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The End of Words

The massacre of babies with bushmasters

are words that shame the lips, stun the tongue into silence,

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end words,

send language,

or even the very idea

of language,

raining down

into the holy place

inside the dark forever of

a parent’s soul,

forever divided

between this and that,

then and now,

a rupture so wide and deep

that words

drop into the void.

How can you speak

when you hear such words?

Can you ask questions?

Who is at war with

whom?

How does that sorrow

break?

What does it take to make

the whole world

tremble?

And what of the millions

who only buy more bushmasters

in the wake of those words?

Where are the words that can speak of that?

Those words even silence the rain.

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Writing To Heal – December 4th Stamford JCC

Looking forward to facilitating…

JConnect_October2-1-1Writing to Heal: A workshop for people who’ve suffered grief, loss, trauma, or illness Tuesday, December 4th 7:30 PM Stamford JCC, 1035 Newfield Avenue,Stamford

No previous writing experience necessary. Free and open to the community. For more information or to register for the workshop, please contact Eve Moskowitz, JFS Director of Clinical Services at 203-921-4161 ext. 122 or email at emoskowitz@ctjfs.org

OR JUST COME!!!!

                                                                 *        *       *

My novel, “Saving Elijah,” is now available on Kindle!

Wow!  It’s been twelve years since Putnam published SAVING ELIJAH, my novel “inspired” by the loss of my son.  It’s now available in a KINDLE edition through Amazon, and RIGHT NOW, for a limited time, Amazon is offering it FREE if you’re an Amazon Prime member.  Otherwise it’s just $3.99.  My blood, sweat, and tears for only $3.99!  And what do you get?  Terror and sorrow, poignancy and inspiration, I hope.  That’s a lot for free, and even for $3.99. Click HERE for the Amazon link to get the book, and if you happen to read it and like it, please leave a review there.  For reasons I don’t exactly understand, the reviews for the print edition of the book don’t automatically get transferred to the new Kindle edition.  This, of course, is one of the many things about this life that I don’t understand.

Here are a few of those rave reviews:

“Stunning, spellbinding, cracking with suspense, dark humor and provocative questions. A compelling page-turner that meditates, with honesty and insight, on the nature of parental love and responsibility.”  (Publisher’s Weekly, notable review)

Ambitious, imaginative, and beautifully done. (Wall Street Journal)

Fascinating, skillful, a fiercely compelling read. (Glamour)

McSweeney’s, Geraldo, and Trayvon

I’ve received letters from all over the world on my piece of rhetoric (otherwise known as a rant) in McSweeney’s about the misuse of the word “closure.” Some complimented my literary craft (which is nice), some came from people in the bereavement field, some from parents.   I’ll post one or two of these letters soon; meanwhile here’s the link:

http://www.mcsweeneys.net/articles/an-open-letter-to-the-radio-lady-who-said-we-should-find-closure

And speaking of “closure,” so far I haven’t heard anyone mention it in relation to the terrible death in Florida of Trayvon Martin, though no doubt some misguided soul will do so in the coming days.  Over the weekend, however, I heard Geraldo Rivera say, “the hoodie is as much responsible for Trayvon Martin’s death as Zimmerman is.”  Wow.  Similar to the “he raped her because she was dressed provocatively” defense, the argument may be a new low in an already bottom-scraping America, when someone with actual access to airwaves can get away with making an excuse like that for what really does appear to be a murder of a beautiful, unarmed seventeen year old boy walking down the street carrying some Skittles and an iced tea by an armed neighborhood watch “volunteer.”  What happened for the idea of “freedom” these same people are always crowing about? Would that be freedom for everyone except those who want to wear hoodies?

According to the LA TIMES (and many other news sources): George Zimmerman, whose fatal shooting of an unarmed teenager has sparked nationwide protests over alleged racial profiling, had thought the entire incident would “blow over,” a friend said Sunday. The story goes on to make the claim that Joe Oliver, a ten year friend of Zimmerman, make the claim that he had never seen any indication Zimmerman, 28,  is racist.  Now Zimmerman is hiding amid death threats and demands for his arrest.  I wouldn’t support death threats for anyone, but demands for his arrest? Absolutely.

“Walking while black” is a much, much better explanation for this outrageous act by Zimmerman, no matter what his friend says, and how sad for the loving parents of all the young black children in American, that they still, constantly have to worry about their children in a country that continues to be a terribly racist place, even WITH a black President.  I have sat with bereaved parents black and white; their tears and pain are exactly the same.

