As this book pertains to his past, the choice of wording by the author shows the youth and free spirit of a twenty-year old that fell in love. For instance, “Have you ever been in a car with a southern girl blasting through South Carolina when Lynyrd Skynyrd’s “Call Me the Breeze” comes on the radio? Sunday afternoon, sun out, windows down, nowhere to hurry back to? I never had…” shows the youthful spirit that Rob had when he was with Renee, for she truly did show him how to enjoy his youth and to have fun. However, as he reminisced through the pleasurable memories that Renee brought to him, using diction he was able to express to the reader the sadness her death bestowed upon him. "We met on September 17, 1989. We got married on July 13, 1991. We were married for five years and ten months. Renée died on May 11, 1997, very suddenly and unexpectedly, at home with me, of a pulmonary embolism. She was thirty-one…” Through syntax, he was able to show a change in mood from the serenity and peace that he felt with while being accompanied by Renee to her unexpected death in his arms. The short sentences in this excerpt from the book show that there was an abrupt interruption in his life and it caused a change in the way the author wrote. Nature took its course.
And I was there, too, hoping to find you and say to you, Come back, come back, there's only one street, one door, we didn't mean it, we didn't know, whatever was wrong will be different. Several times I decided you were dead, even wished you were dead, but then another postcard would come, with another message to ponder. And I've always read them, even when my husband said not to, even if they've driven me to tears or rage or a blankness when I've no longer cared if you were dead or anyone were dead, including myself. I've been faithful, too, you see. I've always looked up where you were in the atlas, and put your postcards in the box. Sixtythree postcards, four hundred—odd lines of scrawl: our life together. Why are you standing there like that? my daughter asks me. I must have been away somewhere, I say. But I'm back. Yes. You see, Mother, I always come back. That's the distance that separates us. But on summer evenings, when the windows are open to the dusk, I sometimes smell cities … wheat fields … oceans—strange smells from far away—all the places you've been to that I never will. I smell them as if they weren't pictures on a postcard, but real, as close as my outstretched hand. And sometimes in the middle of the night, I'll sit bolt upright, my husband instantly awake and frightened, asking, What is it? What is it?
Robert is a caring man who knows how to listen and hold a mature conversation. Robert and the narrator’s wife’s relationship began ten years ago, when “she'd seen something in the paper: HELP WANTED—Reading to a Blind man, and a telephone number. She phoned and went over, was hired on the spot.” (179). Over the summer “they’d become good friends” (179), and at the end, Robert was allowed to touch her face, making their friendship more personal. His wife found it memorable and significant, “she even tried to write a poem about it.” (179). After that summer, the narrator’s wife moved away from Seattle to an Air Force base in Alabama with her childhood sweetheart. The narrator’s wife moved around quite a bit and would often feel lonely, and unhappy in her situation. After a suicide attempt, she put her thoughts and feelings on tapes to send to Robert. Robert was always emotionally there for her, to support her, something her current husband cannot offer her. This communication that was allowed through audio tapes was a real emotional bond, forged with understanding and caring. When they meet in person for the first time in ten years, it seemed as if nothing has changed between
My heart wasn’t with him and it had been this way since the moment he brought me home to his apartment above the garage the day we were wed. I had at this point given up fighting to free myself and sunk deep into my thoughts. Upon remembering the day we met I could recall almost every detail about him; from the twinkle in his eyes to the gleam of his golden watch. There was a gleam of hope which I saw when I looked at him much unlike the strain and exhaustion I see as he lurks in the grey shadows of the garage. Though I detested this awful place, it was not New York I longed to adventure away from, it was him. Him and his oh-so ordinary ways. I wished to live a life of the extravagant and the bold, a life with Tom, a life that was not
She sat one last time, on the balcony of her room at the Majestic, overlooking the beach and glanced out at the harbor. She sipped her espresso, pensive about Javier. Her jaw quivered ever so slightly as she said her final goodbyes. Time to join the living. Enough grieving! She had wept the reverent tears of a forlorn wife.
