C.D. Cain's Blog: Interview with AJ Adaire

I found myself not so long ago floating atop smooth waters under the most gorgeous night sky infinitely filled with the brightest stars I had ever seen. My mind was filled with possibility. My heart beat wildly with excitement in the dreams of the days to come. My soul…my soul was happy…filled with hope and happy. The happy that one fleetingly feels after reading the last page of a happy ending or standing from a movie seat after the show had taken you to a world you only ever wished existed. As corny as it sounds, it was that kind of happy! It was as if I was floating in a boat looking up at the stars. I was lost in not only their beauty but also, the lulling sounds of water rocking me peacefully within its waves. Yes, that kind of happy! The kind where everything fit which left me with satisfaction of my strength in weathering life’s storms to get me here.

If you noticed I said “was”. I can’t speak with knowledge of many storm systems as I’ve lived my entire life in the southern states. But, I can speak of my experience with those. Tornados in particular. There is a dawning if you will after a tornado. A time when the sky is filled with nothing but sunlight again. The path of destruction made clearly visible. The need for rebuilding laid out in front of your eyes. The damage my be severe or merely a few scrapes to your structure. There is as much certainty in the fact that another storm will arise one day as there is in your strength, luck or sheer determination to survive the one which had just passed. Yes, I said “was”. True in so many of our lives, another storm arose. The clouds darkened the sky to mask the brilliance of the stars that once shown down on my smiling face. The wind ripped across the smooth sea to form waves massive enough to topple my once sturdy boat. Each passing gust cluttered my mind, tampered my wildly beating heart and put my soul at unrest.

I’ve come to read a certain quote each morning when I awake, “Without rain nothing grows, learn to embrace the storms of your life.” I’m weathering this storm. I’m growing beyond its damage. I’m embracing the changes which are growing under its downpour.

I’ve written before in blogs and interviews that Samantha “Sam” LeJeune was never to be a longstanding character in the Chambers of the Heart series. Yet there was something about her character that made me fall in love with the person she was and the person she could grow to be. I’ve come to realize writing her became an anchor I would need later in my own personal storm. It is her story I am writing now. The original storyline in the third book “After the Storm” has changed. My anchor is calling me to write her story. Sam’s voice is whispering among my keys. So, I am writing Sam’s story…”When There’s No Rayne”. Hers is a story worth telling. It will be the story of how she learned to embrace the storm of her life.

After all, every boat needs an anchor in a storm.

THE LAST OF THE ORIGINAL WHEN IT RAYNES COVER. Yes my friends I've been told as of December, this cover will no longer be available. We will have all new covers for the Chambers of the Heart series. As this is exciting for me it is not without a sense of loss of losing this cover. This was my debut book and holds so many special memories for me. Most of all...getting to know all of you.
On this day of Giving Tuesday I am supporting a very special woman who has become a dear friend to me, Maureen Carrigan​. She has taught me the meaning of paying it forward. She has reaffirmed my love of humanity--reminding me that without the love shared among each other we have very little. In fact today, due to her ever present voice in my head, I've brought a pocket of gift cards to hand out to patients in need. With her influence in my life I remember the good in these acts as well as the importance in them when life seems so overwhelming.
When I was thinking of a way to support her I said I had nothing to offer her in the way of a fundraiser. She joked and said I could offer up my little Remi. I mean I love and want to support her but let's get real....Ha! So I am offering a raffle of one of the last few copies I have of When It Raynes with this cover. In this book I've written the first verses of the poem that started this series. It's not much. It may even be cheesy. But anyone who donates (no matter the amount) and puts in the memo "book", I will enter their name in a drawing.
Thank you for reading this post. Please take the time to read her bio. You will not be disappointed. The link to donate to MGH is below.
Maureen...good luck with this journey. Thank you for your friendship and for always reminding me that life is "a marathon, not a sprint". I'm so very proud of you!
Maureen's bio:
I am so excited and proud to run for the MGH Emergency Response Marathon Team. When applying to run I had to write a short essay stating why I wanted to run for MGH. The answer is easy.... To pay it forward.
I moved to Boston from New Orleans in 1994 not knowing anyone and without a job. It was the scariest and best thing I could have done for myself. Although I considered myself alone and "finding my way" in a new city, MGH was always by my side. I was hired in the department of radiology and encouraged to complete my education in Nursing School. Always supported by MGH through grants, tuition reimbursement and encouragement to meet my goals I completed my degree at Simmons College. My path to nursing was a marathon, not a sprint. My years in the department of Radiology are fondly remembered as the Starting Line to my career and I am forever grateful.
The next 16 years have been spent on Labor and Delivery. The relationships with colleagues are far more than friends, these women are truly my family. We support one another through births and loss, whether it is with our patients or in our personal lives. In August of 2005 hurricane Katrina hit my hometown of New Orleans. It was the ultimate loss of my home, thankfully not my family. The outpouring of support from my colleagues is indescribable. The staff of L&D jumped in and started fundraising for friends and family affected. The department of radiology contacted me, after five years of leaving my position. Their donations aided in the rebuilding of my childhood home and the homes of my extended family. The rebuilding of New Orleans was a marathon, not a sprint.
I am running the 2017 Boston Marathon to raise money for the MGH Emergency Response Team with gratitude for what MGH has done for me. I will never forget standing in front of my parent's home and baring witness to The Red Cross offering a hot meal to my mother. You never think "it can happen to you", but tragedy has no face, no gender, no race. The best of humanity was brought out from this experience.
I am humbled for the 22 years of support from my MGH family and am proud to run as a part of the MGH Emergency Response Team.
https://www.crowdrise.com/MGHERRespon...
When it Raynes

A woman aged well with life and years
Travels an unwanted journey along a highway
There’s not much to bring her home to this past
Raw, physical reminders of a life no more
Change…inevitable.


