Debbie, your writing here is so powerful and moving. It tore my heart, remembering caring for my mama and my dad before they died… and my own recent fears of dying. Then reading about the deer screaming—I haven’t heard that sound but I have heard a mountain lion scream—like a woman getting her throat slit. My husband, Benjamin/Bastiaan had nightmares of Vietnam and often woke up screaming. No stories, no photos, except for the ones of him and the way his eyes grew more haunted and sad. Thank you for your words.
Hi Barbara, I responded to your comment this morning but somehow its not showing! Anyway, I just want to thank you for coming here and sharing your experiences. Caring for dying parents is so heartbreaking. That screaming deer has haunted my dreams for some time now, but writing about it helped. My husband never had nightmares of Nam, but he doesn't like to talk about it or watch war movies. I hope you are feeling better now and your fears of dying subsiding. Take care, my friend. And thank you again for reading and sharing. It means a lot to me.
Reading your Substack about writing and acceptance/rejection, I thought about the pile of pages that were supposed to be ready for submission but which I haven’t touched for more than a month. And then I read your poem “Thirteen Ways of Looking at Dying…” and once again it tore my heart out. Oh love, thank you for writing and putting it out there for me to read! 💙
Thank you for sharing that with me, Barbara. Submission can be a daunting process. Sometimes taking a break is helpful. I hope you will push through any reluctance you might have though to keep getting your work ready to go, and find the joy in the writing process itself. Your comment here and encouragement means so much to me. If there’s anything I can do to help or encourage you in your writing, please let me know.
Deborah, isn't it interesting that we are so aware of this thing called death and dying yet as a species are the only animal that consciously kills other species that threaten our fragile existence. I admire your prose for its honest and vivid vignette's which allow the reader to be in the room with you and your dying mother. I felt her stare, heard her 'there there' and 'you know what you are doing'. Some roller coaster aye! Reading 'Tinkers' again.
Thank you, Iam, I appreciate that. I need to read Tinkers again too. Although I have his newest book on Kindle and probably should check that out first, to see if it's created in that same lyrical, episodic way.
Moving. I was my mother's nurse for over a year during senior year in high school and after. She rallied but was bedridden for her last 15 years. The "worst thing that had happened to me" is a paraphrase of something my mother says to me during a hospital visit during her last stay. This made me feel close to her on what would have been her 86th birthday. Thank you for sharing.
That must have been hard, nursing a mother at such a young age. Yes, that phrases about worst thing really stung, her sense of disbelief and horror. Thank you for sharing your memories.
I love the part where her death is likened to the plums, their skins opening and releasing the sweet juice. This encourages me to try some new ways of writing about my own parents. Their strange lives, culminating in their sudden, mysterious exit.
Thanks, David. It was really interesting experimenting with that kind of writing. I'd been reading that one way to develop as a writer is to try writing in the style of different authors you admire, and I've found that helpful in my own writing practice. You've really intrigued me with that bit about your parents strange lives and mysterious exit! I'd love to hear more about that.
Thanks, David, for sharing this. It sounds like there was a deep connection between your parents, even though they divorced. And, yes, writing about them may be the only way to really understand them and yourself. That's what I have to do to fully know or deeply understand anything. It seems to pull things up that I never knew I knew.
Debbie, your writing here is so powerful and moving. It tore my heart, remembering caring for my mama and my dad before they died… and my own recent fears of dying. Then reading about the deer screaming—I haven’t heard that sound but I have heard a mountain lion scream—like a woman getting her throat slit. My husband, Benjamin/Bastiaan had nightmares of Vietnam and often woke up screaming. No stories, no photos, except for the ones of him and the way his eyes grew more haunted and sad. Thank you for your words.
B
Hi Barbara, I responded to your comment this morning but somehow its not showing! Anyway, I just want to thank you for coming here and sharing your experiences. Caring for dying parents is so heartbreaking. That screaming deer has haunted my dreams for some time now, but writing about it helped. My husband never had nightmares of Nam, but he doesn't like to talk about it or watch war movies. I hope you are feeling better now and your fears of dying subsiding. Take care, my friend. And thank you again for reading and sharing. It means a lot to me.
Beautiful piece, Deborah!
Thank you, Paul. That means a lot to me, admiring your own poetry so much.
Reading your Substack about writing and acceptance/rejection, I thought about the pile of pages that were supposed to be ready for submission but which I haven’t touched for more than a month. And then I read your poem “Thirteen Ways of Looking at Dying…” and once again it tore my heart out. Oh love, thank you for writing and putting it out there for me to read! 💙
Thank you for sharing that with me, Barbara. Submission can be a daunting process. Sometimes taking a break is helpful. I hope you will push through any reluctance you might have though to keep getting your work ready to go, and find the joy in the writing process itself. Your comment here and encouragement means so much to me. If there’s anything I can do to help or encourage you in your writing, please let me know.
Thanks, Debbie! I hope I haven’t lost the motivation completely. When I get back to it, I’ll let you know! 💙
Deborah, isn't it interesting that we are so aware of this thing called death and dying yet as a species are the only animal that consciously kills other species that threaten our fragile existence. I admire your prose for its honest and vivid vignette's which allow the reader to be in the room with you and your dying mother. I felt her stare, heard her 'there there' and 'you know what you are doing'. Some roller coaster aye! Reading 'Tinkers' again.
Thank you, Iam, I appreciate that. I need to read Tinkers again too. Although I have his newest book on Kindle and probably should check that out first, to see if it's created in that same lyrical, episodic way.
Thanks for the tip on Harding's latest which I'll get around to. Stack of books getting higher.
Moving. I was my mother's nurse for over a year during senior year in high school and after. She rallied but was bedridden for her last 15 years. The "worst thing that had happened to me" is a paraphrase of something my mother says to me during a hospital visit during her last stay. This made me feel close to her on what would have been her 86th birthday. Thank you for sharing.
That must have been hard, nursing a mother at such a young age. Yes, that phrases about worst thing really stung, her sense of disbelief and horror. Thank you for sharing your memories.
I love the part where her death is likened to the plums, their skins opening and releasing the sweet juice. This encourages me to try some new ways of writing about my own parents. Their strange lives, culminating in their sudden, mysterious exit.
Thanks, David. It was really interesting experimenting with that kind of writing. I'd been reading that one way to develop as a writer is to try writing in the style of different authors you admire, and I've found that helpful in my own writing practice. You've really intrigued me with that bit about your parents strange lives and mysterious exit! I'd love to hear more about that.
I will hopefully expand on what I have already written about them, and get back to you! For now, I will just say:
1) They were born two months apart, during the Great Depression.
2) They were together from the time they were 15 until they were 40.
3) After 20 years of marriage they divorced.
4) They lived far away from one another for 37 years, and died within four months of each other.
5) Their only grandchild (my son) was born three years after their demise.
6) Only recently have I begun to understand anything at all about them.
7) It’s almost as though they never existed. Simultaneously, it seems that they still exist.
8) Writing about them is probably the only way I can begin to figure out more about them. (And about myself?)
So, thank you! I want to look for the Harding novel also….
canyonwrenvibes@gmail.com
Thanks, David, for sharing this. It sounds like there was a deep connection between your parents, even though they divorced. And, yes, writing about them may be the only way to really understand them and yourself. That's what I have to do to fully know or deeply understand anything. It seems to pull things up that I never knew I knew.
That it does.