1. Twisted But Precious: The Morning After the Sunrise Dance


    Date: 10/30/2014, Categories: Love Stories, Author: flytoomuch, Rating: , Source: LushStories

    were connected to his. He felt wonderful, relaxed and for some reason even though Rena was there, it was only the two of them. Ten Days Earlier: Just say “What the fuck.” “Joel, you wanna know something? Every now and then say, "What the fuck." "What the fuck" gives you freedom. Freedom brings opportunity. Opportunity makes your future.” Risky Business We’re all insecure; some just hide it better than others. John knew that and yet facing his own demons was still hard. John was full of insecurity and doubts. So much had gone wrong. He needed a new start. He needed to fill his life with something other than work. Money and work had left him empty and looking into the vacuum of the obsidian void. John felt sad and bored and depressed and disillusioned all at the same time. John was reflecting on his parents. His own mortality was troubling him. He was remembering their death. Too soon and yet wasn’t every death too soon? Perhaps not he thought? John remembered how they had died of cancer. How his mother had fought to the bitter end. That had been hard. The way she had fought had made it hard on John. Perhaps her death was not too soon? He wondered sometimes. It was extremely difficult to watch a parent you loved die. There was nothing you could do. You were a helpless child. Whatever you had learned in life, whatever you had achieved, whatever titles you had or certificates, at that moment you became again just a helpless child. There was no achievement or possession that ...
    could make it one iota easier. John remembered how his mother had folded the wrapping paper from his birthday present. She had folded it neatly into a square on the log cabin pattern quilt on her bed. “I can use this paper again next year” she had said from her marriage bed. John’s shrivelled mother, her body a mere husk, had died three days later. She had refused to give up or say goodbye. The liver cancer didn’t give a shit about her resolve or courage. John’s father would die two years later in the same red-stained maple wood bed. He also died from cancer, but bone cancer this time. John’s mother had come from poverty. A family where “stretching a dollar” was a necessity, not affectation. Perhaps that’s why she had a fascination her whole life with things luxurious. She had never had them as a little girl. John imagined how she must have dreamed of them. She had told stories of how she and her sisters would look through the magazines and dream of another life, a more glamorous life. John wished he had given her more. These regrets haunted him. John’s dad had been in intense pain in the end. The patches worked, but dulled his reality. When his father was finally gone it had been, in one way, a relief. His father was a stoic man. The period in the end had been a blessing. The last four weeks together had been so special. They had hugged. They had talked. John had held his father as he walked unsteadily on now weak spindly legs. John had finally felt his father’s physical touch ...
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