Tag Archives: loss

“Lost and Found : A Mid-life Love Story” Writers’ Group Piece

Our rainbow

The group’s mandatory word prompts are boldfaced, 500 words +/- 50.

My reasons for living had left me. Nothing remained but the sound of the clock ticking on the wall. Silent tears tucked me into bed each night. Fear of being alone in this world woke me up in the morning. He had taken his machete to my heart and mutilated the better part of me. Only a shell of my former self remained. Knowing I was losing all that I loved, I lost my mind, went deep inside myself to the point of no return, or so it seemed. An orchestra played The Horror Anthem in my head.

I lost my home, my family, and all the roles that were me. My job was gone. My profession was at risk. My grandmother’s house belonged to him now. He could pay the mortgage, the power bill, buy the groceries. All those years of listening to the advice of Suze Orman had paid off. I got the retirement savings. I got the serenity of knowing that the good does not last forever, but neither does the bad.

For years, I stumbled in the darkness alone. I could let the darkness suck me up and become a casualty, or I could turn away from the darkness and toward the light. I had that choice. I could trust the light that dances moonlit shadows on the forest floor, pierces the night sky with pin pricks, and sends rays through the clouds to lift the morning fog. I could trust the light that raises the seedling from the earth, warms the landscape, and slants through the window. I could put my faith in the light. I chose to trust the light.

There was not much left. The sun was beginning to set, but still, I could not look up into the sky to see it on the horizon. I walked the sidewalks of the city; head down, to see the dandelion weeds pushing their way through the cracks. My world was black and white fusion without any tone or hue at all. It was a void, numb, gray place. Socializing seemed something reserved for the living. A newspaper blew across the street proclaiming McGillicuddy as Mayor, and I did not care. A cup of coffee at Austin’s and you were there. Our eyes locked. We began to chat. We talked for hours that day.

You were an artist. You stroked skillfully onto the canvas of my soul with all of the primary colors, the palate of autumn sassafras leaves, until I laughed in the yellow, danced in the blue, and felt the passion of the red again, and again. As you painted, the blue and yellow blended into green of new life; the yellow and red mingled into orange zest for living it. A soft purple breath was whispered into the masterpiece with the sweep of your brush. As the days went by I marveled at what we had accomplished together. It was art for art’s sake, and then we signed that painting. Now we have this beautiful rainbow suspended in the spaces around us. It catches the light of a new morning sun.

529 words

Book Review: A Dirty Job by Christopher Moore

A Dirty Job

This novel by Christopher Moore attempts to combine fantastical characters and outrageous situations with some very realistic observations of families coping with a dying loved one.  I am not entirely certain that the author was completely successful in accomplishing this.  There was some deeply sincere discussion of hospice and the tragedy of loss, but the book really jumped over the edge of being ridiculous.

When I first started to read it I felt as if I were being drawn into a standard Twilight Zone-like version of the “Death Merchant” and the main character, Charlie, a beta male, was just another grim reaper.  As I read further, I was delightfully surprised as Christopher Moore’s characters came to life…even the Morrigan, evil creatures that live in the sewers of San Francisco, and the squirrel people, bazaar as they were.

I read this about a month ago and was waiting to see how my book club members felt about the book before I posted.  I think I can safely say that you will love it or you will hate it.  I personally loved it.  Some of my book club members got into some really heavy philosophical discussion on theology and the metaphysical that I really did not feel that the book warranted.  That a soul could occupy an inanimate object really seemed to bother some.   I feel that the author, with his nutty characters like Lily, the goth girl, Minty Fresh, the pimp, the Emperor, and others, did not intend the book to be anything more than humorous entertainment with a touch of horror and emotion.  In that regard he was more than successful.

My only disappointment was in the ending.  I like to be surprised and I wasn’t.  I sort of figured out what was likely to happen early in the book when the hellhounds were introduced.  There was another aspect to the ending that I was sort of disappointed in, but I’ll let you figure that out.

I would give this book a five star rating, because I was one of the 50% who really liked it.  I would certainly recommend the book to anyone who enjoys an easy read of contemporary fantasy.

Emotional Inspiration

tears5

Image from MD JUNCTION

“Put a voice in your hurt and give your tears a sound”

So very often I read an article written by someone who has suffered an angry moment, a pain or a loss.

I wonder sometimes if these people are crying tears as they write their words.  Sometimes I am deeply moved even to the point of tears myself.  Writing and reading can be so very therapeutic.   The therapists at a facility where I was employed as a nurse would have their patients write every day.  They also had required reading assignments.  Writing is cathartic and reading is distracting in a good way.

Some of the very best, most passionate writing I have ever read came from these clients most often while the instigating event was fresh in their minds.  These are very often the folk with the most powerful voice.   I am fortunate to have had these people share their work with me.  It has aided both my understanding and my capacity for empathy.

KEEP WRITING!  KEEP READING!