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Murder, she wrote | page 1, 2, 3
I am 33, married to a wonderful, kind, loving man, both of us writers
living in the Big City. I've written fiction for more
than half my life, and have had the good fortune to have a good deal of it
published. Writing has gotten me through the most difficult moments of
my life; I've consistently used my life experiences to draw from when
writing. But this summer I miscarried our first baby, and I feel
paralyzed by grief. I cannot bring myself to write about this loss. It's
been four months now and everyone thinks I should be over it. I put on a
brave front and no one but my husband knows how much I'm still hurting.
I haven't written at all, and I've lost interest in sex. I avoid friends (and
strangers) who are pregnant or have children.
My freelance lifestyle only exacerbates my feelings of isolation. I'm terrified I'll never get over this. Writing has always been the most
solid support underpinning my life, but now it offers no comfort and
seems so trivial compared to what we've lost. How can I go back to
believing in it? Home Alone Dear Home Alone, Four months is not long enough to get over this. It just
isn't. You're quite normal and your reactions are normal. But you do need
to talk about this with people who know what you're going through. This
is the sort of problem for which support groups were invented, my dear.
The death of a child is a horrible blow, but your friends can't help you
through it because they never carried a baby inside them and felt it and
dreamed of it and believed in it and then had it snatched away, betrayed
by their own body. But a group of women who've miscarried and who
meet to offer comfort and advice can be of enormous assistance. Check
with a large church or synagogue near you, which may offer space to such
a group. Break out of your isolation; pick up the phone; track down a
group or, if you prefer, find a psychiatric social worker. You need to talk
about this for as long as it's looming in front of you. As for writing about
it, surely the experience will find its way into your writing, at least in
some submerged form. Writing is not a comfort, it's an art, and you
haven't lost faith in it; you're simply on the disabled list for a while.
People have landed on the disabled list for much less than a miscarriage,
believe me. I know people who've been disabled by a slighting review,
rendered inert, quivering, filled with mucous. Courage. Onward.
Dear Mr. Blue, My grandfather and another man founded the very successful construction
company where I have worked for 25 years. I'm 48, a woman. The sons
of the other man inherited the company, and I am employed by them. The
oldest partner is 73 and very controlling. He lost one son to stroke (stress),
and the other has had two triple-bypass surgeries. Recently I was told by
a doctor to cut the stress at work. The older partner got angry at me
and said he works from 6 a.m. to 9 p.m. every day and can't
understand what stress is. I don't get paid vacation. I've never taken
more than three days off at a time in 25 years. I keep thinking that
if I can hold out until the older owner dies, things will be different (and
they will). I've tried to talk to the
younger partner, but it only makes the older one angrier. How would you
view this situation and handle it? On the Edge Dear Edge, You are a slave working under inhumane conditions, and the
best way to deal with it is to marshal all of your inner resources and quit.
Do this to save your life. You're a key employee. If they want you back,
they can negotiate. But walk out the door and hold your head high and
wake up in the morning and take your sweet time with breakfast and read
the paper and go back to bed if you like. Take up languorous hobbies, like
reading, gardening, walking, cooking, and let some sunshine into your
life. Dear Mr. Blue, My husband left me seven years ago. Wrote a note and was
gone. I had two children in college and a 16-year-old at home. We ran a
poultry farm and I had a sewing shop in the town nearby. All had to be
maintained, or so I thought, until my health suffered. My hair turned
white, my skin developed patches of white and my heart doesn't always
beat regular. Life has settled down now. My children have blossomed
because of what they've dealt with, and I shut the shop and walked off the
farm. But now, how do I start the social life? I won't go to a bar (I live in
a dry county anyway). Any ideas would be appreciated. Thank you.
P.S. I live out in the country. Alone Dear Alone, You know your dry county better than I, so you know if
there's much social life there for single, middle-aged, white-haired ladies. I
would doubt it, but what do I know. This is why cities were invented, to
defend against barbarians, to form schools and libraries, to create a ready
labor pool for capitalism and also to give single ladies a chance to look at
a number of eligible men and see if their eyes twinkle or not. But if you
are settled and feel comfortable there in the country, perhaps you should
start by inviting people you like to come to your house, for supper, for
coffee, for beer and whiskey, whatever you care to offer. You invite old
friends, acquaintances, people you'd like to know better, old or young,
single or married, anybody who interests you. It's a real skill,
entertaining, and it doesn't require linen napkins and vintage wines and
sirloin steaks; it's a matter of extending affectionate interest and curiosity
to a number of people at once, and holding up your end of the
conversation. It's like sword fighting or horse racing -- the more you
practice it the better you get and the more enjoyable it becomes. You
invite people to your home and they invite you to theirs, and somehow in
this social pond, maybe romance will spark up, if that's what you're
hoping for. Dear Mr. Blue, For 20 years I've been resigned to a life of solitude
and study, a dedicated professor married to
a man who passionately loves me when I see him, about 45 minutes
a day. He works all night seven days a week. We have a good physical
relationship, and we both work to keep our household running smoothly. Recently I've been seeing an old love who is separated and needy. We
enjoy talking about books and ideas, which I have never been able to
discuss with my husband, a non-reader. Our friendship has begun
to get physical, and we are considering an affair. Must all deep friendships
between men and women end up in bed? I love this old friend
but don't want to hurt my husband. I also feel that I should be
helping my friend get back with his wife and young children. Somewhere
in all this, I am feeling even lonelier than ever. What is my role here? Mrs. Reluctant Dear Mrs. Reluctant, You've been maneuvered by your old love into a
liaison you really don't want. You have a conscience and it's speaking to
you. You care about your husband, inaccessible though he may be. So cut
this out. Tell your old friend to work through his problems at home and
refuse to see him until he does. The alternative is a big mess. Nelson
Algren said, "Never go to bed with someone who has worse problems
than you do." Meaning, neediness is not a good basis for romance. I'll bet
you've already begun the affair and you're feeling bad about it. So stop.
You have no role here, until your friend gets his life in order. Dear Mr. Blue, I am 18, living away from home for the first time, and have this older
brother, 28, who is always telling me what to do and not do.
He feels this odd responsibility to be my parent when I
already have two very capable ones. I feel that I should sort out my life on
my own. My brother says, "That's stupid" when he thinks I make the
wrong decision (for example, about my smoking) because he
wouldn't ever make that decision. I know he wants what's
best for me and I love him for it, but I know what I am
doing and know the consequences of my actions. How do I tell him this? Watched Dear Watched, Your brother loves you in a helpless brotherly way,
watching you head into the dark forest like Gretel and wanting to take
your hand, and his powerlessness only makes him edgier and more
insistent. Greet this with humor. Agree with him ("Yeah, yeah, yeah,
yeah ...") or tease him or ignore him or change the subject -- or listen to
him, if he's making some sense -- but don't fight with him, for the simple
reason that you have nothing to prove and nothing to gain. You're a free
woman and you're strong, and so what's the prize? Play it for laughs, kid.
Fighting with him can only cost you. He's a loving brother, so keep him
around: You'll need him someday.
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