Chris, this is such a poignant story. I felt as though I was experiencing every part of your journey. I was physically and emotionally drained though drawn back to re-read and process each part of it.
You gave your baby sister, Elsie and your own children the love and care you deserved, yet did not get. I am so sorry your brother didn't make that loving and healing connection with Elsie. Love sets us free. Be well, my friend.
Chris Andrews: This is a truly powerful narrative, with a gift of the pen that mirrors the depth of the human heart.
How much this resembles your own or a loved one's life, I do not know, nor do I pry.
But you describe persons who, at least in your story, are fully enfleshed.
The story put me in the place of each person, sequentially, including the mom, close, loving, then distant, finally absent.
I will not judge the Mom.
You describe the 1960s, but this 77-year-old watched the Groucho-Marx show with the cigar-filled, mustachioed-marionette Duck fell, right as the contestant stumbled upon the secret word, where the ads were for two cars: The Nash and the Rambler. This was the mid-1950s.
My God, the hole in the floorboard was fun for the kids and, at the same time, a real danger!
The Mom in the story died a second, even a third death: (1) At the departure of the family; (2) Her own death; (3) The burning of her art, and, therefore, the death of all memories of her.
The father and the second wife seem to cease to exist when the girl grew up to have her own children.
Now she starts her life anew.
It may be she is a single Mom.
But she LOVES her kids in a beautiful way.
Your story is a simple narrative but with the beauty and deep insight of a great painting.
Chris Andrews: It surely read with poetry and depth that made me think it was YOUR OWN story.
But you have such a gift with the pen, you keep artistic distance from characters and paint their inside feelings and their relationships so very deeply.
Please know: You are an artist who can believe in her nature-given gift!
And what a moving, moving story. I remember it in detail without having to re-read it.
Which of course I will I will re-read this beautiful writing!
Chris, this is such a poignant story. I felt as though I was experiencing every part of your journey. I was physically and emotionally drained though drawn back to re-read and process each part of it.
You gave your baby sister, Elsie and your own children the love and care you deserved, yet did not get. I am so sorry your brother didn't make that loving and healing connection with Elsie. Love sets us free. Be well, my friend.
Thank you Laura. I often write with you in mind.
Thank you for sharing your story and gift of writing. Helps me process my own stuff. Best to shine a light on it.
Brilliant story. It reminds me of Tobias Wolff's great work.
Wow! Thank you!
Geez Chris, I sobbed through the entire thing.
I just love your writing.
You sweetie. Thanks for reading.
🫂
Chris Andrews: This is a truly powerful narrative, with a gift of the pen that mirrors the depth of the human heart.
How much this resembles your own or a loved one's life, I do not know, nor do I pry.
But you describe persons who, at least in your story, are fully enfleshed.
The story put me in the place of each person, sequentially, including the mom, close, loving, then distant, finally absent.
I will not judge the Mom.
You describe the 1960s, but this 77-year-old watched the Groucho-Marx show with the cigar-filled, mustachioed-marionette Duck fell, right as the contestant stumbled upon the secret word, where the ads were for two cars: The Nash and the Rambler. This was the mid-1950s.
My God, the hole in the floorboard was fun for the kids and, at the same time, a real danger!
The Mom in the story died a second, even a third death: (1) At the departure of the family; (2) Her own death; (3) The burning of her art, and, therefore, the death of all memories of her.
The father and the second wife seem to cease to exist when the girl grew up to have her own children.
Now she starts her life anew.
It may be she is a single Mom.
But she LOVES her kids in a beautiful way.
Your story is a simple narrative but with the beauty and deep insight of a great painting.
You remain one of my FAVORITES!
Thank you Armand. This is my story.
Chris Andrews: It surely read with poetry and depth that made me think it was YOUR OWN story.
But you have such a gift with the pen, you keep artistic distance from characters and paint their inside feelings and their relationships so very deeply.
Please know: You are an artist who can believe in her nature-given gift!
And what a moving, moving story. I remember it in detail without having to re-read it.
Which of course I will I will re-read this beautiful writing!
Powerful story .
Thank you.