Tag Archives: loss

THE BIRDS IN MY LIFE, A BIRD”S EYE VIEW

As long as I can remember, I have held a fascination and deep love for birds. I can remember sitting in my backyard in Maple Shade, New Jersey, under our Weeping Willow tree and quietly observing all the birds flying overhead. There were several birds nest in the Willow Tree. And I loved nothing more than to sit there for long stretches of time and listen to the baby birds squeaking for their mothers to feed them. Their hunger was all-encompassing. And it seemed that they didn’t care for anything except for being fed and having their mother sitting on their nest and keeping them warm.

As the Spring transitioned into Summer, I continued to observe them quietly while I sat under our beautiful Willow Tree and by the time Summer came to an end, the baby birds had grown up, and before long, they flew away from their nest and headed south for the winter. I would miss their presence over the long, late Fall and cold winter days. But, I knew that come next Spring new birds would arrive and build their nests and create their own new baby birds. This experience would come and go, and over the years, I grew up as well. One of the last Springs that I remember watching for the arrival of the Spring Birds, our Willow Tree, and all the other Willow Trees on Fellowship Road, where I grew up, became infected by some disease that was called Willow Blight. It was a type of fungus that killed off all the Willow Trees where I lived and across the state of New Jersey. And eventually, my father had to cut down the now blighted tree.

After the tree was cut down and the trunk removed, I experienced a period of loss. Not only did I miss my beautiful Willow, but I missed the birds and the baby bird and the hatchlings that used to occupy the Willow in the Spring and early Summer. I missed sitting on the bench that my father had built where I used to sit and listen to the birds. And I often read one of my many library books during my Summer vacation,

As I grew older, I found other things to do during the Summer, like swimming in the community pool and digging in the clay pits, roller skating, riding my bike all over the place and playing with all my neighborhood friends, going swimming in my friend’s swimming pool next door and catching and releasing fireflies at night.

Strawbridge Lake, Moorestown.J

Sometimes, I and one of my friends would ride our bikes all the way to Moorestown and go to Strawbridge Lake. People used to go fishing here. My friends and I used to walk around in the shallow part of the lake and cross the dam where the waterfall was located to the other side and back. There were all kinds of trees and shrubs located at Strawbridge Lake. We often brought our lunches with us and sat on the edge of the lake and ate our bologna or peanut butter and jelly sandwiches.

I used to save some of the scraps and give them to the ducks that swam on the lake. Birds would come from near and far to visit the lake and rest in the trees that shaded the park and the pond. Strawbridge Lake was an oasis for both children and adults and the many birds, squirrels, fish, and reptiles that lived in the area. I have so many beautiful memories of my experiences there as a child. So much so that when I grew up, married, and moved back to New Jersey, I brought my own children and some of my nieces and nephews to Strawbridge Lake to enjoy the lake, the sun, and the beautiful birds that lived there during the warmer months. In the winter, Strawbridge Lake would freeze over, and we would go ice skating there.

As time passed by, I left my childhood behind. But I never let my love of birds and animals slip away. My mother had a pet parakeet in a cage in our kitchen, and that little bird re-ignited my love of birds. And as a result I haunted my mother and father for years to have a pet. As a result, over the years, my family adopted and loved several dogs and all the neighborhood cats I befriended.

One cat in particular, whose name was Strottles, was a large orange cat that our next-door neighbor had owned. Who grew tired of him and put him out. I used to feed him on the sly because my father was not fond of cats. And then, one unfortunate day, my mother was taking the trash outside to put in the garbage, and she had inadvertently left the side door open. Strottles went into the kitchen, and he killed my mother’s beloved bird. And my mother was devastated by the loss, my father blamed me because I was friends with the cat. And he made me go down the cellar for several hours.

My mother never wanted another bird after that. She was brokenhearted. So, once again, I was left to love the wild birds that populated our neighborhood and the wild geese and ducks at Strawbridge Lake. It wasn’t until I was a teenager that my father bought me several finches and a cage for them because I kept begging my parents to let me have a pet. He also let me have a hamster who turned out to be an escape artist—the last time he escaped into the heating ducts, my father had to cut a hole in one of the heating ducts in the cellar to get him out. This did not make my father a happy camper by any means. The finches were the last birds that I had while I was living at home with my parents.

And it wasn’t until I married my now husband and moved to Florida and then California that we bought our first cockatiel. We named him Pepey. We had him for quite a long time. And over the many years, we had several more.

Jalepeno

And here I am, ten years into my retirement. And we are living in North Carolina. As soon as we settled into our new home, which is in a small development, I decided that I wanted to volunteer to work with animals. And in fact, that is precisely what I did. I searched the internet, and voila’ I found a place called Animal Edventure located in Coats, NC.

I contacted them, and I told them I was looking for a part-time volunteer position taking care of animals of some kind. They made an appointment to come in and talk to them about a volunteer position. And that is just what I did. The first thing they told me was they needed a Bird Person to take care of their many birds. And I said, sure, I would love that. That was almost nine years ago, and I have been taking care of parrots, Macaws, and pheasants of every size and description.

In addition, I have adopted four parrots, six finches, and two dogs. I go to Animal Edventure on Sunday, Wednesday, and Friday morning and take care of these beautiful and, yes, loud birds. So, what can I say, “Some things are just meant to be.” Me and Birds, it’s a thing.

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MY FIRST BEST FRIEND, MRS. MCFARLAND

I grew up in a small town in New Jersey, South Jersey, to be more specific. The town I grew up in was called Maple Shade. I always assumed it was called Maple Shade because of the many Maple trees that grew there from one end of Maple Shade to another.

I believed that Maple Shade was a great place to grow up. Of course, my life experience at nine or ten was somewhat limited. But, as far as I was concerned, it was heaven on earth. Especially in the 1950s through the 1960s when I was growing up.

I clearly remember my mother standing on the street curb outside our house with me by her side, and she was teaching me how to cross the street safely. She said, “Before you cross the street, look to the right and then to the left, and then to the right again. If no cars are coming in either direction, it will be safe to cross the street. She practiced with me several times, and then she said, “You are on your own, be careful. Before you go anywhere, let me know where you are going. Understand?”

“Yes, Mom, I understand, right, left, right, then cross the street.”

“OK, now keep your eyes open, and most of all, don’t be late for lunch or dinner.” And then she went back into the house. I guess she was going to clean the house. That is what she did most of her days unless she was cooking. She did a lot of cooking. We had a big family.

After I crossed the street, I went directly across the street to Mrs McFarland’s yard. She was our neighbor, and I loved her so much. She was really, really old. She lived alone because her husband had died a long time ago. And if she had any children, they had all grown up and moved away. I never met them.

I walked up her path to her side door and knocked. I could hear her walking towards the door. When she opened the door, she said, “Well, isn’t this a nice surprise? Would you like to come in for a snack??? Or we can sit outside on the swing and have our snack?

“Oh, let’s eat on the swing.”

A couple of minutes later, she came out with a tray of milk and cookies. Oh, how I loved her cookies. I hope they were chocolate chip. Mrs. McFarland sat down on the swing and said, “Here we go, your favorite chocolate chip. I smiled from ear to ear. Mrs. McFarland had one whole arm and one-half arm. What I mean is her left arm only went down to her elbow, and the rest of her arm was missing. I was always amazed that she never let that bother her at all. She managed to do everything she had to do with one and a half arms. And her cookies were delicious. Sometimes, she brought her doll outside that she had since she was a kid. And She would let me change her clothes. She told me the doll was made from china, which I didn’t understand. When I asked my father what china was, he told me it was a country very far away. Sometimes, I would bring my doll over and play dolls together. Other times, my best girlfriend brought her doll, and we would all play with dolls.

But what I loved to do the most was walk around her yard, which had flowers growing all over it. But, my favorite flowers grew in the Spring, and she called them tulips. She had red tulips. And they were so beautiful. Sometimes, she let me cut a tulip and take it home to my mother.

While we sat and swung back and forth on the swing, she told me all about herself when she was little. I wished I was little when she was so I could play with her every day. But I guess I was lucky to have her as a friend now. The fact is I really loved Mrs. McFarland. And I didn’t care one bit about her only having one half of an arm. Anytime I saw Mrs. McFarland out in her yard, I went over and visited her. She was my best friend. One day, she said, “How about we walk out to the corner of my yard, and you can try climbing up the tree?”

I screamed at the top of my lungs,” Yes, yes, yes. Let’s”

“Well, I can’t climb the tree, but I’ll stand next to the tree and keep you safe.” And she did. After that, I took every opportunity to climb that tree and any other tree I saw around town. Sometimes, I fell, but I just got black and blue marks on my arms and legs. My mother would say, “What in the world have you been up to?”

“Nothing, Mom, just playing in the tree.”

My mother said, “Well, you have to be more careful. My father said, “Let her be. Kids will be kids.” And so, after that, she would say, be careful. When I was a kid, I would tell my mother that I was going out for a bike ride. She would say, be home in time for lunch. I would listen for the church bells to ring at noon time. We lived two doors down from the Catholic church, and then I would run as fast as I could home. Because if my father was home, it wasn’t a good idea to be late for lunch or dinner. When I got home, I would rush through the front door, and my mother would say, “Go wash your hands and face before you sit down. We almost always had the same thing for lunch every day: Lebanon Bologna sandwiches with chicking noodle soup or sometimes Alphabet soup. I loved making words in the soup with the noodles that were in the shape of the alphabet letters. My father would say,” Stop playing with your food. And my mother would say, “Oh, leave her alone. She’s just a little kid.

