Experiment
I mentioned to y’all that i’m starting work on a book about our adoption journey. It loosely falls into the genre of memoir, so I’ve been practicing with that a little bit.
I thought I’d share with you a short piece that I posted as an exercise on The Write Practice recently. This is quite a departure from what I’ve been posting lately, but I have a special orphan-related surprise for you on Saturday. Stay tuned.
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Her hospital bed fills the end of the narrow room, a faint dent where her body had recently withered. The formal space once reserved for holidays and cocktails before dinner is now occupied by an oxygen machine and clipboards and pill bottles.
Outside the window, a red bird flits to the feeder. The seeds he seeks will never be refilled. Soon, the birds will figure this out and stop coming, the first in a long line of changes that will happen after she is dead.
I gather a couple of books and the photo of my mother with her five brothers from her bed stand. I choose a small vase from the china closet and clip a few of the first daffodils from her garden, wrapping their stems carefully in a wet paper towel and then plastic. Final pieces of home.
I wonder if these things will make a difference to her. I wonder if she’ll know they are there, or if I’m bringing them for my own peace of mind.
She wanted to die at home. But we can’t handle that. We can’t take care of her anymore, and we all know that if she dies there we’ll never be able to sit in that room again.
Dad won’t be able to live in the house anymore. And that’s not fair to him, is it? He lived in that house before he met her. The fell in love, married, raised kids in that house. He’ll spend the next six months, or year, or two just working in the garage.
Because none of us can bear to remember her slowly dying in the living room.
Have you ever lost someone close to you? Leave a comment…
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About Christine
I am a writer, a project manager, and a corporate refugee with a heart for orphans around the world. My two daughters were adopted from Ukraine at ages 12 and 14. I post about writing, chasing dreams, and making a difference in the world, and sometimes I share fun snippets of fiction in-progress.
Beautiful writing. My Dad passed away from cancer when I was 14, in our living room. My Mom has now become a widow for the second time, and her husband also passed away at their home. I have often wondered how incredibly hard it has been for her to always have those reminders.
I am looking forward to your exciting news and watching you go through the process of writing a book.
Thanks, Tammy…I’m just trying to imagine how difficult that would be for your mom. That’s strength there! We were blessed to have an amazing Hospice facility close by, and they were far better able to care for Mom than we were in that final week.
Wow, Christine! I’m salivating for more! You are a very gifted writer…that’s why we all have made your site our home! Can’t wait for your book! More importantly, what gives with Saturday? (I wonder if you’re doing what I think you are! Very excited even though I don’t know why yet! :^D)
Similar to Tammy’s tragic loss, my mother died of cancer when I was 14 years old. She was 43, less than a week from her 44th birthday. My father died four years later at age 51 from cancer as well.
In 1999, at the age of 29, my best friend died of cancer.
Last September, after wasting literally DECADES not wanting children of my own for fear of dying while they are young, I was diagnosed with renal cell carcinoma. It was caught early, ironically, since I’m such a paranoid mess about getting cancer! (All those years of being a hypochondriac finally paid off!)
I was already doing so, but now I have reason to look over my shoulder for the rest of my life and do my best to make sure I’m around for my two boys. Being a 41 year old father of 2 toddlers is hard enough without worrying about cancer, too!
But I’m STILL not over the loss of the three closest people in my life.
The fourth one? Well, I MARRIED her! And she’s not going anywhere!
Skottydog, sounds like you have a great book inside YOU as well! I so enjoyed your style of writing and the poignant story you shared.
Thanks, Becky. I appreciate your kind words. Christine DOES have a way of bringing this stuff out in us, doesn’t she?
Wow, Scott. I don’t think we ever get over losses like that. Can’t imagine losing the three people closest to you to cancer, and then deal with it yourself. Just wow.
Christine, I loved how you helped the reader jump right into the scene without any preliminary introductions and let the facts weave their way in gradually.
Also loved the line, “Final pieces of home.” So evocative.
You go, girl!
Thanks! That means a lot coming from you!
Absolutely beautiful and captivating! I really like this writing style that you are working with! I want more, more, more!
Glad you enjoyed it…I want to write more, more, more like this too!
I sincerely regret not having been there for you when she was dying.
I truly appreciate that. I’m just glad we found each other again.
You have an amazing gift! I’m SO jealous!
Thanks, Janis! The beauty of any creative gift is that there’s room for all of us!