And here’s another important point in this matter.  It’s as difficult to even know what’s in people’s hearts, let alone to legislate what should be in their hearts.  It’s for a court to determine whether this guy is or isn’t racist, and this is or isn’t a bias crime, and yet, unbelievably, because of the so called stand-your-ground law, which took effect in Florida in 2005, police could not arrest Zimmerman.  Shame.  Shame.

Well,  we DO know this.  Research has shown that access to the means to commit deadly violence is the best possible predictor of deadly violence.  For example, if you have a gun in the house, it’s more likely that someone (usually NOT an intruder) will be shot and killed, or even that someone will commit suicide successfully.  In view of this and the proliferation of senseless shootings in this country, it seems to me that the gun lobby has become far, far too powerful, scary powerful, and that the narcissistic, gun-crazed, irresponsible climate it has promoted and created and nurtured in the last thirty years is as much responsible for the shooting of this young boy as anything.  How else can you explain the passage of a law like the stand your ground law,  which permits people to use deadly force not only inside the home but on the street if they feel threatened?  People feel threatened by all kinds of things, real and imagined.  If you put a gun in every hand, as some in the gun lobby are pushing for, there will be more blood and death than there would be if you didn’t. A Priori. Why do we keep passing legislation that makes it more likely, rather than less, that this kind of thing will happen?

What is wrong in America?

Surviving 9/11: A few thoughts after the anniversary

On Sunday for a while I watched the reading of the names at Ground Zero. It brought up my own recollections of that day, of course.  We lived directly on Long Island Sound at that time, and had an amazing, unique view across the water to the lower half of Manhattan Island. That day was so clear you could practically see the windows in the Towers, which rose in the distance like a number eleven on steroids.

We were building our home at the time, living in a cottage on the property.  That morning, fifteen or so men, mostly of Portuguese ethnicity, were putting on the roof shingles.  I was in the cottage watching the Today Show when they cut to the scene.  Katie Couric said, “A small plane has crashed into the World Trade Center.”  Didn’t even vaguely look like a small plane to me.  How could Katie even say that with a straight face?

In the first of many reality checks of the day, I went outside to affirm that what I was seeing on television was actually happening, or maybe vice versa.  Indeed it was real; you could see the first tower burning across the Sound, smoke rising up into the sky in a huge dark plume that already dwarfed both towers.  The fifteen Portuguese roofers were standing on the plywood up there, transfixed.  And silent, except they had a radio going, a newscast, I think–in Portuguese.  A few of them looked at me, maybe wondering if they should continue.  I didn’t know.  I went back into the house just in time to see the second Tower hit. I began to make my check-in-with-family phone calls.

When the first tower fell, I happened to be outside looking at the actual view, and it seemed like a disappearing act from that 20ish mile distance. One moment, two buildings; the next, one.

An hour or so later, our neighbor across the street came over, distraught.  His wife was working at the time in Tower 2, 84th floor, and he hadn’t heard from her. (She did manage to make her way down, though lost many of her colleagues, and this couple went to memorial services for months.).

All day long, strangers kept stopping by the house just to just stand and witness the thing from our vantage point, the plume of thick dark smoke spreading like a halo over Manhattan.

Ten years later, as I listened to all those people read the names of their dead, I couldn’t help thinking of my own loss, though it had nothing to do with 9/11. (How could I help it when James Taylor played a song I used to sing to my toddler son, You Can Close Your Eyes?) It seems to me that the reading of names stems from a deeply human, universal need to bring the dead back into the world of the living. I know I feel grateful when someone mentions my son or speaks his name. And too, I found it deeply moving to hear each person offer their personal thoughts, prayers, and feelings, which seemed mostly unscripted and authentic to me. So rare nowadays. Everywhere we turn, we find ourselves inundated by so much that is packaged and canned that it seems we have been unalterably changed as a people, possibly unable to identify what should be obviously false. Maybe Katie Couric unquestioningly repeating what she had been told, that a small plane had hit the tower, was some kind of watershed 1984 moment.

In the aftermath of all this, the Bruised Muse would like to express a thought or two about our survival not as individuals who’ve suffered loss, but as a country. Get ready, since this is a rant.

A few days ago a report came out that the United States of America had spent 3.3 TRILLION dollars (that’s Trillion with a T) on the two main wars we’ve engaged in since 9/11. Supposedly, we went to these wars because of 9/11, the Bush Administration touting the idea that we had to be on a war footing. Yet most if not all of the ACTUAL victories against the terrorists, before and after 9/11, have been either special ops or police work.

