you lack self-love, confidence or wish to be free from whatever keeps you in the dark. We are only here for a short time. Life is only as difficult as we make it and no one has to take the long way home.
Have you ever felt terminally unique? Like a square peg unable to fit into round hole? Has being physically different or feeling alone in the world been challenging? Waiting for life to begin after itâs half over isnât necessary.
Thalidomide survivor, Laura Kendall, will tell you how she discovered letting go was possible without leaving claw marks. She hopes her story will pave the way to:
⢠Acceptance despite oneâs differences whether obvious or internalized
⢠Gaining peace through healing and willingness to change
⢠Learning to love yourself by getting out of your own way
This memoir is for you if you lack self-love, confidence or wish to be free from whatever keeps you in the dark. We are only here for a short time. Life is only as difficult as we make it and no one has to take the long way home.
âThere is nothing to writing. All you do is sit down at a typewriter and bleed.â
~ Ernest Hemingway
Doesnât everyone have a different idea or opinion of who we are? We are judged by family, friends, acquaintances, and strangers differently, arenât we? Even those who know us best have their own ideas of who we really are on the inside. We are critiqued by what is seen on the outside mostly. Our responses, reactions, expressions, and body language dictate how we are viewed by others; not by what we actually feel. We are the only ones who really know who we are physically, mentally, emotionally, and spiritually. Some of us have known all our lives. Some have learned, along the way, who our true selves are by keeping what is beneficial, or simply good for us, and discarding what is not. Some of us have had the opportunity to choose who we want to become to lead happy, fulfilled lives. Some of us have chosen to stunt our growth by staying in the familiar ways of living because itâs comfortable and cozy.
I have felt misunderstood most of my life. I was told by a co-worker emotion is my worst enemy. I suppose this statement is true in the workplace. Perhaps this is the primary reason I never wanted to be in a supervisory position. I was never very good at playing poker either! Some may call my being misread as a lack of effective communication. Some attribute this to wearing my heart on my sleeve. In any case, I believe my emotions are indicative of my true self. I spent most of my life stuffing them down and being fearful of them. I was taught emotions were typically a negative attribute, especially for women in my family. Men are logical. Women are emotional negating any thought or opinion as being rational. Surely, a feeling based on matters of the heart is âjust a woman thingâ. Even if that statement were true, Iâll take emotions and real feelings over having none at all. I spent too many years running from them. It turns out it really doesnât matter. Everything I feel is written all over my face anyway.
What others think of me is none of my business. Not everyone is going to love me, or even like me. Do I still care a little? Of course. I am still a work in progress. With that I am beginning my story with The End. I have written my own eulogy. This is not to be morbid or dramatic. This writing assignment became very personal, quite healing and reminded me of a piece read at a memorial service many years ago. âThe Dashâ, a poem written by Linda Ellis, has always resonated with me. I believe the space between our birth and death dates represents everything about ourselves as a whole. Even though I shouldnât care about othersâ perceptions, I thought it important to share who I think I am. My own eulogy is not to convince anyone to change his mind, but to understand my story better based on my history, experiences, and most importantly, how hard I have worked on being a better person today than I was yesterday.
Lauraâs Eulogy
Most of you donât know me, but I became Lauraâs closest, dearest friend after more than half her life had been lived. I watched her being born and wondered if her life would ever be less painful and difficult with her physical difference. I cried along with everyone else on her birth day and on many days that followed as I watched strangers point and stare. Would she ever be able to have a normal life, get married, have children, maybe learn a trade, or have a career?
I think this quote, written by Bernice Johnson Reagon, is exactly how Laura chose to live her life: âLife's challenges are not supposed to paralyze you, they're supposed to help you discover who you are.â
Lauraâs challenges may have seemed obvious to others. SureâŚsome of her struggles were learning to do daily tasks with one hand. Those obstacles were easy for her, although some took longer to master than others. Those who knew her best also knew the biggest challenges were just like most of us: to find our own answers to why we are here. What is our purpose and place in this world? Who are we?
These answers took years of actually living, instead of just going through the motions, just as it does for most everyone. I hope you all remember Laura as someone who she believed she became. A woman who loved deeply with everything in her being. Her husband, John, was her best friend, the love of her life and partner in all things. Her daughter, Michelle, was a part of herself and heart â the only one who knew what her heart sounded like from the inside. LauraSue, the granddaughter she never thought possible, was her ultimate joy. She was never able to describe how differently this love felt except for feeling like her heart was beating outside of her chest.
