Can we heal emotional hurts by reading and relating to fictional stories?
I think so…
At Every Day Thoughts from Life readers were invited to look at and give critique to the beginning of a short story called Death of the Heart, written by Sal Vilardo. 
As the story opens, a young man named Micca stands at a window in his dad’s room (at a small health care facility) looking through the rain at a poorly-kept lawn and a small, cluttered back porch. His memories and thoughts run crosswise through his mind and roughshod over his heart. Like so many broken pieces.
His dad is dying, and he’s the only one there…
Reading the story’s opening paragraphs brought up my own memory:
I’ve been at that window…
… at the end of a hospital corridor, with those emotions, as my mom lay close to death in a room down the hall.
They were sending her home, and I’d just been made primary care-giver. Without warning, without experience, without wanting the job!
I lived 1300 miles away… I couldn’t nurse… Couldn’t lift my mom… Had family and kids back home… Had just found out about the severity of her illness… Hadn’t even had time to process yet!
Standing there, looking out over the hospital lawn with rains trickling in chaotic patterns on cold unfeeling glass, my emotions churned and fell over each other. Fast. Nothing lasted long enough to figure out. Just questions. No answers. Like the chaos on the window glass. Ever-changing. Cold.
Would anyone understand I couldn’t deal with this?
Did they care?
During those last three months of my mom’s life, I wrote. Not in the pretty journals I was used to — but in large ugly spiral notebooks and sheets of cheap yellow manuscript paper.
I wrote poetry. And prayers. I asked questions and wrote out my frustration. It was my way of sorting and trying to understand feelings and thoughts that made no sense to me.
That was twenty-three years ago. The world returned to normal as I came home to my family, to my life.
Yet I’ve never been able to rewrite or share how I felt until today. I still miss her…
…my mom’s intelligence, her spiritual strength, and her sense of humor remained to the end. And those are treasures to me to this day — treasures I wouldn’t have been given had I not stayed to care for her. My sisters and dad and I grew even closer, sharing responsibilities as each of us was able.
There are so many reasons why I wouldn’t trade those months. Not for anything.
I wonder how Micca’s circumstances will resolve?
Have you ever had a terrifying experience you wouldn’t trade?
Does reading fiction help you deal with and learn from those experiences?
Have a great weekend, and enjoy the coffee……………………….. 
Barb
P.S. The abstract painting is here by permission of the artist, my friend Patty Nice. You can see this one and others — fractals and kaleidoscopes — on her blog, The Accidental Artist.
The second image is a doodle I did in Painter X, playing with the brushes. To me it feels like I felt that day at the corridor window so many years ago.
{ 22 comments… read them below or add one }
I was in a play at my high school called “Lazarus Laughed” during my senior year. The theme was ‘there is no death’. The week before opening, my father passed away at the age of 47 from a heart condition.
LuAnn’s last blog post..My Give-a-Damn’s BUSTED
Oh Luann! How terrible for you. You left me hanging, or hooked, like with the first paragraph of a personal story I can’t put down. Did you go on stage? Did your world stop or at least swerve a bit to throw you off kilter?
Hi Barb,
Your post touched me and brought back memories of looking after my mother who had kidney failure and underwent dialysis for 3 years.I was the primary caretaker and living in the same town I was able to juggle my family duties with looking after her.Though it must have been hard on her she never once showed her pain but instead accepted her sickness with ease and made plans of how to tackle it. She enjoyed life and encouraged everyone.she had a kind and positive word for all. I treasure the time spent with her. She always remains close to my heart.
blessings
sema
sema’s last blog post..Power Word-B for BELIEVE
Strange that you should post on this, but perhaps coincidences are only there when we lend credence to them. My father has been operated for brain cancer three weeks ago – and although my mum is still with me, with him, and I am not really taking care of him except having him in our home, taking him to the hospital, there is a – slippery sort of feeling – as if the ground is a premise that could give way any moment. Yes, fiction does help: it always has, for me, in any situation. The trick is finding the right fiction, just like the right person, the right moment.
As to the pretty girl of your painting, yes, I see the tenseness, the worry, the pain.
Hi Swati.
Your words … a – slippery sort of feeling – as if the ground is a premise that could give way any moment… is exactly the feeling. That, and the world outside your own sounds a bit like it’s had distortion brushed across it.
I read a lot — fiction is part of it. I simply look for a good story when picking one up, yet usually, from a very early age, I can take bits of wisdom away. This young man’s short story — even as he’s just begun it — just struck me full force after 23 years. Amazing. I hope he finishes it. But even if he doesn’t, it was good for me.
I’m praying your dad will return to good health. I can relate to you too — I’ve been there as well. God speed the recovery… for all of you. Thank you for sharing. And also for commenting on my painted doodle.
Sema, how I appreciate your mom’s grace and patience her last three years. My mom too got to the point of not being able to move on her own, yet never complained. Not once. She did say to me she had prayed for patience (not her normal strong suit) and she was certainly challenged to learn it.
I would have liked your mom. We were both blessed, weren’t we?
