I am working on a book right now. I know. I think I finally found the structure I want as well as the story I want to tell. I will let you know.
In the meantime, I am sorting through the zillion little stubs and starts I have written. I will start sharing them this summer, as I work on writing my book.
I’m going to call them the orphans. Most of them started out as intended book chapters as I floundered and flailed my way through what my story would be, and how I wanted to tell it.
The first one is about my cousin Jimmy, who died young and unexpectedly while he was back on the right track. It’s been a little over three years, now. I wrote this the night we came back from his memorial.
Driving home from your calling hours, the sky was cotton candy in the west. The foreground was a cool hazy blue, different enough from the usual sunset topography that I had a moment where I believed I lived somewhere else, maybe in another world, even - a world where you could still be alive.
I was one of the last two people in that room with your mom. She was packing up like she was leaving a bad situation. She waved your senior picture around, making a breeze with the frame while she talked about going home alone. She said “I’m used to being alone” but we didn’t believe her. Not today.
I sat by your brother Joe at dinner after your calling hours. Let’s be blunt. He is not okay. He kept looking into the background. When I said his name he stayed turned away from me by about 14 degrees. I only got to look him in the eye three times while we were out at dinner. At one point, after I didn’t even say anything, he said, “I always loved that about you when we were kids - how funny you were.” He could hardly eat tonight because he was so upset all day about saying goodbye to you tonight.
Before we left the funeral home, my mom was trying to get us to take the flowers home. Your mom wouldn’t take any.
“God no, I don’t want those in my house. Because every time I look at them I have to remember that Jimmy died.”
My answer was the same.
When it was time to leave, your mom turned to the huge silver urn in the glass case and just said, “Bye, Jimmy” like she was leaving for the store and would see you in an hour.
I did the same.
When we were almost home, I turned to Eric and said, “I wish Jimmy could have been there tonight. It would have been so fun.” I looked up and saw Jupiter, winking red at me in the still-pink sky. I know you’re up there, or out there. I’m sure you’re winking and grinning and letting loose with that throaty giggle and showing that tiny little gap between your front teeth.
I hope you’re having the time of your life, honestly.
Bye, Jimmy.
Please keep writing! ❤️❤️❤️