In late 1999 I lost my son 9-year-old son, Benjamin-Hayes, to leukemia. Writing his memoir was exhausting, frustrating, tear-filled, rewarding. By the end of 2002, the majority of the first draft was complete. In one chapter, finding the correct way to express Benjamin-Hayes’ life was more than elusive … the concept slipping around in my mind and notes like a vaporous cloud, light years away.
During the holidays, I was sitting on a dock overlooking a frozen pond in Tennessee. Bundled up, my pens and note pad in my brief case, I sat slouched in a chair, staring into the sky for hours. Red-tailed hawks, turkey buzzards, blue herons flying overhead, doing their things, with my creative energy stuck in park.
With the afternoon advancing to darkness, a single maple leaf began to flit through the air above the pond, focusing my attention. Its movements as on puppet strings, rambling in differing directions I found frustrating and elegant.
And then, in a moment, the leaf took off beyond the border of the pond, zooming up and up, out of sight.
Seizing the moment, I wrote down that Benjamin-Hayes’ spirit soared throughout his struggle. Soared.
That’s what nothing conjures. Nothing is magic, healing, mind blowing, triumphant. It’s such a gift to our art and souls. Such a gift.
What a gift you've given me in sharing this, Mark. I had to stop and just sit with this for a moment before responding. Benjamin-Hayes soared - and the fact that a single maple leaf on a frozen pond in Tennessee was the thing that gave you that word, after all those hours of waiting for it, is one of the most beautiful things I've read in a very long time. And so beautifully written. Thank you for trusting this space with something so precious. I won't forget this. 💛
You’re very welcome. I thoroughly enjoy your posts. Even though y’all are living and experiencing daily life in a wonderful and quaint French village, your posts are travelouges to souls searching for a place and time we dream to enjoy. After reading your posts, I’m no longer dreaming, I’m enjoying. Again, thanks so much.
If you’d like to read Benjamin-Hayes’ memoir, it’s on Kindle. The title is Gone Off With the Angels: Christmas stories of Golden Love. Cheers to you and yours, my friend.
You’re more than welcome. I have become addicted to your posts and the posts of other American expats living in France. 🇫🇷 And, reading other writer’s on Substack has provided the inspiration to complete a novel I’ve been working on forever.
In late 1999 I lost my son 9-year-old son, Benjamin-Hayes, to leukemia. Writing his memoir was exhausting, frustrating, tear-filled, rewarding. By the end of 2002, the majority of the first draft was complete. In one chapter, finding the correct way to express Benjamin-Hayes’ life was more than elusive … the concept slipping around in my mind and notes like a vaporous cloud, light years away.
During the holidays, I was sitting on a dock overlooking a frozen pond in Tennessee. Bundled up, my pens and note pad in my brief case, I sat slouched in a chair, staring into the sky for hours. Red-tailed hawks, turkey buzzards, blue herons flying overhead, doing their things, with my creative energy stuck in park.
With the afternoon advancing to darkness, a single maple leaf began to flit through the air above the pond, focusing my attention. Its movements as on puppet strings, rambling in differing directions I found frustrating and elegant.
And then, in a moment, the leaf took off beyond the border of the pond, zooming up and up, out of sight.
Seizing the moment, I wrote down that Benjamin-Hayes’ spirit soared throughout his struggle. Soared.
That’s what nothing conjures. Nothing is magic, healing, mind blowing, triumphant. It’s such a gift to our art and souls. Such a gift.
What a gift you've given me in sharing this, Mark. I had to stop and just sit with this for a moment before responding. Benjamin-Hayes soared - and the fact that a single maple leaf on a frozen pond in Tennessee was the thing that gave you that word, after all those hours of waiting for it, is one of the most beautiful things I've read in a very long time. And so beautifully written. Thank you for trusting this space with something so precious. I won't forget this. 💛
You’re very welcome. I thoroughly enjoy your posts. Even though y’all are living and experiencing daily life in a wonderful and quaint French village, your posts are travelouges to souls searching for a place and time we dream to enjoy. After reading your posts, I’m no longer dreaming, I’m enjoying. Again, thanks so much.
If you’d like to read Benjamin-Hayes’ memoir, it’s on Kindle. The title is Gone Off With the Angels: Christmas stories of Golden Love. Cheers to you and yours, my friend.
You’re more than welcome. I have become addicted to your posts and the posts of other American expats living in France. 🇫🇷 And, reading other writer’s on Substack has provided the inspiration to complete a novel I’ve been working on forever.