There’s a lot of people who think death is the end. They think we vanish without a trace, leaving nothing but a rotting corpse that has as much to do with who we were as the molding shirt we were wearing. Those people have never heard the echo of the dead. The last thought someone ever had before they die, that stays rooted to the place almost like a tree planted in their honor.
Month: November 2017
Cruising at 33,000 feet without a pilot
“This is your Captain speaking, welcome on-board Delta Flight 763 with service from Los Angeles to New York. We are currently third in line for take-off and are expected to be in the air in approximately seven minutes time. At that point all personal electronic devices will be prohibited, so if you want to call your loved ones and tell them goodbye, please do so now.”
This town doesn’t exist on any map
Take the I-87 north from Queensbury, Vermont. Then the 28 up through North Creek. Keep going, if you want to take the route that I did. Keep going, and you’ll pass right through the town that doesn’t exist on any map.
Our extra son was for experiments
Imagine being lost in the open ocean, frantically bailing water out of a sinking raft which refills exactly as fast you empty it. You will never be found, never be saved. Sooner or later you’ll need to rest and cease your constant vigilance, but you’re still fighting the waves for as long as you can. However hopeless, the terror of that dark water is more real than everything else in your dying world. That’s what being a mother was like to me.
The Stranger Upstairs
3,400 square feet, marble counters, Brazilian walnut hardwood floors, and the strangest stipulation I’ve ever seen on a real-estate listing.
I was conscious while they opened me
If I told you it was dark here, you wouldn’t understand. Darkness means something different to you than it does to me. A flip of a switch or push of a button and the world will materialize around you. The blackest night contains glimmering reflections or shades of varying depth which give context to your despair.
My son usually says goodnight, but this time he said goodbye.
My four year old son and I have a night-time ritual. Step one: turn off his cartoons and pray he won’t wail loud enough for the neighbors to think I’m torturing him. Step two: sedate the wild beasty with the “Goodnight Moon” story. He’ll be crawling all over the bed at the beginning, but I just keep reading slower and softer while I wait for him to wind down. Then with barely a whisper, I’ll say:
Read MoreMy son usually says goodnight, but this time he said goodbye.
I was raised by the man who kidnapped me
The people I live with aren’t my parents. They aren’t even related to my parents, as far as I can tell. They’re just people—cold, ruthless, angry people who wanted to have a daughter of their own and didn’t care whose lives they destroyed to get one.
The wounds that words have caused
I’ve made the horrible mistake of falling in love with someone who doesn’t exist, and it hurts like you wouldn’t believe.