Hello Barb,
Powerful words, here. Yes, I’ve been through tough times that turned out to have unexpected blessings, and some that were just that – tough, with no redeeming qualities. Writing about any of them has always helped, as if being able to create takes you away, imposes order on the chaos and lets you know you can stand it for a while longer. I advocate art as therapy. I know it works wonders. Karol
Thank you for your reply, Karol Grace. Imposes order on chaos — how well-stated. I agree that art is therapeutic — any form of creating something can be, I think.
Thank you, Barb for sharing – I needed this this morning. Yes, reading fiction does help me. The painting of the girl captures the essence of the emotions and circumstances perfectly. I liked how you said the emotions churned and fell over each other…too fast to figure anything out. As my 7 year old said when I asked her how she was doing about Granddaddy being gone, “Mom, Granddaddy dying is a burden, yes. Like a heavy stone to lift, but I’m not going to break my arms trying to lift it.”
Hi Karol. I got notice of your comment on my Blackberry while sitting under an umbrella at a day-long high-school track meet. (My grandkids run and do every other sport they can find, and I love them all!) I shared it with those around me and got all sorts of hearts and faces responding to your daughter’s answer. Thanks so much for sharing it — what insight!
I’ll visit your site again, too. Do you blog?
Mystical experience is a magnificent topic to encourage people to overcome their fear and acknowledge what they truly sense and feel. I found your blog and feel very grateful. As it happens, I am assisting with the primary care of my mom. This kind of experience is life-transforming. We are each in the midst of the biggest wake-up call ever. Regardless of where you are at this moment, mystical things are happening within and around you, within and around everyone. Whether a person is ready to acknowledge and accept it is another thing. That is up to each person, their self-awareness and self-aceptance. Thanks for this post.
Liara Covert’s last blog post..Grasp an unfathomable mystery
Hi Liara. I agree caring for another to this extent is life-transforming. My mom was very independent — and private. To give her the intimate care she required (she’d had a full and irreversible colostomy four years prior) was instrusive at its best. I was worried about ME while the nurse explained to my sister and me rather clinically how we were to proceed with newly-acquired responsibilities — which ever of us agreed to stay. When I caught my mom’s expression, being discussed as a project, I saw fear in her eyes.
At that moment, my terror left me. I could do this for HER. I loved her, and she had taken care of far worse raising me. All the crummy emotions I wrote about got stored, to be written about and dealt with in my own time. But they didn’t stop me from loving my mom in this new way.
I pray it goes well for you as you care for your mom, Liara. I scanned your blog before replying here, and I think you will have no problem — you will grow with the experiences. God bless…
Fiction makes me feel.
I learned a lot from Ireland and James Lee Burke is intense.
I especially like how fiction can rekindle memories and light your fire or remind you what you set out to do.
J.D. Meier’s last blog post..Discipline vs. Motivation
Oh I like your last statement. Yes! It can! Thanks, J.D.
Hi Barb,
Your story brought back memories of when I lost my parents. My dad died when I was a teenager, but my mom’s death hit me hard. Although I wasn’t a caregiver (she died quickly), I did a lot of writing after that.
To this day I still write my thoughts, hopes and dreams. There’s a lot of power when we let what’s in our head go through our hand and onto paper. I find it to be a great release.
Rereading what we wrote years later is a great way to show us how we’ve grown.
Barbara Swafford’s last blog post..For The Sake Of The Children – Blog Smart
Hi Barbara. Writing has long been my outlet. I’ve worked out many issues through the years with my pen… For me it’s a way to sort, and then I can see better.
Thanks so much for commenting.
Excellent post Barb. Writing physically is too much work for me. I suppose because my hand doesn’t go as fast as my mind. Typing is almost as bad. So I guess all my reflections remain in my mind, except the ones I take the time to put to art. I do think that helps sometimes. Some things nothing helps. Except time eases.
Anita
Barbara Kingslover’s book Animal Dreams helped me understand the dualism myths between sisters and family omissions.
Bean Trees taught me about loving when life doesn’t follow any rules…
Fiction is a powerful medium for me to explore
Patricia’s last blog post..Summer Reading: Thin is the New Happy ~By Valerie Frankel
Hi Barb, I rarely subscribe to blogs right away, but I have a feeling your rich life experience and wisdom can teach me a lot. I often feel restless and scared of the future. You sound at peace. I find it inspiring.
Hi Anita. Writing is not everyone’s “breathing” — but it’s mine. You write so well at Sliloh’s Ramblings that I’d not have known you love doing it. You’re good at reflecting — it shows in what you do write. Time eases… I agree. But it can take soooo long! Do art!
Big hug, my friend,
Barb
Hi Patricia… thank you! I will look for copy of Bean Trees. I love what it taught you.
And of course I agree about fiction being powerful. If a character has room to grow and does indeed grow, I’m hooked.
Hi Vered. I am at peace… but there are things worthy of our being scared now and then. Life teaches us which ones… too bad we don’t get the list when we’re just starting out.
That’s why grandmoms have a role to play — loving, comforting, nodding, hugging, guiding their kids as they raise theirs. Gently suggesting some battles and fears are not worth the effort, choosing them wisely.
Thank you so much for coming, and for subscribing. I have been subscribed to MomGrind for a while now. I admire all you do.