  • Whatever the reason the Bush Administration wanted the Iraq war–maybe Rumsfeld wanted to test his new war toys or theory, or Bush the younger wanted revenge–it should be clear now to anyone with any critical thinking skills at all that the war was scandalously, monumentally unnecessary. It amazes me that all these years later, no one has been called to pay for the lies they told to convince the country to support that total bait and switch operation.  Worse, that Administration was so effective in telling their lies that many American citizens, voting citizens, apparently STILL believe there was some relationship between Al Queada and Saddam Hussein. The only problem with democracy is that anyone can vote.  Which of course is also its main strength. Yet a huge problem now, in my view, is that our population has become so gullible as a result of ever more sophisticated packaging and canning (ie marketing/pr) that in the absence of a skeptical press (not a polarized press, but a skeptical one), Americans who can’t or won’t educate themselves can STILL vote.
  • And then there’s Afghanistan, which I supported in the beginning, although I thought they should have put more money and special ops personnel into cornering Bin Laden at Bora Bora, which they would have if they hadn’t been set on their Iraq bait and switch. But it’s TEN YEARS LATER, and I recently heard a NY TIMES reporter on NPR ((than God for NPR and the NY TIMES, what’s left of it) that things are worse than ever there. Consider the attack just today on the US embassy there.

I mention all this because, I’ll say it again, WE HAVE NOW SPENT 3.3 TRILLION. Isn’t THIS a HUGE part of the reason we’re now bankrupt?  Are we so lost that rather than speaking the truth about why we’re bankrupt, we have a group of politicians of apparently growing influence proposing (and the people BUYING) that the way out of bankruptcy is to give more money to the richest of us, cut programs that give food to babies, take the people who’ve just gotten health coverage off again, and roll back all the regulatory progress we’ve made in the last fifty years?

THIS will save the country? What country? Do they really think that unregulated corporations interested only in profit will police themselves?  Do they REALLY want to be poisoned by the water, air, food? Or maybe they LIKE the idea of seeing another Triangle Shirt Factory fire?

It’s bad enough that a miserable creature like Ann Coulter can get away with saying on national television that the she’d never seen so many enjoying their husband’s deaths as the 9/11 widows; my guess is she’d actually revel in seeing little girls jump out of windows (as long as they’re liberals jumping).

But my goodness, where are we as a country when they can call a moderate like Obama a SOCIALIST and so many believe it, share it, like it, tweet it?

And when on a nationally televised debate of so-called mainstream Republican candidates, all except one says he (or she) doesn’t believe in climate change or evolutionary science. Which of course, means non-belief in every interconnected branch of science too, from archeology to zoology?

And when on the same debate the moderator asks the leading candidate if we should let a thirty year old uninsured person die because he doesn’t have health care, and the candidate says “Yes.” AND THE AUDIENCE GOES WILD IN SUPPORT.

Well, calling Barack Obama a socialist is truly laughable, but these people are, plain and simple, extremists, and they seem to me to want the country to go back to a time when the people gathered in the town square to watch the hanging. They’re all saying they’re scared of Obama, they want their country back.  Is THIS their country? A country that cheers on the idea of letting a 30 year old die because he doesn’t have or can’t get insurance?

Honestly, we should ALL shudder at the thought of someone like Rick Perry (or Sarah Palin or Michele Bachman) as President. These people, for all their patriotic blathering, don’t even seem to believe in democracy, they seem to support some kind of fundamentalist, anti-intellectual, anti-science theocracy. I’ve been reading Eric Larsen’s book: In the Garden of the Beasts. In Hitler’s Germany, the takeover of a government and a people was gradual and insidious.  Demagogues start by subtly whipping up underlying biases and fears, and then offering easy answers that people cling to to allay those fears. And no one notices the true implication of what’s happening until until it’s too late. This should chill the blood.  Electing some of these people could easily turn us into those who attacked us.

Okay, I’m done now.

How much can you take/How much can you give

Here are two survival stories the Bruised Muse can’t resist sharing. Let’s call them Survival Stories #41 and #42.  Please share yours by writing frandorf@aol.com, or by leaving a comment.

The first is from a good friend during my teen years, Steve, with whom I recently reconnected via the magic of Facebook.  Now Steve insists we were such good friends that we once kissed all those years ago.  I can neither confirm nor deny this event, because my brain these days is barely more than swiss cheese and my memory is just a memory.  And of course confirmation is made even more difficult by the fact that my brain back then was severely addled by excessive drug use. (The in-between years are what count.)  No matter.  It’s far more important that Steve nearly died about fifteen years ago and is now severely disabled and suffers from chronic pain, but still manages to retain his sense of humor.  He writes:  “Did I tell you? I feel like I’m the only contestant on the show “How Much Can You Take”, where challenges get easier, starting with near death & coma.”

