Tag Archives: sadness

Scene From A Park

Photo Credit James Lee
Photo Credit James Lee

Writing 101:  Point of View

A man and a woman walk through the park together, holding hands. They pass an old woman sitting on a bench. The old woman is knitting a small, red sweater. The man begins to cry.  Write this scene.  Today’s twist: write the scene from three different points of view: from the perspective of the man, then the woman, and finally the old woman.

We went for a stroll one afternoon in the park. I thought it might be our last outing of the season before the snow came, or even the last for the year until spring, supposing I survived the winter. Possibly the last park stroll of my life. I didn’t know. There were no birds to feed, the geese had all gone south. Leaves were falling and skittering across our path in the brisk wind and there was a faint smell of burning in the autumn air. Cold enough for a jacket buttoned up and for noses and cheeks to tingle. So I was surprised when we came across the old woman sitting alone on her bench, bare hands on cold steel needles. She looked up but the little clicking sounds the needles made as she worked bright red yarn around them never faltered. Her steely grey eyes peered straight through me as if I wasn’t even there. I let go of Sally’s hand and roughly brushed the tears I couldn’t control from my cold cheeks. What the hell? I never used to cry. But my emotions had gone haywire lately. I wanted immediately to lash out at a perfect stranger, shake my fist, yell at her wrinkled old face. Look at me, I’M STILL HERE! I’m not gone yet. And it won’t be today. Today is NOT a good day to die. I looked away, wiped my palms on my jeans, and grabbed Sally’s hand. And then we just kept walking.

There was such a sadness in Sam that last fall we spent together. And so much anger. I honestly don’t know how I’d handle a similar diagnosis, but when he got the bad news, I decided the right thing for him to do was to keep on living. No giving up, no wallowing. I wanted him to be grateful for every single day he had left and happy to live all of them. But his moods were just all over the place. Of course I understood why, but still it was hard for me to cope with the intensity and the fierceness of his feelings. The funniest things would set him off. Like the day we went for a walk in the park. Everything was so beautiful and colourful and crisp. I’ve always loved Indian summer. There was a little old grandma sitting on one of the park benches busily knitting a child’s bright red sweater. She glanced up at us as we approached and I returned her sweet smile. It vanished though, when she looked at Sam. Because he was crying. Deep wrenching sobs, although later he’d claim it was just a few tears from the cold air and some pent-up emotion and naturally he didn’t want to talk about it. He dug his fists into his eyes, and then he grabbed my hand again and almost wrenched my shoulder out of its socket pulling me away. That poor old grandma, I’m sure he must have given her a crazy scare. And poor me. But mostly, poor, poor, dear Sam.

I was never one to sit at home by myself with nobody to talk to and nothing new to see, so as long as the weather stayed decent and my legs were willing, I’d pack up whatever I was working on and shuffle my old bones over to the park across the way. The bench I liked the best was under a big old red maple tree, and that fall it was just gorgeous. Red as the little sweater I had decided to knit for the dog I didn’t have. Once in a while the odd curious person would take the time to stop and chat. I lived for that. I used to tell fortunes and predict the future in my younger days, but those skills must fade away with age and lack of practice, because I got pretty rusty. Still, I liked to give it a whirl whenever I had the chance. Mostly I’d come up with nothing much to write home about. So when that young couple walked up the path it was like I’d been struck by psychic lightning. Her sadness mixed up with bewildered confusion, his rage manifested in clenched fists and choked back tears. Their combined unhappiness almost bowled me over. There was so much I wanted to say to them about hope and faith and nothing written in stone,  but they didn’t stop. Maybe it’s just as well. They were both already resigned to a future they believed they were powerless to change.  Too bad no one likes a little old lady who interferes.

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Love Letter to My Life

From Therapy Room on Facebook
From Therapy Room on Facebook

Dear Life of Mine,

I don’t know what I’d do without you.  Well, I guess deep down I do know that without you there would simply be no me.  That would suck.  I know sometimes I say that YOU suck, but of course I don’t mean it.  Not really.

Mostly I love you to pieces.

I love you when you’re busy and crazy and tell me to hurry up, but I love you more when you’re laid back and mellow and lazy. I love how you make me breathe the air, see and touch and hear and know the incredible beauty of all the other lives around me.

I love that you are funny and strange and complicated.  I love your ups and downs and detours.  I love your crazy joy.  I even love your sadness.  Your bad bits teach me to embrace and appreciate your happy side and all the good things that fill you up and make you so worth living.

I love that you are beautiful and good.  Sometimes I think you’re hard, but then I look around and see others who are not so lucky and not so blessed.

I am so very grateful to have you. I know how fragile you are, and I try every day to do the right things so that you’ll be around for a long, long time.

I know one day we’ll have to part.  But let’s not let fear and worry kill the fun we’re having in each small moment, okay?  I know you will always give me a kick in the ass when I need it and that’s okay. I will still love you with all my heart.  And all my might. For however long we have together.

I love you, my wonderful life, no matter how you may change in the blink of an eye; right here, right now, just the way you are.

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Prompts For The Promptless:  Sometimes called a billet-doux, or a love letter, a love note is a personal letter to a loved one expressing affection.  The loved one does not necessarily have to be animate, human, alive, or known.

Weekly Writing Challenge:  Blogging Events

My Superhero Power!

Slayer of Clouds of Doom! I would point my finger at those stupid rain clouds that have been following Woeful Wally and Pitiful Pat around for practically their entire lives and replace them with mega doses of rainbows and sunshine that they will never be able to get rid of no matter how hard they try.

Eliminating ALL sadness is not what I’m talking about – this super power would be directed mainly at those wretched souls who are a little too attached to their own misery. “Stop wallowing!” I would cry. “GETOVERYOURSELF!” And POOF. That ugly black cloud is gone and suddenly the many blessings in their lives are no longer invisible to them.

Maybe I’ll call myself Anti-Eeyore Woman. And “CHEERUPDAMIT!” could be another one of my battle cries.

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