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HONORABLE MENTION - ENTRY FEE DIVISION - 2009 FFW ANNUAL ESSAY CONTEST
Strictly Private and Personal
by Lee Green Pope
Many years ago I was an invisible writer, I just never thought about it
that way. It all began when the love of my life died after a lengthy
illness. It was very hard back then to say the word, "died." It was
easier to say, "He passed away." I guess you could call that "invisible
speech."
After everyone left, after they quit bringing in food, after they quit
calling, I was left alone. I soon realized that I was telling everyone,
even the clerk at the grocery store that I was a widow. I began to notice
the expressions on their faces when I sobbed and told them how I was
feeling.
That's when I realized I had to do something about my situation. I still
ached and hurt, it was like I was an amputee. A part of me was missing,
I could not function and now I realized that I could not burden my
relatives and friends with my grief.
One night I picked up a spiral notebook and started writing. I wrote
until my hand ached and when I looked at the clock it was midnight. I
read over what I had written. It was full of hurt and even anger. I
was tired and for the first time in a long while I was able to sleep
through the night.
It was several days before I thought about writing, but one day after
a particularly hard day at work I came home and began to cry. I don't
remember why or what the incident was that caused the hurt. Maybe I
saw someone who reminded me of him. Back then it wasn't difficult to
make me start crying. I wanted to talk to someone and no one was there.
I thought about the notebook and began writing.
I began to look forward to that time when I could write what I was
feeling and thinking. I didn't worry about form, grammar or spelling.
I just wrote. It seemed I couldn't write fast enough to get my
thoughts on paper.
I wanted everything to be back the way it was, so I set out on the
impossible task of recreating the past. I remembered we had a big,
brown dog, so I went to the Humane Society and got a big, brown dog.
It was a disaster. The dog chewed on all the furniture and could not
be house trained.
One evening I was writing about a coworker who seemed to look so sad
when she saw me coming towards her. I stopped writing and realized
what had been happening. People were dreading to see me because I
represented gloom and doom.
I made a most important decision right then. The next day before
anyone had a chance to ask me how I was feeling, I asked them with
a smile, "How are you feeling today." It was amazing to see the look
of relief on their faces.
As time went by the tone of my writing changed along with my journey
through the grief process. I wasn't aware of the stages of grief.
There was less hurt and anger. It was as though I was talking or
writing to a dear, close friend. Months later when I could face
getting out, I would go to dinner or a movie with friends. I was
getting better but the need to write was still there. I was still
overly emotional, and not quite on the right track. I did some crazy,
silly things and it was all recorded in the notebook.
I got better, I assumed a normal life. Years later, I thought about
the notebooks. Yes, plural, there were six of them. Where were they?
What if someone read them? I was frantic. I searched the house and I
found them. I started to tear them up immediately. There was too
much personal stuff. Things that were strictly private and personal.
But then out of curiosity I opened one up at random and began to
read. I became interested....like I was reading about someone else
in a book. Even though I knew what had happened, I was reading to
find out what had happened to this woman. She was brave and strong
and had found a way to help herself. But she didn't do it by herself,
she did it with the help of a dear friend.......an invisible friend.
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