Death is the absence
of life. It is the white space on a painting, an empty hospital bed, a silent
room, a closet of clothes. Death is the extinction of a species of only one. I
closed my eyes. I woke, and he was gone. They took his body in the night. They
came for the bed and the wheelchair by noon. We reduced his life to a photo and
two columns in the newspaper. We sang his favorite songs. We spoke, “he was
good friend, a wonderful father and an average golfer.”
Emotion is the currency of all good writers. But what if there is no emotion? What if death brings not regret, or anger, or longing, or even peace, but rather echoes? Did he call my name? I turned my head. Was that him, walking into his office?
Where is the salty taste of my tears? I become white space.
Can someone please
tell me how to feel?
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Obsession is my natural state.
As an undergraduate in Electrical Engineering at Texas A&M University, I was required to take a Mechanical Engineering course where we analyzed the forces in a truss.
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I love poetry. I relish language that paints a picture in my head, leaves a song in my heart and gently touches my soul. But how do I incorporate poetic methods into my writing? And more importantly, how do I train my ear?
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Kidd Wadsworth writes to bring to life our magical, fire-breathing world. She believes we are super heroes. It’s time we put on our capes.
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Many years ago I dreamed up a prissy, meticulously neat, rigidly moral, character called Rebecca Howard.
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Kidd Wadsworth writes to bring to life our magical, fire-breathing world. She believes we are super heroes. It’s time we put on our capes.
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Powerful and beautifully written. And I think most of us have been there.
Hi Veronica, I’m still learning WordPress. I wasn’t certain you received my reply to your thoughtful comment. Thank you, Kidd
Yes, death brings absence – that space where once there was something, someone. Your tribute is lovely and moving.
Thank you, Dianna
The hollow emptiness one feels after losing a parent, is as individual as a fingerprint. When I lost my parents, each bore a different melancholy. Thank you sharing this.
Thank you for your understanding comment. I was sitting in the church like an ice cube, while everyone around me was crying.