As time went by, I grew up and visited my friend Mrs. McFarland less and less. I was always busy with my neighborhood friends and my school friends, who came over after school. There was never a shortage of kids around town to play with after school and during the summer.

Eventually, I graduated from elementary school and went on to high school. We had to take an entrance exam to get into Catholic High Schools. I was sure that I failed, but as it turned out, I passed both tests, the one for St. Mary of the Angels Academy and Holy Cross High School. My parents decided that I would attend St. Mary of the Angels Academy. I had to take a bus to go back and forth to high school. As time went by, I didn’t see Mrs. McFarland anymore. She didn’t come outside since she was having difficulty walking, and I didn’t see her working in the garden anymore.

Then, one day, I was sitting at the kitchen table, and someone knocked at our front door. I got up and opened the door. It was an older man, and for some reason, he looked very upset. My mother came to the door and said, “Can I help you?” He said, “ I was just across the street at Mrs. McFarland’s house. I am her insurance man. And she had a heart attack and died right in front of me.” And then he started crying. I never saw a grown man cry before. My mother told him to please sit down. He did. The tears were streaming down his face. I looked at my mom, and she looked at me. And then we both started crying. I felt really bad because I hadn’t visited her for a long time. And I wish I had. I never saw Mrs. McFarland again. Someone else bought her house and rented out the top part of the house to someone else. They took Mrs. McFarland’s swing down, and about a year later, they cut down her Weeping Willow tree one day. I’ll never understand why. I cried all over again.

I will always remember Mrs. McFarland even though I am now the age she was when she became my first friend.

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YOU NEVER KNOW WHAT IS COMING AROUND THE BEND

Did you ever wake up and the first thought that pops into your head is I don’t feel like going to work or school today? So, you call out sick, but really you’re not sick. You’re just sick and tired of going to work or school five days a week, week after week, year after year.

Well, that is how I felt that fateful day. You never know what life-changing event might take place because you made one small change in your daily routine or one bad decision.

I was running along a highway that had very little traffic early in the morning. Occasionally a car would pass me, and the driver of the car would wave at me. I felt invigorated. I was headed toward a curve about a quarter of a mile ahead of me. All of a sudden, I heard what sounded like a large vehicle or truck coming around the curve ahead of me. I didn’t have time to react because, before I knew it, the truck came around the curve and into the wrong lane. There was nowhere for me to move out of the way. The next thing I remember is someone saying,’ hey kid are you alright?” But I couldn’t even summon the strength to answer him. And then the lights went out.

I remember a bright light shining in my eyes. And I heard a distant voice say, “can you track the light that I’m shining in your eyes, Thomas? Try to answer me. If you can’t talk, nod your head. It’s time to wake up now. Nod you head, Thomas.”

I tried to nod my head. I was suddenly terrified that I was paralyzed. The thought terrified me, and I started screaming at the top of my lungs. I could feel tears streaming down my cheeks and onto the bed. And then I thought, where am I? Am I at home? No, I must be at a hospital. I couldn’t move my head around to see. I started to cry again. I started yelling, ” I can’t move my head. What’s wrong? Why can’t I move my head or legs?”

“Try to calm down, Thomas. You were hit by an oncoming truck while you were running. That was two days ago. You had to have surgery on both your legs and your right arm. Your legs are in traction, and your arm is in a cast. You are not paralyzed. You will eventually be able to walk again. We will have to take it day by day. You will have to have physical therapy after your legs come out of traction, and your arm is healed. This will all take time. You must try to keep a positive attitude and have faith in yourself that you have the strength and the courage to endure the recovery period. Do you understand?”

“Yes, I understand that my life and my future have changed, and there isn’t anything you can do about it. Will I be able to run again or play basketball or football? Because that is my life?”

” As I said, we have to take one day at a time. We can not predict the future. We have to see how your fractures heal, and you will have to work very hard to regain your strength. Do you think you are up to some visitors? Your parents have been waiting patiently for you to wake up since you were brought by ambulance to the hospital. And there is a whole pack of your football buddies who want to see you. But I think they’ll have to wait a couple more days to talk to you. But I will allow them to peek in your room and say hello. Do you feel you are up to it?”

“Yes, I would like to say hello to my buddies, but I would like to see my mom and dad first. I’m sure my mom is a wreck. She has always been a worrier.”

“Alright, I’ll go into the waiting room and tell them that you are awake and would like to see them. It will take a couple of minutes.”

Thomas was overwhelmed by the circumstances. He was terrified. He couldn’t believe what had happened to him. He couldn’t imagine that his life would ever be the same again. The idea that he would never be able to play sports again and never run shook him to his core.

Thomas’s parents came into his room. He could see that his mother and maybe even his dad had been crying. His mother came over to his bed. And gently put her arms around him. She was extremely careful as if he were made of glass. “Oh, Tommy, my little boy. Oh, I’m so sorry this happened to you. But I’m so grateful that you survived that awful accident. I love you so much.”

“I know, Mom. Thank you for being here for me. I would be lost without you.” And then tears began to roll down his cheeks. And his mother held him as closely as she thought she could without doing any further harm. She was having a difficult time not falling apart into a thousand little pieces. She wished with her whole heart that it was her lying in this bed and not her only child. She wouldn’t have wanted to continue to live if he had died in that terrible accident.

And with that thought, she began crying in earnest. When she was able to calm herself down. She said, ” I will be sitting here by your side until you get out of this hospital. And I will use every ounce of energy in my body to help you recover if it is the last thing I do in this life. I love you so much.”

“I know, Mom. I’ve always known how much you and dad love me. I never doubted it for a minute. I’m so sorry about the accident.”

“Thomas, don’t say another word. In addition, the police have told us that the accident was totally the driver’s fault, and it was a miracle you survived, as did the driver.” And then she hugged him again. “Now, I’m just going to sit in this chair and keep you company until you are released from the hospital. I will not leave you for more than a minute. I promise. And then she pulled the chair next to the chair and sat down next to her dear son. She took a hold of his hand and didn’t let go.

Thomas’s father, who had been standing there without expression, his face pale as a ghost. He stared at his son and then leaned down and hugged him. Something he hadn’t done since he entered kindergarten. And then he shed a tear, and then several more followed. “Oh, Tommy, I don’t know what to say. If I lost you, I couldn’t bear to go on another day. I wouldn’t want to take another breath. I want you to know that you mean more to your mother and me than any car, house, or anything I can think of. Please know that we will always be there for you. We will always love you, no matter what the circumstances are. Our love is unconditional.

Thomas looked at his parents, and then they all started crying. The doctor walked in and stood there silently until he felt he could talk to them. “OK, Mr. and Mrs. Anderson, I want you to know that I feel that Thomas will recover his ability to walk. We do not know as of yet if he will be able to continue with his sports career. But my staff and I will do everything in our power to try and make that happen. But please be aware that this will take much time, hard work, and patience. If you ever have a question or need to speak to my staff or me. We will be here for you.

Right now, I think it would benefit Thomas to get some rest. That is what he needs the most at this time. Rest. Later there will be hard work and some pain. But we will try to keep that at a minimum. I would like to examine Thomas right now. And then he should get some sleep. Please contact me with any questions.

“Thank you, doctor, for taking such good care of our son. He means the world to us. We will come back in a little while. My wife would like to sit by his side for the rest of the day after you examine him. If that is alright?”

“Of course, why don’t you two go get something to eat and some coffee? And then, Mrs. Anderson, you can come and stay with your son while he rests. As I said, contact me if you have any questions.”

With that, Tommy’s parents waved at their son and walked silently out of the room. When they walked down the hospital hallway, they were holding each other’s hands.

The doctor checked out Thomas again to make sure everything was as it was supposed to be. He knew the young man had a long road ahead of him. But he also knew he was lucky to be alive and to have such loving parents at his side. Not everyone was that lucky. He believed that this young man would succeed in whatever his future held for him. Only time would tell if he would be able to continue with his athletic career. Only time would tell.

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THE GARDEN OF TEARS

It seems like a lifetime ago but it really wasn’t. It was only a year ago that I had lost all faith in myself and my life so much so that I didn’t feel like living anymore. It all began when I was involved in a serious car accident. I was driving along Route 70 in Cherry Hill. I was taking my mother to her eye doctor. She only had vision in one of her eyes because she had a detached retina the year before and her eye doctor was unable to repair it.

My mom was sitting in the front passenger seat. Out of nowhere a semi-truck in front of me lost control of his vehicle when someone cut in front of him and he was unable to slow down quickly enough and he hit the car and I rear-ended him. And then a car behind me hit my car. That’s the last thing I remember.

When I woke up or perhaps became conscious I found myself in the emergency room of a hospital. The first words out of my mouth were, “is my mother alright? She was with me in my car. Is my mother alright?”

The nurse that was standing next to me took a hold of my hand and said, “I’ll go get the doctor.”

“No wait, wait just tell me that my mother is alright.”

The next thing I knew there was a tired-looking bespectacled and bald doctor standing next to my bed. He said, “Miss Reynolds, I’m sorry to have to tell you this but unfortunately your mother was very seriously injured and she passed away on the way to the hospital. There was nothing we could do.”

“What? No that can’t be true. We were just on the way to her eye doctor’s. It’s a twenty-five-minute drive from our house. She can’t have died. She’s the only family that I have left. The tears started running down my cheeks. I felt my heart break. I mean I literally felt my heart break in two. There was a tremendous weight in my chest. I couldn’t understand how I could still be alive and breathing. My chest started to hurt, I couldn’t breathe.

The doctor called out for the nurse to bring the defibrillator stat. The next thing I remember is when I woke up I felt confused. I didn’t immediately recall what had happened. There were all kinds of tubes in me and on me. There was something in my throat and I couldn’t talk. And then a doctor and a nurse appeared out of nowhere. And they started checking all the tubes and my pulse.

