My Sweet Deifiúr …
A difficult day…this one. I have been absent from this place for the longest amount of time since the first time I put words on a page that I desired someone else to read. My fingers, while functioning perfectly, have not been able to find the right keys, and my mind has not been able to find the right words. When I look at the instrument at which I now sit, it looks as if a foreign object has invaded my Sanctum Sanctorum. Like some sort of mystical creature lurking on my desk ready to wreak destruction to my already broken heart. I am grieving and have absolutely no idea where I am in the grief process, or if I will ever get out of this dark place.
My Sweet Deifiúr, Paula, was born on this day and went to live with My Dear Sainted Mother and Jesus on April 16th of this year.
In the last 140 days I have glanced at this instrument with disdain. I have circumnavigated the 3 or 400 channels I have on the contraption sitting across from my all too comfortable easy chair with the electric lift motor. I have meandered around the net on my smart phone and, more recently, on the new Nexus Notepad I received as a gift. These devices allow me to journey anywhere the internet may take me while never leaving the comfort and ease of my sloth.
It is time to get off my big dumb lazy Irish posterior end and write.
It is a dishonor to the memory of my hero that I am not writing. She championed my abilities, and encouraged me to pursue the shaky dream of being a fulltime writer. She called me and told me I was amazing. She told all her friends that her brother was a published author and giggled like a little girl the day I sent her link to a short story contest I had won. “Award Winning Writer” became a term she added to all the other accolades she heaped upon my scribbling’s. When difficult times arrived for me, she told me that the first royalty check will fix all my money problems. She was and is my muse and I deeply regret my denial of those talents she believed I have. I must get back on the metaphorical horse. To do any less would be to dishonor her beliefs and the love she had and has for me.
It is time for me to grow up.
Among other things I have used to keep me away from that which I love more than anything is the feeling that I am now alone in the universe. That there will be an unmarked grave in a Potter’s field somewhere that would prevent Paula from finding me and taking me home. As absurd as this may sound, it is, a feeling and emotion I have been battling. It is also, completely false and profoundly dangerous for me to grasp onto.
I spent the last weekend with the family of what is, in actuality, my older brother, John. We were raised together and bear no blood relation. We do share the emotion and belief that we are family…a feeling that has unburdened my heart greatly. Captain Domesticado, Paula’s husband sent me a message today that we need to stay strong. We were the closest two people to Paula and continuing to keep each other in our respective lives would be just what Paula would want. Thankfully, it is most assuredly what we wish also.
Maintaining the lethargy has been exhausting. As I languish in my feeble attempt to distance myself from the rest of the world, I have come (once more) to realize what is important, love and understanding. Paula gave me as much of that as any human could possibly disperse. I took all that was given me. It is time to give it back. Help me Lord, to reject my idleness and despicable behavior. Forgive me my sloth and show me how best honor my hero.
Goodnight Paula…I love you.
By T. Lloyd Reilly
T. Lloyd Reilly is a writer and former school teacher with over twenty five years of writing experience. He has lived what some would consider more than one lifetime and have gained a wide range of knowledge and life experience which he wishes to share through generous application of the written word. His writing is eclectically diverse crossing many genres. Further examples of his writing can be found at:
“We don't need lists of rights and wrongs, tables of dos and don'ts; we need books, time, and silence. Thou shalt not is soon forgotten, but Once upon a time lasts forever.”
— Philip Pullman
— Philip Pullman