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Although there are times I'd give anything to have her back, I'm glad she went first. Losing her was like being cleft down the middle. It was the moment it all ended for me, and I wouldn't have wanted her to go through that.

Sara Gruen

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Sara Gruen
Age: 55
Born: 1969
Born: January 1
Author
Novelist
Writer
Vancouver
British Columbia
Like
Moments
Glad
Give
Although
Anything
Losing
Back
Wouldn
Wanted
Went
Firsts
Middle
Cleft
First
Times
Elephants
Giving
Moment
Ended

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He stares at me, and then leans back in his chair. He's ill, Jacob. I say nothing. He's a paragon schnitzophonic. He's what?! Paragon schnitzophonic, repeats Uncle Al. You mean paranoid schizophrenic? Sure. Whatever. But the bottom line is he's mad as a hatter.
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Being the survivor stinks.
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Keeping up the appearance of having all your marbles is hard work, but important.
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I tend not to think about the reading public at all, or the business, when I'm writing.
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I'm truly grateful for my microwave, which allows me to easily clarify butter, steam vegetables, and - when I am really lazy - feed my three kids in less than five minutes.
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The thought has cheered me, and I'd like to hang onto that. Must protect my little pockets of happiness.
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I stare at her for a long moment. I want to kiss her. I want to kiss her more than I've ever wanted anything in my life.
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I roll onto my side and stare out the venetian blinds at the blue sky beyond. After a few minutes I'm lulled into a sort of peace. The sky, the sky--same as it always was.
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I just can't. I'm married. I made my bed and now I have to lie in it.
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Gorillas are in danger of being wiped out by the Ebola virus. I feel like we have limited time to get to know them and understand them and they're going to disappear - that's terrifically sad. Wouldn't it be great if we could stop that?
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Then I lie down on the horse blanket and drift into a dream about Marlena that will probably cost me my soul.
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Life is the most spectacular show on earth.
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They grew fat and happy--the horses, not the children, or Marlena for that matter.
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I am further back, surrounded on all sides by wailing men, their faces shiny with tears. Uncle Al promised three dollars and a bottle of Canadian whiskey to the man who puts on the best show. You've never seen such grief-- even the dogs were howling.
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But it all zipped by. One minute Marlena and I were up to our eyeballs, and the next thing we knew the kids were borrowing the car and fleeing the coop for college. And now, here I am. In my nineties and alone.
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I scan the room. Catherine is writing quickly, her light brown hair falling over her face. She is left-handed, and because she writes in pencil her left arm is silver from wrist to elbow.
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