The doctor said, “Miss Reynolds, please try to calm down. Do you remember where you are?”

I tried to calm down. I slowed down my breathing and counted to fifty. My mother used to tell me to do that when I got upset. As I thought of my mother, it all came rushing back to me. And the tears started streaming down my face again.

“Miss Reynolds please try to remain calm. You had a mild heart attack. You’re going to be alright. But you must keep calm. I’m going to ask you some questions. Please don’t try to talk, just nod or shake your head from left to right. Do you understand?”

I nodded my head up and down.

“Are you having any chest pain or difficulty breathing?”

I moved my head from left to right slightly.

“Alright you’re doing well, now try to take slow, easy breaths. It doesn’t look like any serious damage was done to your heart. I have no doubt that you will recover completely. I want you to stay here for another twenty-four hours and we will monitor your heart and your overall condition. And send you home with some medication and the name of a cardiologist that you should see in about two weeks. He will take over your care. And once again I want to remind you to take it easy and slowly return to your regular activities. Do you understand?”

I nodded my head up and down.

“OK, we’re going to remove the tube in your throat, but leave in the IV for now. It will feel a little uncomfortable and your throat may be sore for a couple of days. Today you will be on a liquid diet. And if you are feeling better tomorrow we’ll try solid food. And hopefully, you will be released. Do you have someone who can pick you up?”

I nodded my head up and down again.

A nurse came into the room and stood next to my bed, “alright nurse could you please remove the endotracheal tube?”

As she removed the tube I felt a choking sensation and almost started coughing but I calmed myself down and I was finally able to breathe on my own again.

“Can you breathe without difficulty?”

“I said, “yes.” But my voice came out all raspy and my throat hurt.

“Can I see my mother?”

“I’m sorry Miss Reynolds but your mother is no longer in the hospital morgue. She was transported to the local mortuary. The nurse will give you the information and phone number for you to contact if you feel up to calling them. Or if you give the nurse a family or friend’s name we can contact them and ask them to come here and assist you in these details. Do you have someone to call?”

“Yes, my closest friend, Marilyn.”

“Do you have any relatives to call and notify?”

“No, no one. My mother and I were the only family left and now she’s gone. My father died two years ago from cancer. I’m all alone.”

“ I’m sorry to hear that but please, please try to relax. You can give the nurse the name of your friend and contact information. I will come in later before I’m off–duty today and check on you. There‘s a button you can push if you need help to go to the bathroom or you need anything else. Alright?”

I nodded my head up and down. But the tears kept running down my cheeks even though I had put a smile on my face for the doctor. And then he turned and walked slowly out of the room. I wondered how anyone could even work in a hospital and remain sane. All the death, the loss, the fear, responsibilities, and the weight of all the broken hearts.

The next morning I was given a soft boiled egg and limp toast for breakfast and lukewarm tea. I hate soft-boiled eggs but I ate it anyway my stomach was growling. And I know that they wouldn’t let me out of here until I ate something and went to the bathroom.

I called Marilyn and she said that she had been trying to get a hold of me for two days and was going out of mind with worry. I told her about the car accident and she started to cry. Which made me start crying all over again. She told me she would be there at ten AM sharp. And I believed her because she has never let me down ever. She is the sister I never had. I trust her as much as I trusted my dear mother.

The doctor came into my room about twenty minutes after I hung up the phone on Marilyn. “how are you feeling today?”

“Honestly doctor I don’t know how to feel. I never lost my mother before and had a terrible car accident and had a heart attack in the space of two days. If it wasn’t for my friend, Marilyn I don’t know what I would do.”

“But how are you feeling physically? I think you should stay in the hospital for another day. But since you don’t want to do that I’m giving you my office number. And if you have any difficulty at all, any chest pain, call and we will fit you in. I have scheduled you for a check-up at the Cardiologist I recommended in two weeks, don’t miss it. If you have any problem with the medication I prescribed call my office. I’m serious. Do you understand?”

“Yes, I understand. Thank you, doctor. I’ll see you soon.”

My friend Marilyn showed up at 10 AM sharp. As soon as she came to my room’s door I felt the muscles in my stomach relax. She came over and put her arms around me and didn’t let go for at least five minutes. We were both crying. “Oh, Marie I’m so, so sorry about your mother. This is so hard to take in I can not even begin to understand how badly you feel. How are you feeling now? Are you having any more chest pains?”

“No, they put me on medication. It has helped a lot. I have the doctor’s number and I have an appointment set up in two weeks. I have to arrange the funeral. It’s just so difficult to believe that I’ll never see my mom again. And that’s when I started crying again. I don’t know where all the tears come from. I thought I would have run out by now.

“Well, I’m going to be with you the whole way. You won’t be doing this alone at all. And I went over to your house and packed a suitcase and your personal things and brought them to my house. Because that is where you will be staying for as long as you need to.”

“Thank you Marilyn I was dreading going to my house and not seeing my mother standing there waiting for me. I just don’t know how I will go on without her.”

“You won’t be alone, I love you like a sister. I hope you know that I will always be there for you, no matter what.”

I looked at Marilyn and said,”you’re the best I don’t know how I was so lucky to meet you and stayed friends ever since first grade.”

Marilyn helped me hobble over to the bathroom and then I said, “oh no, I don’t have any clothes to wear they cut them off when I was in the emergency room.”

“Not to worry Marie, I brought some comfortable pants and a sweatshirt and underwear and socks and a pair of your sneakers. I’m going to help you take the gown off and put on your clothes. I brought your navy blue jacket too.”

I looked a Marilyn and the tears rolled down my face. I wiped them away. And new tears appeared. “I’m sorry Marilyn I can’t seem to stop crying.”

“Don’t apologize anymore, Marie. You have nothing to apologize for. You are the strongest person I know. You took care of your dad for two years when he was dying from cancer. You have been taking care of your mother. You are so much stronger than you realize. You are the bravest person I have ever known.”

“I don’t feel strong at all. It feels like my heart could stop at any minute. I can’t think of a single reason to keep breathing in and out. I can’t imagine living another day without seeing my beautiful mother again. Life without my mom will be an empty and lonely one without her. Oh Marilyn I don’t think I can go on without my mother. It was bad enough when my dad died. And now I’m all alone.”

Now Marilyn was crying too. “No, no, no you are not alone. I am here for you and I always will be. Your mother wouldn’t want you to feel this way. She would want you to continue on with your life and find happiness again. She would never, never want you to give up on life. Promise me that you won’t give up. I need you. Look straight at me and promise that you won’t give up.”

I looked right into Marilyn’s eyes and they were red and swollen and I knew I didn’t want to be the one that made Marilyn feel alone in the world. I knew she needed me as much as I needed her. “I promise I won’t say that again. I will try my best. I will take one day at a time to keep going. I promise I won’t leave you alone. And then we hugged each other like we were never going to let go. And Marilyn helped me get dressed and I splashed some cold water on my face.

An orderly brought a wheelchair to my room and said, “your limousine awaits you, madame. I laughed for the first time. I knew he probably said this to everyone but still it made me feel special in that moment and I said, “why thank you so much.”

And we were on our way. I was leaving my old life behind me and moving into an unknown future. I took a deep breath and sat down in the wheelchair. And then Marilyn said, “come on Marie let’s go home now and you can get some rest, and guess what I’m making you your favorite dinner, french fries, and hot dogs.”

I smiled at her and then the orderly helped me get into my seat and buckled me in. I said, “thank you, kind sir.” And then he tipped his invisible hat and headed back into the hospital.

“OK, Marie relax and buckle up. We’ll be home in a few minutes I’m going to take the scenic route and avoid the highways. So why don’t you take a little nap and I’ll wake you when we get home.”

I no sooner sat down and buckled my seat belt and I must have fallen asleep immediately. Because the next thing I knew I heard Marilyn say,” we’re home, we’re home.”

I opened my eyes and I saw Marilyn’s house. I tried to hold back the tears. I really did. But it felt like I had no control over my body anymore. It did what it wanted. Marilyn just ignored the tears and came over to my side of the car and helped me get out and hobble over to the front door.

She unlocked the door, and let me in, “OK do you want to have lunch now or would you like to go take a nap first?”

“Hot dog and fries first”, I said.

“OK, have a seat at the kitchen table and I’ll go get you things out of the car. Don’t try walking around until I get back in here. You will probably feel a little weak for a while.”

“OK, I won’t. I’ll sit here and wait patiently. Looking forward to a cup of tea too. The hospital tea was never hot like I like it.”

“I’m going to make a whole pot of Earl Grey for you. I went out and bought all your favorite teas, including your favorite Chai.”

“You’re the best, thank you.”

Marie drank the whole pot of tea. “Oh that was so good, there’s nothing like Earl Grey.”

“OK, when you need to use the bathroom let me know, I’m going to make the hot dogs and fries. I know that’s not very healthy. But it’s your favorite.“

Marie swallowed her last sip of tea and Marilyn said, “do you want to take a nap now?”

“I think I better start making the arrangements for my mother now. It all seems like a bad dream. I felt the same way after my father died from cancer two years ago. Like it was a bad dream. I still can’t take it all in but I’m going to have to deal with it now rather than later. We didn’t really have any family left. But my mom had a lot of friends with the woman’s club and her church so I’ll have to get my mom’s phone book to let them know. And I’ll have to get the papers from my dad’s funeral so I can contact the funeral parlor and the cemetery where my dad is buried.”

“OK, after lunch do you want me to go over to your house and get the papers? And you tell me what you want to bring back here and I’ll put it in the back seat and trunk of my car. Anything big, we’ll have to hire a moving truck.”