“That Ray was not unhappy, he knew nothing of what was to come and so he did not suffer…he was happy in his lifetime, he loved his work, his domestic life, loved to garden…he did not suffer the loss of meaning that his survivor feels. Ray’s death was no tragedy but a completion” (Oates 241). This revelation was very powerful to me, as much as she is suffering depressed and having suicidal thoughts; she is able to start having moments of clarity. I saw this as a positive step in her healing. As she states “the widow must remember, her husband death did not happen to her but to her husband. I must stop dwelling upon the past, which can’t be altered” (Oates 228). She reminds herself that “you have your writing, your friends and your students” (Oates 264) and this gives me a sense of hope for her. I am eager to proceed with reading the last section of this book and knowing the outcome of this memoir; that I have enjoyed
In her memoir, she shares how she carries the burden of her husband’s death with faith and hope in God.
Ray Karner was a 35 year old man who shovels dead bodies into furnaces. He was the type of person who loved memories. Anything he thought was meaningful, he immediately jotted down in his diary. He had a daughter and a wife who he loved dearly. Many memories of them took up about half of his small pocket book. One after another, great days would pass by. But later he soon came to realize that things don’t always seem the way you want them to be.
husband’s fatal railroad accident her heart was filled with joy. Later that day her front door opened and
As her husband came home, it is no wonder that she had a heart attack. It was stated that she already had heart problems. It is ironic that she begins these plans in her head for a life without her husband, when she in reality is the one who dies and whose life is cut short.
Just a month ago he had won her over after almost a year of failure. She was all he could wish for, and in the early hours of Christmas morning he realized just how lucky he was. “ I’ve always loved you,” her voice came out in a whisper, choked back by tears. “ I was always yours… I just… I was terrified that once I said it you’d get bored and leave.” tears began to pour steadily out of her eyes as she buried herself into his chest. He stood there holding her for an eternity, his heart swelled, his head began to spin wildly and he could feel the tears falling from his own eyes, down his cheeks and onto her. Her brilliant emerald eyes looked up into his and with a kiss they began their quest for home. The tears quickly ended as they both seemed to be entranced in the beauty of the world around them
The way she speaks of her husband anyone can see the love she has for him as she glows and her smile lights up the room. Mr. & Mrs. Jones worked very hard to provide for their three children. They both saved money and owned a house and farm back in Puerto Rico where they had a steady income every month. They both had plans on retiring and moving back to Puerto Rico where they would build their dream home in which they worked so hard to save for. Sadly Mr. Jones was diagnosed with cancer and their dreams turned into a nightmare. The medication that was prescribed for Mr. Jones was
I remember the day just like it was yesterday, the pale color and coldness of her skin. The sky was clear blue, soft, with a touch of red, and the trees seemed stiff in their bright green shade. The wind was blowing with its humid dry air. And All I could do was stand silently in disbelief, caught up in my own thoughts and calm as I ever been. Wondering what I could have done differently to change the course of time, life had taken us upon. Since that very day a chunk of my heart was ripped away, and broken into pieces… “Oh how I miss her so much.”
“One week,” Julia wrote in her journal, “it’s been one week since I’ve seen another human being.” Prior to the wars and conflicts that ripped her life to shreds, Julia had kept her journal as a log of her thoughts. Now the journal was the only thing keeping her sane. Julia tried to cling to anything that could remind her of the normalcy she used to know, but the journal was the only thing that truly still felt safe.
She had little schooling, but she had run businesses. She had managed on her own, with a husband and sons, in a country that didn’t care for her or her culture, but only for their aggrandized version of it. Her experiences were rightful cause to be jaded and hard, and yet she saw brightness and she saw brightness in me. She saw the great things in life, she loved hard and appreciated the little things — us going for a walk together or just sitting in the sun on a warm day.