Severance

“Regret and relief sat side by side, their coexistence unbearable.”

The idea for Meg and Daniel’s story came from a coworker at Planned Parenthood over 30 years ago. Her adult daughter’s dog had been intentionally injured by an ex-boyfriend who was stalking her. She’d explained that relatives had advised her daughter to purchase and learn to use a handgun for self-protection.

Through tears, she’d said, “But he’s sick. She would never be able to use it against him.”

About 23 years old at the time, I remember thinking that her daughter must have been non-violent to the point of lacking self-preservation. Later I wondered if perhaps her daughter still loved this man. What would it be like to love someone whose untreated or unmanaged mental illness caused increasingly dangerous behavior? What if your family, friends, and the police insisted you sever ties with that person? Or, in Meg’s case, move away and file a restraining order?

Despite agreeing to these things, Meg never stops loving Daniel. His descent into psychosis is excruciating for her. They were teenagers when she first noticed his symptoms and for years, she held onto hope that he would get better, that he would “become whole again.” Instead, he grew worse, walking the streets of their hometown, searching for her.

I couldn’t write from Daniel’s point of view. I don’t have the experience or the education to effectively convey how he might have felt. I cheated by having Meg read his letters. I tried to imagine how complicated her emotions, her love for him must be. She blames herself for his suffering, believing that she abandoned him and “…whatever happened next would come from this severance.” What follows for Daniel is tragic and Meg may be unsure of when she lost him, but can finally see that it was long ago.

Thanks to The MacGuffin for publishing Severance.

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No current writing news, except the boring and predictable bit about many weeks of writer’s block. I wouldn’t expect you to endure my telling of that. But, fingers crossed and throwing salt over my left shoulder, the words have returned. Besides the superstitious garbage, reading tons of fiction and complaining a lot to my writer friends has helped.

Onward.

Thanks for coming along,

Heather