Our Recent Vacation Pics!

 See them all here, in my Flickr gallery!

My First Published Article!

I just got word that one of the articles I submitted to the mortuary trade magazines WILL BE PUBLISHED! 

I’m very excited, as you might guess!

FICTION – “WHY” I Hate You (First Draft)

NOTE FROM AUTHOR:  This is a first draft.

TUESDAY
I couldn’t sleep last night.  Are you happy?  I paced for over an hour and then I went to bed.  I couldn’t get to sleep, so I paced some more.  I turned off Conan because the show sucked (didn’t we always say that?) and then I flipped through my iPod for a few minutes, looking for just one song that didn’t remind me of your sorry ass.I comforted myself with the story of your leaving.  You didn’t answer your phone all afternoon.  I was trying to tell you a funny story that Stephanie had told me.  But you weren’t answering.  I just told myself that you were busy with work.  You’d get back to me.

When I got home, you didn’t answer my shouts from the front hall.  I needed help with a few bags of quilt scraps I’d gotten from the ladies in my craft group.  I called out for you again when one of the bags sprung a “leak” and deposited small fabric pieces all over the tile floor.  I pushed them into a pile with my shoe and kicked the door shut, cursing your name under my breath.  The whole time I stumbled toward the kitchen, I didn’t take any notice that the television was gone, the wires and plugs spilling out of the entertainment center like intestines.

When I ventured upstairs, I found no sign of you.  Literally.  Everything that said “Jonathan” was gone.  Your valet was missing from the dresser.  Your alarm clock was gone.  I began to shake as I headed for the closet, knowing that burglars could have taken the other things, but an empty clothes rack meant only one thing.  The only thing left of your clothing was that snowman sweater I bought you (I knew you didn’t like it, even though you smiled halfheartedly and modeled it for me) and a workout shirt with the price tag still on that you hoped to fit into “one day.”  Then I imagined what you’ll look like in ten years, when you’ve eaten your way through the cookie aisle of Publix because you’re so depressed about leaving me and that shirt won’t even fit over your head, let alone your distended paunch.  I went to sleep with a smile last night. WEDNESDAY
Today wasn’t so easy.  I was cursing the heavens because you’re gone and consoled myself with a pint of Godiva dark chocolate ice cream.  And maybe just a few KitKats.  I curled up on the couch and watched an old movie.  I can’t remember the title.  It had some really, really white woman in it who kept crying and asking some man (Boyfriend?  Husband?) why he kept hurting her.  Didn’t he know that she was a woman, with needs?  I yelled at her that she was lucky to have any man at all.I still couldn’t sleep.  Nothing new there.  But I remembered your leaving differently this time. 

No one knew that the gas line had sprung a leak.  You were just passing by that apartment house when an explosion rocked the building.  You helped several people get out of the smoldering building and were looking for the fire fighters when you heard it:  the voice of a small child.  I imagine that it must have sounded like Brittany, your niece, to you.Witnesses say you sprung into action, taking the front steps three at a time.  And you were gone.

They didn’t see you for a few tense minutes.  One woman screamed and buried her head in her hands.  Then there was a crash of glass on the second floor.  Your sooty head pushed out, pointing toward clean air.  You yelled a smoke-clogged order to a man standing nearby.  He stretched out his hands and you dropped a small child into them.  The bystanders motioned and screamed and begged for you to jump as well.  You were ready to do it, when your head turned back toward the window opening.  I imagine that your ears perked like a little dog’s as you heard what must have sounded like other cries for help.  Then you were gone again.

The fire investigator’s report listed three deaths.  The other two were children.  I imagine that you went with them to ease their journey.  Tonight, I fell asleep clutching a picture of my hero.

SATURDAY
Today would have been our fifth anniversary, you ungrateful bastard.  You didn’t even think about me when you took off with my hair dresser.  Most women would cry, but I just know that Rafael can’t compare to me.  He can barely do a good highlighting job.  You’re a jerk.

THURSDAY
The only way I got through today was to say to myself “Jonathan who?”

FRIDAY
The autopsy report came back today.  It’s in a bright blue envelope with the Medical Examiner’s seal on it.  I haven’t opened it.  I don’t know if I care.  I can make up the “HOW” of your death.  Earlier today, you died trying to use an electric blanket to warm yourself in the bathtub.  A few weeks ago you were gored by a sequined Asian elephant that escaped from the circus.  Some days, when I’d rather not think of you as dead, I tell myself that you’re on a spiritual quest or that you’re in the Witness Protection Program because you testified against a mob boss.  The “HOW” is easy.  If I open the envelope, I will know “HOW.”  It could be a massive heart attack, as the doctor first guessed, or a drug overdose, as that rude nurse suggested.  Maybe they’ll find you were poisoned, and I’ll have to be the widow who campaigns for justice for her dead husband. Until I open it, there are as many “HOWS” as I can conjure up.  What I can’t possibly imagine is the “WHY.”  Why did you leave so soon?  Did you want to go?  Did you try to stay?  When the white light came, did you look back?  Did you ask them when I’d get to join you?

I don’t think the coroner can answer those questions.  So I think I’ll leave that report for another day.  I’m missing you a lot right now.  And I know I still love you, even if you left without saying goodbye or explaining yourself.  Tonight I think you’ll die pushing a little old lady out of the path of speeding cement mixer.  Or maybe you’ll divert an asteroid that threatens our planet, like Bruce Willis in that movie.  Maybe, just maybe, tonight will be the first time in over a year that I drift easily off to sleep and finally get to see you in my dreams.

NOTE FROM AUTHOR:  This is a first draft.

She said, “You should write that down!” So I DID!

I knew I needed to start my own blog when I related the same story to the eighth different person in the same day.  Of course, the story changed a little along the way, and to be fair, the fourth telling was funnier than all the others.  So here we are.  See you again soon!