“OK, but first I have to take care of the funeral and the service and contact my mother’s friends. “

“We can do this together, don’t worry.”

Two days later Marie and Marilyn were in the church waiting for the funeral service for her mother to begin. Marie couldn’t bear to see the coffin. She just couldn’t imagine looking down at her mother and knowing she would never see her sweet and loving face again.

And then Marie heard the priest say, “shall we say our final prayers for the deceased, Kathleen Reynolds. A loving mother and wife and friend to all that knew her. She will be missed by all. Please come up and say goodbye to her. Knowing that you will all be reunited in the afterlife. Marilyn could you please come up first and then everyone else may follow.

Marilyn swallowed hard and using all her remaining strength she got up out of the pew and propelled herself forward to the front of the church in front of the altar where her mother lay in her coffin.

Marilyn stared down at her mother or what remained of her mother’s early remains and made herself lean down and kiss her gently on her cheek. She whispered, “I love you with all of my heart Mom, I couldn’t have asked for a better mother and friend than you have been for me all of my life. I will think of you every day and keep you in my heart always. Until we meet again.”

As everyone filed out of the vestibule they followed one another out to their cars and to the cemetery. Marie and Marilyn’s car was the first to arrive following the hearse. And they drove quietly through the gate that said, THE GARDEN OF TEARS.’

Marilyn said that is such an odd name for a cemetery.”

“Oh, it’s called that because the owner said the tears of all the people who lost loved ones watered the flowers throughout the cemetery.”

Marilyn took her friend, Marie’s hand and held it throughout the funeral and kept it until they returned to Marilyn’s car, and then she gave her a big hug and said, “let’s go friend to whatever the future holds for us.’

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THE DAY WILL COME

Fortune Teller from Sheroes Entertainment.com

Once every couple of years, my siblings and I get together, and we hire a psychic to predict our futures. I know it sounds ridiculous. I’m a skeptic of the group, but still, I go along with them every time. We rarely get together, so I prefer to think of it as a family outing.

And however slim, there’s a chance we might actually find a real psychic to tell us our futures. My sisters truly believe if they find the “right psychic,” they will hear whatever it is that they need to hear.

Personally, I would like to hear good news for once, even if it is fictitious. The psychics in the past have told me I will develop a nerve issue and even that I will get Lupus. Thank god those two things never came to pass. They told me my daughter would eventually decide to have children and have twins, a boy and a girl. My daughter is now past childbearing years and never wanted children. So, I take everything they say with a grain of salt.

Not that I believe in a god any more than I believe in psychics. But I do understand why people want to believe in god. It’s reassuring to believe that there’s this Supreme Being up there watching over us and keeping us safe. And he’s offering us an eternity of happiness after we pass away and that we will see all our loved ones that have passed again.

I do not try to talk anyone out of their beliefs because what is the point? For one, they won’t believe me, and two, who am I to take away their hope? Even if it is false hope.

The day finally arrives when we’re all going to see the psychic. It’s being held at my oldest sister Irene’s house in her living room. The rest of us sit in the kitchen, awaiting our turn. And even though I do not doubt she is a fraud, I know that no one has psychic ability. I still sit there waiting my turn to talk to her somewhat anxiously. And in addition to that, I believe if anyone were going to have any psychic ability, it would be me. Yes, I know that is a ridiculous statement to make, considering I have said there are no “psychics.” But even I have my moments of being illogical.

I’m a sensitive person. My feelings are easily hurt. In addition, I am sensitive to how other people are “feeling” even if they don’t say anything. I can tell when people are not truthful. Yes, I’m able to read body language, but it’s I feel what they’re feeling. That is the ability I think these psychics have, the ability to sense what others are feeling. They don’t have the ability to foresee the future. And I think people give “psychic” hints by the questions they ask. And if all the participants are related, they will tell the psychic things, and she or he can put all this information together and make predictions, not unlike creating a quilt from different patches.

The psychic arrives as we all patiently sit in Irene’s kitchen. We share pleasantries and drink coffee or tea and eat homemade cake. It’s my favorite yellow cake with white icing and shredded coconut. I could eat a couple more pieces, but I stop at one.

She walks gracefully into the living room. It almost seems like she is floating. She’s an attractive thirty-something. Her hair is long and wavy, halfway down her back, and light brown with blond highlights. She has the palest blue eyes I’ve ever seen. It’s hard not to stare at her. Her eyes are mesmerizing. And her smile could light up the darkest room. She stands in the middle of the living room and introduces herself, “Good afternoon, my name is Aislee. I’m from County Down Patrick in Northern Ireland. I’m from a family with a history of psychics going back over hundreds of years. A gift that was inherited from my great, great, great, great grandmother. All the women in my family have this gift.

She has a beautiful voice with an Irish lilt to it. It’s wonderful to hear. I could listen to her all day even if everything she said were full of malarky, as my mother used to say. She scans the room and makes eye contact with each one of us. I have the urge to look away from her, irrationally feeling she might look deep into my psyche and read my deepest thoughts. I know I’m being illogical, given the fact that I don’t believe in psychics. She is convinced I give her that.

My older sister, Irene, is the first person she “reads.” All of us bring paper and a pen with us to write down her “predictions.” We never discuss what the “psychic says until after she leaves, and not everyone wants to tell others what was told to them. I have recorded all the predictions told to me over the years. And not one of them came true. I can’t speak to my sister’s experiences.

I’m the last one to go into the living room to sit for the reading. I say, “Hello.” And she says, “Good afternoon, Kathleen. How are you feeling today?” No, she didn’t miraculously know my name. She has a list of our names. And since I was the last one, it was just a matter of elimination of who she already spoke to.

“I’m fine, thanks for asking.”

“So, Kathleen, you’re the youngest in the family?” Again, she knew that ahead of time.

“Yes, yes, I am.”

“Do you have any issues that you would like to ask about or anyone who has passed over that you would like to ask a question?”

I stare at her for a moment and wonder what I should ask her. I know it seems disingenuous to speak to these mediums or psychics, anticipating that everything they do or say is some trick. Maybe I want them to have this ability on some level. Maybe, I would like to know the future. I have many experiences in the past that could have turned out better if I had known in advance how I could avoid them or mitigate the problem before it happened.

“Well, I don’t know if you can answer this question, but I often think about my older sibling that disappeared when I was relatively young. Can you tell me what happened to her? Do you know if she is still alive somewhere? Or if she suffered before she died?

Aislee closes her eyes and becomes quiet, almost too quiet. It seems as if she has gone to sleep. And after a couple of minutes, she opens up her eyes as if she’s waking up from a dream. You know when you begin to wake up from an afternoon nap. And you’re not sure where you are or what day it is, like that. She keeps blinking her eyes as if the light is too bright. And then her eyes open really wide as if she’s surprised by something unexpected.

“Are you alright?”

“Yes, but I have something to tell you. Your sister, Carol, ran away from home with some boy. When she was in high school, she was no longer alive now, but she passed away recently from an illness of some kind. I’m sorry. That’s all I can tell you right now.”

“You’re kidding? Did any one of my sisters tell you her name? Tell me the truth.”

“No, no one told me her name.”

“Can you tell me where she was living after she ran away? Or who she ran away with? Was she still with the same person until she passed away?”

“No, she was alone when she passed away. That’s all I can tell you right now. Maybe I will be able to tell you something more at another time.”

“Alright, I guess that’s all for now. I walk out of the room in shock. And when I return to the kitchen, I grab a glass and fill it with cold water from the tap and gulp it down. I rinse the glass out, walk over to the kitchen table and flop down in the nearest seat.

My sister, Terri, stares at me for a moment and says, “You look like you saw a ghost. What happened?”

“I’m not ready to talk about it right now.”

“OK, but now I’m really curious. I thought you didn’t believe in psychics. What have you so spooked?”

“I said, I don’t want to talk about it right now. I have to think about it for a while. I know there has to be some trick to it.”

After Aislee left, my sisters and I sat at the kitchen table. I still hadn’t said anything about what Aislee said to me. And then my sister, Irene, said, “Spill Kathleen, what did she say to you? You’re not leaving here until you do. And in unison, my sisters said, “spill.”

“OK, OK. Aisling asked me if there were any questions I wanted to ask or anyone I wanted to contact that had passed. And I said no, but I would like to know what happened to my older sister, who disappeared when she was a teenager. We never heard from her again. And then I asked if she was still alive. Aisling said, your sister Carol ran away from home with a boy. But she’s no longer alive. She passed away recently from an illness. And then I point-blank asked her how she knew my missing sister’s name. I asked her if one of you had talked about her. And she said, no.”

“She also said it was possible she would be able to tell me more sometime in the future. And now I want to know if any of you told her about Carol, or did any of you even mention Carol’s name?”

They all sit at the kitchen table with their mouths hanging open and say in unison, “I didn’t mention Carol or another sister.”

“Irene, you are the oldest. Do you remember anything about Carol’s disappearance? Or do you remember anything that our parents believed happened to her?”

“Honestly, Kathleen, I don’t remember many details. That was a long time ago”, said Irene. And Mom and Dad didn’t talk to any of us about it. I do remember Dad seemed angry for a long time, and Mom cried and cried. Even years later, I recall hearing her cry in their room at night. After a year or so, neither of them mentioned the disappearance or Carol at all, for that matter. I don’t think either one of them ever got over it. That’s probably why they were so overprotective and controlling of all of us when we were teenagers.

How about you guys? Kathleen looks at her remaining sister. Terri looked at Kathleen and said, “No, I don’t really remember much at all. Maybe I blanked it out. And you’re right. Kathleen, Mom, and Dad were never the same again. And they were extremely controlling with us as we got older.”