She looks out across the fields bordering the road
Her last trip along this asphalt found the ground covered in crop
White cotton giving the façade of a fresh fallen snow
Now only with mounds of dirt scattered with stems and leaves
Change…inevitable.

She passes a creek slowly streaming along her path
Her child’s laughter once echoed off of the surface
A time of play within its warm summer water
Over years its course narrowed by fallen limbs and overgrown roots
Change…inevitable.

She passes a man walking across the lawn of one of many homes peppering the road
Hours he spent tirelessly beautifying its landscape
His steps slow and cautious—his back bent hovering over his feet
A walk to his mailbox to be his most strenuous activity
Change…inevitable.

She stares at the church seen at the end of the road
A wooden building set before a path of stone and dirt
Through mature eyes it is but a small one room building
Yet through her youthful eyes she had envisioned it a cathedral
Change…inevitable.

She walks through the doors
Along carpet no longer plush from years of footsteps
No notice is given to the expression upon the faces of those watching
She stares only at the shine of the wooden box
Change…inevitable.

She reaches into her pocket to hold the crumbled letter
Her hands shaking as they had done each and every time she had read it
Lightly she kisses the paper holding the last words she would ever hear
A tear falls from her eye to dampen the paper held against her cheek
Change…inevitable.

The church nothing but a speck in a rearview’s mirror
The feeble man sits on his porch next to the woman who had shared his life
The creek’s water ripples as children skips stones across it surface
An irrigation system sprinkles across the field in preparation of a new crop
The road before her aged well with life and years now a new journey to be had
Change…inevitable.
A love…everlasting.

I enjoy writing verse. In fact, poetic verse is how When It Raynes was first formed. A friend of mine suggested I share a piece I wrote when my grandfather was admitted into the VA home due to his losing battle with Alzheimer's. Thus this piece is pretty raw as to the feelings I was having. I never blamed my family for having to take this step but each time I think of him it breaks my heart.


There is a Man

There is a man slumped in a chair
His body worn and withered
With a mind stripped of its memories
Raped by a horrid disease
Memories of a life lived to its fullest
He doesn’t remember… but I do.

His shoulders hunched forward
With head bowed toward his lap
A weakened body loss of its strength
A body once known to stand unarmed
As a barrier between a drunken man
And a family he sought to protect
A misfired gun aimed to his chest when trigger squeezed
Hands strong enough to claim possession of the rifle
Yet gentle enough to carry a granddaughter to safety
Held in a comforting embrace with knuckles swollen and raw
He doesn’t remember… but I do.

Feeble hands lost of coordination
Fumbling inaptly at a button of his shirt
Those fingers once the teacher
Of lessons learned by a granddaughter on a fishing boat
Her green eyes shining brightly at the man she loved most
Careful instruction of a proper knotted hook
He doesn’t remember… but I do.

His clothes hung loose
Thinned from the appetite that has escaped him
Seams of his shirt hanging well below the drawn shoulders
Shoulders that once carried a freckle-faced granddaughter
Dressed in his hunter’s orange
Swallowing her small stature
With seams hanging well off her shoulders
He doesn’t remember… but I do.

He stares at an object in his hands
Rectangular black with buttons of grey
He studies it without recollection of its purpose
A fifth grade formal education but a self-taught business man
He learned a computer’s instant messaging in his seventies
An aide communicate with a granddaughter taken away to school
The cursor flashes of his type the best part of her day
He doesn’t remember… but I do.

There is a man who stands unsteady on his feet
Balance fleeting from his stance
Unable to walk simple steps without risk of fall
He once rode a motorcycle of eight hundred pounds
Maneuvering curves of country roads
Running alongside the banks of Moon Lake
A granddaughter of mid-twenties holding tightly to his waist
She his only passenger in the history of his bike
He doesn’t remember… but I do.

He stares blankly at the woman who stands before him
His expression void of any recognition
The age of his disease sparing the brilliant blue of his eyes
He once held her in those swirls of cobalt
Sitting across from her as she wept tears of a love losing its battle
He had not before been exposed to the love two women could share
Yet he tenderly gave words of encouragement
His voice cracking with the emotion he tried to hold in
Finally breaking as his tears fell along with hers
He doesn’t remember… but I do.

His thoughts absent of the man he is
His memories void of the lessons he taught
His heart no longer bursting with the love he shared
His life, his strength, his lessons, his love –
They will live in me
They will be my memories
They will be shared with whom I give my strength, my lessons, my love, my life
He doesn’t remember… but I will.


Cd Cain, 2014

I was recently a guest blogger with the wonderful women of Women and Words. Click on the link to see "Why Do I Write?"

http://womenwords.org/2015/08/16/why-...