And then there’s this story, which moves me beyond words, from my friend, Ralph, who is also quite a funny guy. (Actually, he’s one of the top three or five funniest people I’ve ever met)  As Ralph recounts in his brilliant memoir, “Reasonable People,” he and his wife Emily adopted a nonspeaking six-year-old named DJ, even though they were told that DJ was autistic and profoundly retarded.  This amazing couple took on that child with their whole hearts, and with amazing love, patience, persistence, creativity, and respect, worked with him, struggled to teach him language and to make sure he was included in school and in life, and now DJ not only isn’t retarded, he’s going to Oberlin College!  Going to Oberlin, even though he is still autistic and non-speaking.  Wow. Check out Ralph’s post on HuffPo.

http://www.huffingtonpost.com/ralph-james-savarese/the-silver-trumpet-of-fre_b_827107.html

Remember to sign up for your dose of survival via email, and share the survival inspiration found here with your friends.  Repost this link on facebook or send the link.  

We all need inspiration to survive this crazy life, so share your survival story on the Bruised Muse.

Guest Survival Story: An Adoptee Searches for her Mother

Hello Bruised Muse Readers,

A friend, Terri Vanech, sent me this piece, which, I think, fits nicely with my blog theme, and the theme of my upcoming memoir about surviving this crazy life.  The truth is, everyone has survived something.  The Bruised Muse invites readers to share their stories, survival tips, survival inspiration. Just make a comment or email me at frandorf@aol.com.  Thanks all.  We learn from each other. And don’t forget, you can get SURVIVAL in your email. It’s free. No snark.  No spam.  Sign up just to the right of this post.  Here’s Terri’s story:

Allow me to introduce myself.

I know; some of you are thinking, “Don’t I already know you?” Funny thing is, until recently, I thought I knew all there was to know about myself.

But in the mail today came a document I’ve coveted more than any college acceptance letter. It is my adoption information from Westchester (N.Y.) Family Services. A social worker there has transcribed the events leading up to my birth in a 4½-page document culled from WFS files. The report contains no identifying information about my birth parents, but offers some new pieces to the jigsaw puzzle that is my life.

Make no mistake: I’m not bitter or angry about the circumstances of my birth. My parents — by this I mean the couple who adopted me — are terrific, loving and generous people. I’m fortunate they chose me and I wouldn’t trade them for anything.

Still, there are plenty of things about me I don’t know, and as I’ve aged and watched my daughter blossom into a beautiful young woman, those simple curiosities have grown, too. Two summers ago, I finally decided to request the information sealed away all these years.

I once worried that searching would hurt my parents’ feelings, but I needn’t have feared. They have been amazingly supportive, offering me yet another in a long line of gifts I can never repay.

My request in July 2008 for non-identifying information from my birth certificate turned up precious little information, so I followed up with WFS. And waited.

The WFS report confirms what my family always suspected — I am the daughter of unwed teenagers — and offers some new information: My birth mother was blonde, blue-eyed and considered pretty. She had an upturned nose and engaging smile. She intended to go to college and work in the data processing field.

My ancestry is English and German.

My birth father left high school to become a machinist apprentice.

I was born breech — both feet first — and have been baptized twice.

Workers at the maternity home reported that my birth mother took excellent care of me during the six days I stayed there with her; the WFS reports are clear that she never wavered in her commitment to put me up for adoption.

It is a lot of information to digest, and I have found myself repeatedly rereading the report in an effort to understand and find more clues to who I am.

My remaining questions vary from the seemingly frivolous to much headier stuff: Which one of them is responsible for my dry sense of humor? Are the snow-white strands of hair taking over my head similar to hers? Do I have siblings? What would my birth parents think of their biological granddaughter? Does my birth father think about me? Would they be proud of the person I’ve become?

Did she love me?

After first reading the report, I had a bit of an identity crisis, but I made peace with that quickly. Regardless of the answers to my many queries, the report doesn’t change who I am; it simply helps put some things in perspective. Most of all, it’s amazing to know even this much about myself after all these years.

Now, with the blessings of my parents and my husband, I’m starting the next leg of this journey of self-discovery. I don’t know where it will lead, but I welcome the trip.

Terri S. Vanech, an Old Greenwich resident, is the former features editor of The Advocate.  This piece originally appeared in the Advocate.