“I’d like to know how come the three of us never talked about this before. Did either of you ever ask the other psychics about Carol?”

Both Irene and Terri shook their heads no.

“Wow, that is really weird. We all acted like Carol never existed. We are really messed up. And I think we started this psychic thing because of Carol. At some subconscious level, we all wanted to know what happened to her. But none of us said it out loud.

“But at the time, did you two talk about it at all? Were the police involved, was her disappearance publicized? Did the neighbors or the townspeople look for her at all?”

“Honestly, the only thing I remember is one night Carol didn’t come home, but I didn’t hear about it until sometime the next day. Which was a Saturday, and I used to sleep- in since it wasn’t a school day. I heard a loud knocking at the front door, and then Mom and Dad let them in, and I heard them talking to the person at the door. I got up and looked down the steps, and there was a cop and a guy in a suit standing in the vestibule. I tried to hear what they were saying, but it was kind of muffled. And then I heard what sounded like Mom crying, and Dad sounded angry. “

“What about you, Terri?” I had my radio on pretty loud, and I didn’t hear anything. When the cops left, one of them slammed the door hard, and that’s when I came down to find out what was going on. Mom and Dad looked really upset., Mom was crying. Irene was in there with them, and tears were running down her face. She looked over at me, and I started crying even though I didn’t know what was going on.”

“Yeah, I remember that because that’s when Dad said Carol didn’t come home last night. We called her boyfriend’s house, and he didn’t come home either. I guess they ran off together. We called all of Carol’s friends, and they all said they didn’t see them last night and don’t know anything that could help us. That’s when we called the police. The police just told us that they would put an All-Points Bulletin out. And they suggested we start posting pictures of Carol around town to see if anyone had talked to her or her boyfriend and might know where they planned to go. I guess the police are going over to the boy’s house now to talk to the parents.”

Mom and Dad kept calling the police every couple of weeks, but the police never found them, Nor did they have any idea where they went. The officer contacted all the police in the state, and then later, the FBI got involved, but as far as I know, they never found any trace of them.

We didn’t talk about it anymore because Mom got so upset. And Dad would be angry for days when we did. So, after a while, we all stop talking about Carol. As if she never existed. Every once in a while, one of the kids at school would say, “Hey, did you ever hear from Carol?” We never did, and after a few years, no one asked anymore.

“So, life just went on as if Carol never existed. And now we hear from Aislee that up until recently, Carol was alive. Why the hell wouldn’t she contact us? What happened to her? I can’t believe this. On the other hand, I’m glad I finally talked to you guys about it. Sometimes I used to think Carol was a figment of my imagination since no one ever talked about her. Even when Mom and Dad grew old, they never mentioned her. And I couldn’t find any pictures of Carol in our photo album.”

“Oh, Dad got rid of all the pictures because Mom would spend whole days staring at the pictures of Carol and crying. After Dad died five years ago, when I went through his personal items, I found a picture of you, me, Irene, and Carol when we were young in Dad’s wallet. I still have it.”

“You have it. Do you have it with you?”

“Yes, it’s in my wallet in my purse. Hold on; I’ll go get it.”

“Here, Kathleen, here it is. That’s Carol holding you in her lap.”

I took one look, and tears started streaming down my face. “Yes, yes, that’s her. She looked just like Mom. Then we all started crying and hugging each other. Kathleen said, you know, we could post this picture on the internet and see if anyone recognizes her. I don’t know how helpful it would be since she was just a kid in this picture. I could post a picture with the story of her disappearance and see if anyone knew her. It couldn’t hurt.”

“You know, it feels better to talk about Carol out loud. I thought of her so much over the years. And I wondered what happened to her. Why didn’t she try and contact any of us in all these years since she only died recently? It doesn’t make sense.”

“I agree, Terri. It doesn’t make sense. But we were all really young back then, and we didn’t really know what was going on with her. Maybe she got pregnant or something, or she was doing drugs. Let’s try and see if we can find someone that might have to know her. And you know what else? I bet some of her old high school friends might have pictures of her in high school, and then we can post them. What do you say?”

“I say, let’s go for it. Tomorrow I will call the High School office and see if they have records going that far back and get a list of the kids in her class. And then I’ll check out the internet and see if any of them are still living in the area or maybe some of their relatives still live in town, and I can talk to them. What do you say?”

“Let’s go for it, Kathleen, do it. I’ll help. Once you get the list, I’ll take half and start making calls.”

“Hey, me too, you guys, we’ll all do it.”

And that is how we began our search for our long-lost sister, and in the end, that was what brought us all together more than once a year. We realize that we were a family, and we needed one another through thick and thin. So, our sister, Carol, was the reason we are now a more loving and caring family.

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TICK-TOCK, TICK TOCK

The last two years have by far been the most difficult years in my entire life. I’m not trying to be overly dramatic or garner attention or sympathy. I’m just stating the truth. Yes, I’m speaking from my perspective. Who’s else would I speak from?

Home in Moorestown, NJ

First, my mother developed terminal cancer, and then my father started exhibiting memory issues that worsened over time. I’m an only child, and there was no one else to help me. In addition, I have a high-pressure job. I couldn’t just stop working and stay home with my parents. Who was going to pay the bills?

After my mother passed away, I had to make the difficult decision to place my father in an assisted living residence. I wasn’t selfish. I

was practical. The day-to-day care of my father as he declined was more than I could handle. I was exhausted. Sometimes, he would roam around the house at night and come into my room crying that he wanted to kill himself or just come in and wake me up several times a night.

I never got enough sleep. I had to bathe him and change him several times a day because he became incontinent. He had to be watched while he ate. Because sometimes he forgot to chew his food and would choke on it. You can’t possibly understand how stressful and exhausting it was unless you experienced it yourself.

I made the decision that was the best for both of us. He was safe. And caring people took care of him twenty-four hours a day. I saw him as often as possible. He passed away after six months while he was living in the nursing home. After he fell and broke his hip, I did the best I could; it wasn’t my fault that he fell.

My script is due in less than a week, and I can’t afford to be late. On the other hand, I don’t want to send in a script that will be rejected. I have a reputation to uphold. I’m running out of capital, and so I’ve been writing non-stop scripts hoping that one or all of them might get approved and get me back in the black and out of the red.

Being a writer is not an easy job, not by any means. You spend a lot of time alone. Writing is a lonely job. Then there’s the additional bugaboos, procrastination, and writer’s block.

My biggest problem is procrastination. I can find reasons to delay writing for hours, days even. After all, I’m a creative guy. I have to take Al to the park. He hasn’t been anywhere except in the backyard for a week. I need a haircut. I have to get a haircut; I’m starting to look like a hippie. I haven’t had a decent meal for a week; I go out to lunch with a friend. This takes care of loneliness and hunger at the same time, a twofer. Unfortunately, I like to have a shot or two or three when I go out to lunch. And that tends to put a dent in both my creativity and my typing.

If I’m able to get past the procrastination, the blank page can deter me for quite a while. But eventually, eventually I get an idea and type away, and before you know it, I’ve finished the script or the screenplay, the short story, or even the book.

But it doesn’t look like today is going to be one of those days. I’m staring at the laptop screen, and I find myself humming “Troubled Waters.” And then, out of the blue, there’s a loud knocking at the door. It startles me so much that I scream out, “holy shit.” And then I laugh at myself. Who do I think it is, the bogyman? Or the bill collector? No, it can’t be that no one really sends out bill collectors anymore.

Well, that’s not entirely true once last year, I fell six months behind in my car payment, and they came and towed my rental car away. I have terrible credit. I’m not entirely reliable in either paying my bills on time because of lack of funds or just plain undependable, I guess. I make good money when I work. But as I said, I have a problem with procrastination and the fear of the white page.

I hear the knocking again. It is more insistent and louder. Al starts barking in earnest and goes so far as to stand up and look towards the sound of the knocking. Al isn’t a very energetic dog. He sleeps about fifteen hours a day. But the loud knocking keeps disturbing his naptime. Finally, we both get up and head toward the front door. Al takes the lead, barking the whole way. If you ever heard a Basset Hound bark, you know it’s no joke. It can be loud and resonates through the whole house. The knocking continues.

We arrive at the front door, and I look out the glass windows on the door. I see a brown cap. He’s still knocking. I quickly unlock the door with one hand and pull it open. I hold Al by his collar with my other hand. A surly face is on the other side of the door. “I have a delivery. You have to sign for it.”

I grab the clipboard and quickly scribble my illegible signature. And then he hands me a small package. I take it and shut the door. “Asshole,” I say to the closed door.

Al and I retreat to the living room, and I sit down on the couch, and Al lies down on the area rug and falls asleep in moments. I will never understand how dogs can fall asleep in a single moment. I envy him.

I carefully open up the small package. Inside I find a key. It looks old. Like the kind of key that my grandparents had on their doors. The one that could open all the exterior doors. I think they used to call it a Skeleton Key.

The key is taped on a handwritten note. It bears the legend; this key is for the house that belongs to you now. You are the last living member of the family now. If you have received this key, it is because I am no longer among the living. There is a signature on the note, but it isn’t legible, no phone number, just an address. 2567 Crofton Way, Moorestown, New Jersey. It sounds familiar, but I can’t quite put my finger on it.

“Come on, Al, let’s go have lunch, and then I will try and find out what this is all about.” Al doesn’t answer me. Al isn’t much of a talker, probably because Al is a Basset Hound.

