Writing About My Friend
I'm in kind of funk today. Believe me, I'm still reveling in the joy that is my youngest daughter, and she does give me a sense of complete calm and peace whenever I have the pleasure of looking into her eyes.
It's just that, we are nearing the time of year at which Paul died last year. I have finally begun writing about him and our friendship together. I want it to be more than a memoir. I want it to really make a statement about his numerous attempts to survive his life. I want to do him justice in showing that he didn't give up but simply could no longer withstand the relentless cruelty that was heaped on him daily, and how all of us can learn so much from someone like him.
People really don't understand the damage that can be inflicted on a life with words. What seems harmless or justified in the moment can often be the equivalent of a bullet.
Paul's ex-wife confided in me (ha!) at his service, that she wished she hadn't spoken so harshly to him the day of his death.
Yeah. Don't we all.
It's just that, we are nearing the time of year at which Paul died last year. I have finally begun writing about him and our friendship together. I want it to be more than a memoir. I want it to really make a statement about his numerous attempts to survive his life. I want to do him justice in showing that he didn't give up but simply could no longer withstand the relentless cruelty that was heaped on him daily, and how all of us can learn so much from someone like him.
People really don't understand the damage that can be inflicted on a life with words. What seems harmless or justified in the moment can often be the equivalent of a bullet.
Paul's ex-wife confided in me (ha!) at his service, that she wished she hadn't spoken so harshly to him the day of his death.
Yeah. Don't we all.