Tag Archives: death

Blind, But Not Forgotten

by Neesa Suncheuri

A mere hint of image once, I saw
Color amongst dark spots,
Abstract design ‘until identified by
Common sense, but my Confusion
Reappeared as my sight left me.

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A Stone Skipped V3: Leaving the Nest

by Cheryl Vollmar

By the time I turned eighteen, I was more than ready to never step foot in my parents’ house again. I had graduated high school and was ready to move on to college, but even then I disregarded my own desire to major in Music Composition and followed in my mother’s footsteps by majoring in Music Education. Despite thirteen years of piano lessons, six National Piano Guild gold medals, over seven years of band and choir classes, and the numerous pieces of music I had already composed, she said I would never make a living writing music. And while I did see the logic behind her argument that it’s difficult to succeed financially as a composer, it felt more like she didn’t believe in me or my talents. As if all the competitions, performances, and accolades I had received weren’t enough to strive for what I was passionate about. Even though she frequently nudged me into experiences like college level symphony and stage performances as a high school student, it rarely felt like she supported me in my musical and theatrical efforts. She even told me I was on my own when I received an invitation to the Miss Missouri Pageant, leaving me alone in a huge dressing room buzzing with excitement as mothers helped their daughters change for the next act of the show. I’m not sure if it was because she was just too busy with her own schooling or if it was just a general lack of interest. Some have even said that there could have been a bit of jealousy behind her words and actions. To this day I haven’t the slightest clue why she was so unsupportive, but it placed another small bit of self doubt in the back of my mind that told me I simply was not good enough.

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When Green Day’s on the Radio

by Valarie Kinney

Often, people celebrate anniversaries with dinner out, champagne, maybe a dozen roses.

Today I am trudging through a different sort of anniversary, and it’s hard.

Early in the spring three years ago, my sister complained of shoulder pain. It was in her shoulder blade, she said. Kept her up at night. She went to our doctor, who thought it likely my sister had been a waitress too long. “You’re pushing fifty, Charlotte,” she said, “you’ve been doing this over thirty years. You might need to consider a job change.” But the pain continued and the anti-inflammatories didn’t help, so my sister went back a week or so later. The doctor ordered an x-ray. The radiologist noted something, some sort of mass, in her left lung. Suddenly, there was a flurry of appointments, and in a very short time, we knew there was a tumor in her lung, the size of a grapefruit. It had already eaten through three ribs and part of her spine.

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He Was Not Of An Age But For All Time by Derek Flynn

This is one of many, many pieces that will be written about David Bowie in the coming days, weeks, and months. And, as such, even as I type this, it feels slightly redundant. But, at the same time, it feels absolutely necessary – as contradictory as that sounds. And that’s why I think so many pieces will be written about him: because so many people feel that it’s necessary to say something. Because we’re all feeling this profound sense of loss for someone most of us never met. Someone who has no connection to our lives. How can you feel this way about someone who had no connection to your life?

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