I tried to imagine what Laura would want everyone to know when I was asked to write this eulogy. She had some regrets, but none she hadnât made peace with. She lived as if each day was her last. Some days it meant having no money. Some of those days were her happiest. Some days it meant trying to fit 20 pounds in a ten-pound bag by trying to do more than what was possible in one day. Most days it meant being genuinely happy and content with life. She was always grateful for having all of you to love and teach her how to live. She knew how to have fun. Crying and laughter were her favorite emotions; especially when they happened in that order.
She believed in forgiveness. It was the only way she could let go and move on. It never meant giving someone who had hurt her a front seat in her life. It meant lessons learned, having real compassion, giving second chances â not four - and healing â the only way she could have an open heart.
If Laura were here, she would say get busy living. Right now is all you have. Love with everything youâve got, share your life openly and trust your instincts. Believe in yourself. Live happy. Chase your dreams. Itâs why weâre all here.
My disappointments and accomplishments go hand in hand. No pun intended! HA! I spent most of my life disappointed that I was born different. This included feelings of anger, sadness, depression, inadequacy, and not wishing to be like other people, but actually being them. I frequently fantasized about wiggling my nose like âBewitchedâ, the 60âs sitcom with Elizabeth Montgomery portraying a witch. I could clap my hands, transfer items between both hands while doing the dishes, tie my shoes without having to wear a heavy, obtrusive, uncomfortable prosthesis - if only I could twitch my nose. I could also be rich, prettier, happier, smarter, and be everything I am not. Hey, itâs my fantasy!
Itâs interesting and gratifying that most of my accomplishments have come to fruition because of my disappointments. I had to work very hard to be successful in activities taken for granted by someone with two hands. I was the only child in kindergarten who could tie shoes. So, I got to tie all the kidsâ shoes on the playground. I remember feeling so proud; that is until my report card came out and the comments read, âLaura always wants to be first in lineâ. Although I had a physical âhandicapâ, I was still an only child!
I learned to type in a vocational business college through the California State Rehabilitation Department. I enrolled in the Stenographer Program and learned to type 55 words per minute and shorthand at 70. Choosing a dead-end career with my learned skills was yet another disappointment. Who wants to be a secretary? No one chooses that do they? Donât get me wrong. I am grateful for knowing how to type. It allows me to get whatâs in my head in black and white much faster than using a pen. I really enjoy typing. Itâs one of few things I do well and makes me feel proud. I just should have used business college to get into journalism instead of clerical assistant positions and eventually accounting related jobs. I was the one crying at the dining room table trying to do math homework. My parents didnât know anything about the ânew mathâ and couldnât help me either. My employment history shows a method of survival instead of fulfilling, gratifying career choices. But here I am now doing what I love â writing. I can be grateful for that.
All my dreams, disappointments and accomplishments were fear based. According to Merriam-webster, âfear is an unpleasant and often strong emotion caused by anticipation, or to be afraid or apprehensive.â I thought my arm would be the catalyst and excuse for never feeling whole, being uncomfortable with myself forever, and unconsciously sabotaging relationships with bad choices. As it turns out, fear has been much more than that.
The initial cursorily that drew me to Laura Kendall's memoir My Prosthetic Life came admittedly at a level of crude intrigue, subconsciously seeking answers to the questions any able-bodied person would have in response to anyone who has grown up with of a prosthetic limb. "Do you resent the drugs companies who prescribed thalidomide to pregnant mothers?", "what is it like to navigate airport security?", "how do different prosthetic limbs compare, how do they operate day-to-day?" But as I dug deeper into this memoir I realised this title is so much more than that.
There is more to Kendall's humanistic storytelling than cold metal and plastic, more to her than the clinical definition of her condition (phocomelia of the left arm). In this memoir there is instead a real sense of warmth and inclusion, with an approach to writing that is open, honest and candid in nature. She shares images of a joyful youth, coupled with the struggles of growing up in a highly conservative household and parental abandonment from the choices made in later life. Tales of love and laughter in lavish surroundings sit next to a deeply troubled scene of a failed attempt to commit suicide (prevented by the intervention of her husband). It really is a roller-coaster of emotions, transporting the reader on a journey that absorbs every element of Kendall's life. You come away appreciating the challenges Kendall has overcome, with the hint of modesty that acknowledges there are things that could have done differently (a theme particularly present in her references to drug addiction and her role as a mother).
Some of the earlier chapters are pone to causing confusion, where Kendall's chapter structuring moves readers a bit too briskly from recent experiences to childhood upbringing (and then back again). There is also a heavier focus on particular life stages versus others (personally I felt more could have been said on Kendall's teenage years and the High School system). That said, this is an insightful read and nothing less than a case study on how, regardless of outward appearances, we are unified by the challenges we face.
AEB Reviews