“… literature provided me with alternate threads by which to darn a harmonious, yet delusional, understanding of death, of fatherless children, of a family. To move into this realm is to be cuddled in the arms of a chair, mesmerized by the pages of a book unfolding like an accordion, embraced by a transparent sound barrier, and transported into fantasies found through fictional characters. While my mind’s eye grasped the hand of my naïve emotional self and together we observed the telling of storied lives, there was a seeking mind that simultaneously identified revealing markers to create a map, not to a place of hidden treasures, but to a place that felt like a home.
I was six years old the first time this happened. Martin and Cooney’s Five Little Peppers and How they Grew eased my aloneness with the emptiness left by my father’s death and filled it with a reformulated concept of family. Later, it was Alcott’s characters within Little Women and Little Men who gave me permission to vicariously be a fatherless child united with loving adults who validated sacrifice, patience, and compassion. Burnett’s themes of grief and loss within The Little Princess identified the behaviors, choices, and attitudes necessary to survive the evils of dark despair until the rescue by an unknown and unidentified savior, just and righteous.”
~B Catherine Koeford, A Mediative Journey with Saldage homesickness for a place, a time, a person that cannot be
4 replies to “a fatherless child”
I think the best, most lasting relief comes from being out in nature and calmly recognizing and acepting one’s own unique goodness, abilities, and talents. But especially the unique and inherent goodness.
your feedback brings to mind “forest bathing”
Not sure what that is, but it sounds wonderful.
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