And then the two of us head toward the kitchen. I sure could use a strong hot coffee right now. I pour dry dog food into Al’s bowl and make myself a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. Whenever I’m stressed, I eat peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. Probably harkens back to my long-ago childhood days. I spread the peanut butter twice as thick. And I pour myself a steaming hot coffee. I’ll be the first to admit I am addicted to caffeine. Al looks up at me as if to say, any dessert?”

“No, that’s it, Al. How about I let you out in the backyard to relieve yourself.” Al looks up at me with his sad Basset eyes as if I’m asking him for a payday loan. He reluctantly heads toward the back door. I hold it open, and he goes out into the yard and is soon consumed with smelling all the smells. A Basset Hound is really all about the nose and smelling.

I pick up my phone and google the address. And Google magically comes up with the information that the address is the former home of none other than Cecile Menlo, my mother’s brother, who has apparently passed away.

Cecile Menlo, wow, now that’s a blast from the past. I scrounge up a memory of my long-ago childhood. I have to dust it off it was that old. I drink down the first cup of coffee quickly and scorch my throat. I pour a second one and sip it ever so slowly as my childhood memory comes flooding back to me.

It was in the mid-sixties I was in middle school. And that my friends were a long, long time ago. But still, those are the years of my life that I always felt I were the happiest. The endless summers with no responsibilities, swimming at the lake or my neighborhood friends above ground pools, riding my bike all over town. As long as I was home for meals on time, no one questioned my whereabouts or what I had been up to.

And then there were the summers I spent with my uncle Cecile Menlo. He lived in a house in Moorestown, NJ; it was so enormous, so over the top, it was hard to believe it was real. He had made big money as one of the original investors at RCA in Moorestown, NJ. RCA was a large facility that developed and manufactured government apparatus. And eventually became a division of RCA Government and Commercial Systems.

My uncle retired at forty, which was unheard of since most people worked until they turned sixty-five or older. Summers at his house were a kid’s dream come true. He had several pools and tennis courts and property so immense it would take hours, if not days, to see it all. He used to show movies on a screen so large that it felt like you were at the movie theater. He had horses, and I used to ride all over the property. My friends would come over, and we would play crocket or swim or hide and seek. His Fourth of July parties were out of this world. He had fireworks that could be seen all over Moorestown by everyone that lived there.

My uncle was a big influence on me as a child. He taught me self-confidence and said if I worked hard enough and long enough I could achieve anything, I set my mind to it. He was the one adult that encouraged my creativity. Everyone else thought spending most of my time writing stories was a waste of time: even my parents, but not my Uncle Cecile.

As I sit here thinking about those summers with my uncle, I wonder how I ever lost contact with him, he meant so much to me as I was growing up. Why did I drift away from him? And then I remembered that when I first achieved some fame with the first books I got published, I let go of all the people from my past and left them behind. I made new friends with the rich and famous.

I vaguely remember that my Uncle reached out to me over the years, and I never contacted him. I was too important, too busy to care about an old relative. And now here I am, all alone in a house struggling to make ends meet. Struggling because I don’t have the self-discipline to work hard and work smart like my uncle always told me to do.

And here he was, reaching out from the great beyond once more to give me yet another opportunity to do better. And to lift me out of my self-indulgence and self-pity. I have to admit to myself that I don’t deserve his help, but I need it. And this time, I decide I will do the right thing. I’m sure I don’t need a huge house and property. But I could sell the house pay my bills, get back on my feet. And then invest whatever money is left to help kids like I was. Kids who needed someone to care about them and mentor them and encourage them to realize that they too have what it takes to make something of themselves when everyone and everything around them says differently.

I pick up the phone and call the lawyer whose name and number are on the letter I received. “Hello, could I speak to Taylor Brown. My name is Johnathan Cummings. I received a letter and key this morning stating that I was the sole beneficiary of a house that once belonged to my Uncle Cecile Menlo in Moorestown, New Jersey. Would you possibly have time to speak to me in the next couple of days about this inheritance?”

“Tomorrow at one o’clock would be perfect, thank you. I will see you then.” I hear Al scratching and howling at the door, and I go over and let him in. He rubs his neck against my leg. He does this to put his scent on me. So, all the other dogs know I belong to him. But to tell you the truth, Al is my best friend. “Al, guess what, tomorrow we’re going to take a road trip, and you’re going to get to see a place where I spent the best years of my life when I was a kid at my Uncle Cecile’s house in New Jersey.”

Al looks up at me with his big, sad eyes and his doggy smile and lets out a howl. I lean over and hug him. And say, “who’s the best dog in the world, Al? You are Al, you are. And I smile at him and feel the best I’ve felt in years.

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Unexpected Surprises Often Come in Small Packages

I was just about to step into the shower when I hear the doorbell ring. I think about ignoring it, since I was already late getting ready for my luncheon date with my old friend Maryanne. Whoever was at the door is persistent and keeps pushing the doorbell over and over again.

“Oh, for crying out loud,” I say to no one in particular.

Antique pocket watch- photo by Bob Culver

I grab my ancient chenille robe. It’s tattered and torn and stained in places. But it used to belong to my mother. I consider it a family heirloom. And I throw it on, tying it tightly around my waist. I push my feet roughly into my slippers that are also tattered and stained.

I take the steps two at a time. My left slipper comes off my foot and goes careening down the remaining steps. I almost go careening after them. But catch myself at the last minute when I manage to grab the rickety railing.

I can see through the four small windows in the door that the delivery guy is turning and about to leave. I jump down onto the floor at the bottom of the steps and all but pull the door off its hinges in an effort to open the door before he drives away.

The delivery guy has just turned his back on the door and is quick-stepping back to his delivery truck. I start screaming at the top of my lungs, and vigorously waving my arms back and forth.

“Hey buddy, wait, wait I’m here. I was in the bathroom upstairs.” When he turns around, he looks at me as if I’m a mirage or something. As if he can’t believe his eyes. I look down to see what he’s staring at and I realize that my robe has come untied and is flapping in the wind. Unfortunately, last night it was unbearably hot in my bedroom and I slept in the nude.

And that is when I notice my nosy neighbor, Cynthia is walking her dog, Alfred past my house. “Shit. Sorry, Cynthia. Sorry, sorry.” And I pull my robe together and retie the belt.

Cynthia’s face is bright red, she doesn’t say a word. But she keeps staring at me like I’m from another planet. Then she starts shaking her head vigorously from right to left. Alfred barks at me in a somewhat friendlier tone and off they go for their morning constitutional.

By then the delivery guy has made his way back to my doorstep. And he wears an expression on his face that can only be described as wolfish. All his teeth are showing and his eyes look like they’re going to pop out of his head. He leans towards me and I lean back. “Take it, easy lady, I just need you to sign this clipboard and I’ll be on my way.”

I grab the clipboard and the pen that’s hanging off of it and scribble my signature. And then I stick out my hand and he hands me a package that’s about the size of a napkin. “Thank you”, I say as I’m about to turn around and close the door.

He waits for a moment. I guess he thinks he might get a tip. But he isn’t going to get one from me today. I turn around and walk as nonchalantly as I can muster up. As if I didn’t just flash everyone that happen to be on the street this morning. I take my mother’s advice for once. She often said, “when you make a fool out of yourself just keep moving forward and don’t look back.” And that is exactly what I did, let it go and walk through my front door like it was any other day. And I forget about it.

When I get into my house, I firmly close the door and put the chain across it. And walk through the living room into my tiny kitchen. I put the small package on the kitchen counter and turn on the coffee pot. I open the refrigerator door and gaze inside. There isn’t much, I haven’t gone food shopping in two weeks and the cupboard is almost bare. I find a slightly stale piece of rye bread and stick it in the toaster and find I still had a dab of peanut butter in my giant economy size of Chunky Peanut Butter. I practically live on peanut butter; I like it with bananas but I don’t have any left.

I pour the coffee into my favorite mug, it used to belong to my Aunt Merry, which is short for Marilyn. It’s huge, yellow and round with a smiling face. In fact, it was called the Smiley Face Mug. She gave it to me when I moved to the city. It’s from the 1970s. And it is one of the few things I treasure in life. Because it reminds me of all the time I spent every summer with her when I was a kid. She lived within walking distance to the beach. And she grew all her own vegetables in her little garden. We would take long walks across the beach and collect shells and stones. I still have some of the shells somewhere in a box in the back of my closet. Most of my childhood memories that I cherish are from the time I spent with my Aunt Merry. I should have visited her more often.

My mom called me a couple of weeks ago and told me that my Aunt Merry quietly passed away in her sleep. That’s so like her, never wanted to cause anyone any trouble or worry. I should have gone to her funeral, but I didn’t because I didn’t have the money for a round trip bus ticket home. And my mother drinks up all her money. She didn’t even let me know until the day before the funeral.

I finish the last of my coffee and pick up the small package and I realize the return address is my mom’s. “Wow,” I say out loud. My mother never sends me anything. Occasionally she calls me and asks for money. And when I have any, I send it to her. She’s still my mother after all. And she did raise me all alone. And I guess she did the best she could. I should probably visit my mother more too. She’s no longer young. And I don’t know how much time she has left.

I make up my mind that I’m definitely going to go visit my mother, sometime soon. I start tearing the brown paper off the small package and then I shake it. Something is rattling inside. When I open the box, I see something that looks like gold. I pull it out and inside I see a pocket watch on a long, gold chain. I pick it up and look at it closely. It has flowers engraved on the back and my Aunt Merry’s initials and the year 1969. The year she graduated from high school. I remember seeing it in her jewelry box in her house down at the beach. She used to say, “someday this pocket watch will be yours. And it will remind you of all the good times we had together here at the beach.”

