from my novel THE DEADLINE: "I wished she could have stayed. Being alone with Mom wasn’t easy. She didn’t always make sense. Sometimes she cried. Sometimes she dozed off, as she did on this occasion, and I’d sit beside her bed and read, my eyes leaping back and forth between the page and her sleep-composed face, disturbingly like a death mask. Staring at my mother’s face, recalling how people said we looked so much alike, my mind flashed through one of those take-stock-of-your-life reviews: I am a son whose father is dead and whose mother is dying; I am a husband who has been married most of his life; I am a father whose children no longer need his guidance; I am a publisher without a job; a novelist with nothing to say. I am a man with more past than future. My hand flew to my chest. Acid reflux? A rush of bilious regret? I couldn’t say, but I knew I needed soothing. I needed a cup of tea. I left my mother’s side . . ."
Posted on: Fri, 19 Jul 2013 11:30:19 +0000