Monday, March 11, 2013

*Excerpt from Chapter Seventeen: The Sound of Silence

I wasn’t invited to her ceremony, I couldn’t say goodbye. From this day forward, no one discussed Nana’s passing other than announcing the culprit was a hideous ruptured brain aneurysm. Was it even true? How could I cry when I wasn’t sure? Where was the evidence?

I began to have episodes filled with rage, which I’d take out on hairbrushes, behind closed doors, alone in bathrooms. I’d smash the terribly unsuspecting, innocent objects against the counter until the handles shattered into tiny pieces, of which I’d then carefully pick up each and every speck so as not to be caught. I went through dozens of them, sneaking off almost daily to the local discount shop where I could find them for less than a dollar a piece. 

Shortly thereafter I began taking the anger out on myself, hitting myself as hard as I could, then regretting it, over and over. God forbid I should show emotion in front of the family, it was such an inconvenience after all.

Nana’s death was never spoken of again except for the few short outbursts of grief Mum would express when reaching for the phone to call her mother, a strange phenomenon I’d come to know intimately twenty-five years later.

Excerpt from chapter seventeen | the sound of silence | EVERYTHING'S HUNKY DORY: A MEMOIR

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