I feel a tear run down my cheek and more follow. I start crying and as I realize all the time that I could have spent with my Aunt Merry and I didn’t. I always made excuses not to go. I don’t know why. I put the pocket watch around my neck and go over to the mirror next to the front door and look at myself. As I stand there with the tears running down my face, I see my Aunt’s smiling face looking back at me.

As I’m standing there looking at myself the phone rings. I slowly walk over to the phone and pick it up. “Hello, Kathleen, it’s mom.”

“Yes Mom, I recognize your phone number. Is everything alright?”

“Yes, why did you hear something?”

“No, Mom I didn’t hear anything, you don’t call me often and when you do, it’s usually bad news.”

“Oh, Kathleen, you have always been so overly dramatic. I just called to see if you got the package, I sent you?”

“Yes, Mom, it was just delivered. I always loved that watch. Aunt Merry always promised me she would leave to me when she passed. I’ll cherish it.”

“Yes, she really did love you, Kathleen. I wished you had come and visited her more often you were her favorite niece.”

“You’re right Mom, I should have visited her more. In fact, I was just thinking that I haven’t seen you in quite a while. And I have a few vacation days left that I have to use up by the end of the year. So, how about if I come to see you at the end of next week.”

“Really, Kathleen? I would just love that.”

“Ok, Mom I have a lunch date with one of my friends and I have to get a shower and get dressed and drive across town. I’ll call you next week and let you know the details. I love you, Mom.”

“I love you too, Kathleen.”

“Bye, Mom talk to you soon.”

As Kathleen hangs up the phone, she realizes that her Aunt Merry gave her a special gift and that was the realization that life is short. And you have to let the people you love know that you love them.

Kathleen takes the steps two at a time and gets ready to go out and meet her friend for lunch. Her heart felt light. And she hasn’t felt this good in years. It’s going to be a good day.

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THE HOWLING

I wake up to howling; it sounds like Kodiak. Ordinarily, he’s a quiet dog, only howls, or barks if he senses danger. Danger is an everyday occurrence in Luckyshot, Alaska. I wearily rise out of my bed, reluctant to put my feet down on the icy cold wood floor. By now, the fire will have burned itself out. I lean over and search for my slippers blindly. I find one, but not the other, I look all over, but can’t find it, maybe Kodiak used it for a chew toy again. I drag myself over to my dresser and yank open the drawer that seems as reluctant as I am to face another freezing cold day. I grab a pair of heavy socks, hop on one foot, and pull the gray sock onto my now frozen toes.

Photo by David Mark-Pixabay

As I walk down the hallway towards the sound, I think about my mother. The reason I’m feeling so exhausted this morning, she developed a deep cough about three weeks ago that got steadily worse. But as stubborn as she is, she refuses to drive the fifty miles to the closest doctor. Well, she isn’t a doctor, but a county nurse practitioner who delivers the rare babies and set broken legs and arms. And she offers people in the nearby area what little comfort that she can muster up after living out here in God’s country. God’s country that’s a good one. If there’s a god, he’s forgotten about Lucky Shot a long, long time ago.

People came to this place to find good fortune when gold was found in Juneau. People slaved away here for years, but nothing was ever found but heartache and loneliness.

I quietly open the door to my mother’s room. She lies quietly enough in her bed, no longer coughing, which is a relief. Kodiak is no longer howling. He has his head resting on her right hand that is lying by her side. He doesn’t look up at me as I walk slowly over. I know she’s finally been set free, to wonder the universe. I’m happy for her.

I pat Kodiak on his warm soft fur and then hug him around his neck. As I look down at my mother, who no longer resembles the beautiful mother of my childhood. Her hand is cold and doesn’t respond to my touch. Her body is here, but her spirit fled this dreadful place. I pull the old quilt over her now still, and empty body. “Goodbye Mom, I’ll miss you every day of the rest of my life. I love you, please keep an eye out over me and Kodiak. “

I lead him out of the room, and over to the fireplace in the living room, and stoke the fire, throw on a few more logs, and slide down to the floor, with my arm around my only friend. I start to howl, and Kodiak joins in. I don’t know how long we stayed; until I run out of tears, and my throat is raw. I never felt this empty before.

I think about what will I do next, my mother has always led the way, made the decisions for both of us. Who will lead me now? I look around at the room, which now seems so empty and barren without my mother’s energy-burning brightly. Kodiak puts his head on my shoulder.

It’s at this moment I know what I had to do; pack up all my worldly goods, which can fit in my backpack and go into the town. Withdraw whatever monies are in my bank account and find out what can be done about my mother’s remains. Kodiak and I will move as far away as possible from Lucky Shot, Alaska, and population zero.

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WIND CHIMES

As Marie sits on the porch, the wind blows gently through the chimes. The sound doesn’t make Marie feel happy. Instead, there is an empty aching feeling that deepens. A tear slides down her face. She doesn’t bother to wipe it away.

Wind Chimes- Pixabay

The sound of the chimes brings back memories of her life with her husband, Harry. At times it feels as if he has been gone a hundred years ago. And at other times, she feels as if he might walk through the door at any moment. He would be wearing his red and white, Banlon striped shirt with a pack of Pall Malls in his pocket.

Harry Carlyle was a creative man. He had many hobbies, but by far, his favorite hobby was making wind chimes. He was a voracious reader. He read on every subject. And although Harry wasn’t a religious man. He never attended church, nor did Marie ever see him pray. He was a spiritual man. He studied all the religions of the world, including Christianity. At the end of his life, Harry seemed to believe in Buddhism and often quoted the teachings of Buddha.

Harry believed that bells and chimes attracted positive energy and repelled bad luck. He believed in living in the moment. that the past is gone, the future hasn’t happened yet. Harry began feverishly, making chimes, and they hung all over the entrances of their small home. On windy or rainy days, the chimes and bells would ring with great fervor. It set Marie’s teeth on edge. But Harry lived for these moments.

Harry and Marie were unable to have children, and Marie built her life around Harry. Content when he was home, but she felt isolated and lonely when he went out. Marie continuously checks the windows to see if Harry had come home.

Harry’s sudden and unexpected death paralyzed Marie. She feels an emptiness so deep it must travel through her body and reach the center of the earth. Marie made the decision after Harry’s funeral that she would go on as if Harry were still among the living.

The next day Marie arose at her usual time and washed her face and brushed her teeth, and made breakfast. She finished her household chores as usual. She even caught herself making comments to Harry out loud.

Months have passed since then: unfortunately, Marie has found it harder and harder to keep up the façade. One day in the middle of changing the sheets, Marie happens to find Harry’s lucky coin under the bed. It was from China, and it had a hole in the middle and some incomprehensible symbols on it.

Marie walks out to the front porch and slumps into the chair. She sits and looks out over the overgrown Rose garden. Oh, how Harry loved roses. She can barely look at them. She feels like pulling the rose bushes out by the roots. She considers her life. She doesn’t believe she has the strength to get through one more day. She feels empty and so alone.

Unexpectantly she hears a small voice call out, “Hello, hi, I just love your chimes. I walk by your house every day on my way to school. I’m in the fifth grade. This is the first time I’ve seen anyone on the porch.”

“Well, hello, I’m glad you like them. My husband, Harry, makes them. I mean used to make them.”

“Doesn’t he like to make them anymore?”

“My husband died several months ago. You know you are going to be late for school, you better go.”

“Oh, I have a few minutes. I go to the Ben Franklin School. I’m in the Special Classes.”

“What kind of Special class? What’s your name anyway?” I don’t remember seeing you in the neighborhood before?”

“My name is Lizzie. My family just moved here from Philadelphia a while back. My daddy had to change jobs.”

“What about this Special class of yours?”

“Oh, my mom told me it is because I have trouble learning. Sometimes when I try to read all the letters get mixed up. It has another name, but I can never remember it.”

“Oh, that must make it hard for you.”

“Sometimes, but there are kids in my class who have even worse problems. My Mom tells me to do my best. I better get going, or I will be late. See you later.”

“Bye Lizzie, it was nice talking to you.” Marie watches Lizzie walks and skips down the street. Marie takes a deep breath and is surprised that the heavy feeling in her chest feels lighter. She decides to work in her garden. “I have really neglected these roses, look at these aphids.”

While Marie works in the rose garden, she thinks about Harry. She knows he wouldn’t have wanted her to give up on life. She knows that she had put up a wall so she wouldn’t feel her grief.

The more she thinks about it, she realizes that she put that wall up a long time before Harry died. It began to happen when she made Harry the center of her existence. Harry had brought the world to her. Once he passed, she found herself alone inside the walls of her home and the walls she created.

For the first time since Harry died, the tears ran freely down her face. “Oh, Harry, what will I do? I don’t want to live the rest of my life alone.” That night as she lay in bed, she realizes that there was still hope for Marie McFarland. And realizes she hasn’t thought of herself as Marie McFarland since she was married thirty years ago.

The next morning after she gets out of bed, she gazes at herself in the bathroom mirror and says, “Marie, you don’t look too shabby for a sixty-something lady.” And a smile spreads across her face.

After breakfast, Marie keeps glancing out the window. She doesn’t realize at first what she’s looking for. Then she thinks of Lizzie with her big blue eyes and her long braids hanging down her back. And her crooked smile. At that moment, Marie hears tapping at the storm door. She finds Lizzie standing at the door with her hand thrust forward. “Hi, this is for you. I know it isn’t as good as your husband’s, but I hope you might like it. I made it with all the broken colored glass my father gave me. He makes stained glass. It’s a wind chime.”

Marie swallows hard, because of the lump in her throat. “Lizzie, this is the nicest gift I have ever received in my life. Could you stop by for some cookies before you go to school tomorrow? What’s your favorite kind? I’ll make them for you?”

