At last night’s Bluegrass Writers Studio open-mic at Dreamin Creek Brewery, I knew I had to read an excerpt from my investigative memoir where my father writes my mother while nursing a beer at a café in Saigon in 1965. Despite his limited education and no formal training in writing, my father could make readers of his letter feel as if they were right there with him.
Often, when in a similar situation, alone, drinking, as I feel the cold transfer from the bottle or glass to the same ring he wore that I now wear, I’m reminded about this letter written on August 29, less than a month before my father’s death. It’s remarkable how something as trivial as a letter, a ring, and some alcohol can allow a father and son to bridge the gap between 1965 and the present, and between this life and the afterlife. I can picture my father at the café. I can see, hear, and smell what he sees, hears, and smells. I can’t explain it, but we have a drink together in our own magical or spiritual way. I still smile at the thought of it. Me, now a sixty-something-year-old son, having a drink with his thirty-nine-year-old father and catching up with him about the legacy he left for the generations that followed him.”


6 replies on “Bridging the Gap Between This Life and the Afterlife”
I love this. It leaves me wanting more. Fascinating!
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Thanks Susan. That means a lot to me.
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That’s quite a visit to ponder and cherish. I look forward to reading your book in its entirety.
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Thanks Janie. I really appreciate it!
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I know you have put a lot of time and energy in this book. Good Luck.
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Thank you so much!
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