A Man so Broken as I

6^th January 2017

Dear Cassi,

A nimbus appears around every light when I look through my left eye. This is my body’s way of saying that I haven’t had enough water to keep the toxins out of my blood. I haven’t strained myself enough to justify this problem, but it came up anyway.

Over the last few days I’ve been pushing the consumption of vegetables. Pickle has been picky about that and I spent the last half of the day cleaning out the crap in my work room. There was cat spore that had been left from the time of my last litter of kittens more than a year ago.

I used the broom to sweep up the old cat litter and the smell of urine filled the air. This is depression. This is the look of a man so broken as I, and a man looking to change things. I have my better days like this one when I clean things up, and my bad days where I can’t get out of bed.

I’m told the Japanese have a tradition of filling in cracks in broken things with gold because the history makes them more valuable. I’m not sure you can do that with my home or my life for that matter. Then again if history makes a thing more valuable than I am worth more than gold and so are you.

Stay golden, little sister,

Richard Leland Neal

No Bed to Sleep In

2^nd November 2014

Dear Cassi,

       

For so long in my life I’ve had this image in my head. It’s of a dark universe dotted with stars, but in this darkness there is an abyss. I see a star falling into that abyss and feel it on the cusp of becoming nothingness.

       

The other stars go dim and all hope vanishes for the little speck. The darkness closes in and all light is gone. Then there is a flash and the speck rises from the nothing. It holds itself against the velvet blackness and births and infinite number of stars. To me this has always been the symbol of hope from hopelessness and triumph from defeat. Then you could chock it up to me being eccentric.

       

Over the weekend I’ve run my normal loads of dishes but added in the work of clearing out my bedroom with the hope of removing the smell of cat poop and placing back in this room my entire bedroom set. My bed is now in pieces across two rooms waiting for me to reassemble it once I’ve cleaned and dried the carpet. I cannot clean the carpet until the morning so I must take my rest on the floor tonight.

       

In other news, my novel received no reviews over the last month and it should have been rejected. For some reason undisclosed the publisher granted an extension. What another month will do for me in their system of review I couldn’t say. In thirty one days no member took the time to read and review my work and another month may be just as fruitless.

       

This is a moment of darkness for me. I have no bed to sleep in and my hope is lost in the darkness. Oh well, I do as I have before and square my shoulders to the task ahead.

March on, little sister,

Richard Leland Neal 

1995 Yearbook Signature: Be Who You are

Let Hope be Your Fuel - H. Jackson Brown

The Day My Mother Died

This whole thing came from a conversation regarding my birthday were I had to explain why I did not celebrate the day.

I don’t know if these morbid topics make for good reading so maybe you can tell me. I have to tell Cassi because she asked but not necessarily tell you. So tell me what you think, do you want to see more letters like this?

19^th November 2011

Dear Cassi,

   

It had never occurred to me that I had failed to relay the events of my mother’s death now some twenty two years ago. It happened around this time of year and so I was given reason to dislike the holidays. Somehow I got it into my head that topics like that are things I should shy away from. The dismal facts of my life are many and numerous. I could drown you in a deluge of depressing events, but as the scars are closed if not healed I have no need.

   

In any case, my mother died in her second relapse of cancer. It was a disease that ate her over the years, and finally its burrowing caught into the chamber of her spirit and she was gone. That is not to say that this was the day she died, but the day she stopped living.

   

That I recall well. Her three children were called to come see her at the care facility as we did every weekend, and she called us in one by one to tell us that she was going to die.

   

I remember telling her that we had seen all this before and that she had lived through it, but she told me that it was worse this time. I believed that it was best to try and keep a positive outlook. I was a not to bright nine year old who believed what I was told.

   

I don’t blame my mother for giving up. She had lived a hard life and she deserved eternal rest. Even the solace of nothingness must have been a relief after what that poor woman lived through. That is why I know that whatever lies waiting for us beyond this world my mother is in a better place.

Stay safe, Cassi,

Richard Leland Neal

Beauty that Still Remains - Anne Frank

That Something Makes Sense - Vaclav Havel