“Oatmeal raisin is my absolute favorite I love them, I could eat a million of them.”

“Oatmeal raisin it is then, I’ll see you tomorrow. You know you can call me Marie, that’s what all my friends call me.”

RAIN THEN TEARS

I barely make it on time to the Greyhound Depot to catch my bus. It starts to rain about five blocks from the depot. I‘m thoroughly soaked through by the time I arrive there. My hair is dripping wet, and rain has somehow found its way inside my jacket. I run towards the bus depot; my backpack is bouncing up and down on my back like a snare drum. The bouncing has the added effect of inducing a migraine headache. I step onto the bus and hand the bus driver my ticket. “Oh, sorry, I’m sorry. I got a late start. “

Greyhound Bus-Peter Wolf-Pixabay

I take one look at the bus, and I see it is packed to the gills. “Shit, shit, shit,” I look at the driver and shrug my shoulders. “There aren’t any seats left; I purchased this ticket two weeks ago.”

“Yes, mam, there is. It’s in the second to last row on your left, next to the window.”

“Oh yeah, sorry, I see it. Thanks.”

I make my way halfway down the center aisle and trip over some guy’s foot that’s sticking out. He all but shouts at me, “Hey lady, lookout, are you blind or what?”

“Oh, sorry, I didn’t see it sticking out. I didn’t expect someone to have their foot sticking out in the aisle so they could trip someone. And I give him one of my biggest smiles and flutter my lashes at him. And walk on. I mutter under my breath, “asshole.”

I notice as I cruise down the center aisle that all the other passengers have their heads down for some reason. Huh, I think what’s this all about? I try and catch someone’s attention, but no one looks my way. Then I think, oh maybe they’re all mad because I was late. Oh well, nothing I can do about that now.

I finally make it down the gauntlet of sad, distracted faces to my empty seat. I hear a weird noise. First, there is a sniffing sound. I think someone has a cold. And then I realize it’s the person in the seat next to mine. Great, now I’m going to catch a cold for crying out loud. I look at her. Tears are streaming down her flushed cheeks. I hear three loud sniffs, and then the crying starts and steadily increases until she is full-out sobbing. I take a step back. I look from left to right. I see no other course of action, no place else to go. I look at the people on the right and the left. Then I do an about-face and look at the passengers in the middle and the front.

About half of them have plugged in their headphones and have their heads down. The rest are staring out the windows. Probably wish they were anywhere but here on this stupid bus ride to hell. I turn back around and look at my seat.

“Excuse me,” I say to the crying young woman. “But this is my seat next to you. Could you move over so I can sit down?”

She slowly raises the armrest and blows her nose a couple of times on a tissue she has tucked up her sweater sleeve. I hear a honk, honk. I think, dear god, what is that noise? Then, I realize it’s the young woman blowing her nose. She slowly gets up, and I mean slowly, and moves over to the window seat. She doesn’t say a word, nada, anything at all. She just slides over and continues crying, with her head hanging low. Her chin is almost resting on her chest.

I pull off my backpack and unsnap one of the side pockets and pull out my headphones. I put my pack on the rack above my head with some difficulty. I’m not the tallest person in the world, and I have short arms to boot. I finally shove it in and plop down in my seat. It’s only 7:55 am, and I’m exhausted. And there’s a thirteen-hour and fifteen-minute bus trip ahead of me. Oh well, I, think I’ll just take a nap, and that way I can get some rest and kill some time.

And that’s when I realize that I don’t have my migraine medicine with me. And I know that this is going to be the most interminable trip of my life. It was a mistake flopping down in my seat, too, as that has made my migraine pain even worse. I start to feel nauseous. My head is pounding as if it might explode. I begin worrying about how often they clean the bathroom on these Greyhound buses.

Somehow, I manage to fall asleep over the road noises and over the sobbing of my bus companion. As I’m about to drift off, I think, what in the world has happened to this girl to make her cry like this, non-stop and within hearing distance of everyone on the bus? And also, why am I so unlucky? Why did I end up sitting next to this weeping young woman? And then I realize it was my fault for being late leaving and being the last person to get on the bus. And that’s all I remember until I woke up about an hour later.

As I started to wake up, I hear a weird noise. I don’t immediately remember where I am. And then I hear a honking. Honk, honk, honk. It’s my seat companion. Blowing her nose once again. Dear god, is she still crying, I think? I look over at her. Her eyes are so swollen from crying. I can hardly see her eyes. Her nose is red. She starts pressing her fisted hands on her eyes and rubbing them back and forth. I stare at her. She seems to have forgotten that I’m sitting next to her. I try and decide what the best course of action is. Short of throwing myself out the window. Or at the very least, getting on a different bus at our first rest stop.

I stare at her red and puffy eyes and think. What would I want someone to do if the circumstances were reversed, and I was the one who couldn’t stop crying? Would I prefer people just ignored me or someone asks me if I’m alright?

“Excuse me; my name is Marilyn Carter. I know it’s none of my business, but you seem so upset. Is there anything I can do to help you?”

She looks over at me with a surprised expression on her face that says, where did you come from? She is still sniffling, and tears are running down her cheeks, but she isn’t sobbing anymore. I see her gulp. And then she clears her throat. “Oh, I didn’t even notice you were sitting there. And the short answer is no; I’m not alright. Four days ago, I was laid off from my job. Well, they called it a layoff]. But I won’t be called back. I loved that job. It was the first job I had where I felt I was making a real difference. I moved away from Raleigh to take the job. A place where I had spent my whole life. All my friends live there, and so does my family.”

As she mentions family, she starts crying again. I wait for her to continue. “And that morning before I got to work, I got a call from my father. He told me that my mother had a heart attack, and passed away. So, today I’m going home for the funeral. And while I’m there, I’m going to decide if I should go back to Philadelphia and look for another job there. Or if I should just go and pack up all my stuff in my apartment in Philly and move back to Raleigh and try to find a job there.”

“What did you say your name was, dear?”

“My name? Oh, of course, I’m sorry. I told you my whole life story, and you don’t even know who I am. My name is Candace Mickleton. I’m not in the habit of crying in public. I know this sounds dramatic, but I feel like my heart is broken. It hurts to keep breathing. Just the very act of breathing is painful. I love my mother so much. I called her every day. She always believed in me even when I struggled for so long, trying to find out what I wanted to do in my life. She was always there for me, telling me she knew I will be successful and not to ever lose faith in myself. And then to lose my job so unexpectedly. It’s too much. I don’t feel like I can go on. I can’t think of a reason why I should go on.”

“I hope you don’t mind if I call you by your first name Candace. Please call me, Marilyn.”

“First, please let me say how sorry I am about your mother passing away. I remember when my mother died and how her loss made me feel broken, empty. I couldn’t imagine going the rest of my life without seeing her. Every day for weeks, the first thing I thought about was my mother and how I would never see her again or hear her voice, how I would never hear her tell me how proud she was of me. And how much she loved me.”

“Over time during the day, I started thinking about how my mother would not have wanted me to feel this bereft because of her. She only wanted the best for me. And whenever I started feeling bad, I thought about how lucky I was to have such a wonderful mother. And I started to do things that made me feel happy; I concentrated on all the good things I had in my life. I moved forward in my life instead of being stuck in that moment of loss. I decided that from that moment forward, I would be happy and successful in my life because that is what my mother would have wanted for me.”

“As for losing your job well, that was bad timing. Perhaps you need this time to heal from your mother’s loss. Take the time to recover and consider what you want your future to be. You said that your job was the first job you loved and were doing well. You could use that experience as a springboard to something even better. While you are in Raleigh, you’ll have the opportunity to talk to all your old friends and relatives. And who knows one of them might be aware of an opportunity in the Raleigh-Durham area. That you aren’t aware since, as you said, you haven’t lived here in quite a while.”

Candace gradually stops crying as she listens to Marilyn. And she realizes she’s right. Her mother wouldn’t have wanted her to stop living her life. She would want her to move forward into her future with her optimism. “Thank you, Marylyn, that is what I needed to hear. I feel like I can breathe again. My mother would want me to go on with my life and be happy and successful. I don’t know what I’m going to do about finding a job. But I will talk to my family and get their advice. I love living in Philadelphia. I have made so many friends there. And there is always something going on downtown. On the other hand, I don’t like the idea of my father living alone. “

“Candace, why don’t you give it a few days and then talk to your father? He is probably in shock right now. You might find that he is perfectly capable of taking care of himself. And wouldn’t want you to give up your life in the North East. Since he knows how happy you are there.”

“Thanks again Marilyn I’m so lucky that you were late getting to the bus station. And that you ended up sitting next to me.”

“Thanks, Candace, life has a way of bringing the right people into our lives when we need them. I think I’m going to take another little nap now. But if you like it at the rest stop what say I buy you a nice lunch. I know I didn’t take time to eat breakfast, and you probably didn’t, either.” And with that, Marilyn’s eyes close, and she falls fast asleep and begins snoring loudly.

Candace looks at Marilyn and smiles. And closes her own eyes and falls fast asleep as well.

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WRITE ON

Writer's Blog by Susan A. Culver

Tag Archives: loss

THE BIRDS IN MY LIFE, A BIRD”S EYE VIEW

MY FIRST BEST FRIEND, MRS. MCFARLAND

YOU NEVER KNOW WHAT IS COMING AROUND THE BEND

THE GARDEN OF TEARS

THE DAY WILL COME

TICK-TOCK, TICK TOCK

Unexpected Surprises Often Come in Small Packages

THE HOWLING

WIND CHIMES

RAIN THEN TEARS