I write many stories and articles about relationships and life. I write about these topics because people and how they react and respond to life coupled with the good and bad circumstance that one is faced with day-to-day, intrigue me. Most times when I do write, my words gush out of my mind like torrent waters forced into a speedy stream. My words flow. Continuously. Steadily. Luckily for me, easily.



I’ve always prided myself on never experiencing “writer’s block". I’ve never had the inkling to write something, anything …..and couldn’t. It’s been that way for me since I first realized that I could write at the ripe old age of ten. Hence, I considered myself blessed with the gift of constantly being able to put pen to paper on demand.

However, as of late, I find myself searching my mind for topics that won’t seem to come. Words that I can’t seem to put together that will form a complete sentence. Fragments of minimalism plague my writer’s mind daily. Writer’s block you say? Nah….not me. Not C.V. Or is it?

Let me share a story with you dear reader. Maybe after reading same you will write to me and give me your opinion about what my ailment is. Hopefully, you can also enlighten me about how to “get around it".

I was married for a number of years to a man, I’ll call him Mitchell. Together Mitchell and I had two children. After we divorced, we remained really close (Platonically. This in my opinion, encouraged our relationship to be much more meaningful and special). In January of 2003, Mitchell was in an automobile accident and was left paralyzed. Since he remarried, his wife requested that I not visit with Mitchell. She thought it better this way, since in her words, “He was not sick". I adhered to her request, and never visited with him during his “situation".

On the morning of February 12, 2007, I received a telephone call from a very dear friend of his, of 22-years, and was informed that Mitchell was not breathing well and we (my children and I) should get to the hospital as soon as possible in order to visit with him before he passed away). No sooner than I received that call and phoned my job to inform them that I’d be out for that day, I received yet another telephone call. However, this one was from Mitchell’s sister. We quickly exchanged pleasantries, and then she informed me that Mitchell just passed away less than five minutes ago!

We both silently cried for a few moments and ended our conversation. I hung up, remembering that my son told me the night before that he was going to visit with his dad on this day prior to going to work.

I talk so fervently about having courage to do this, or that. Yet, at that moment, I lacked it. But was courage what I needed? Or was it diplomacy? Who knows? All I know is, I had to tell my son that his father just died.

In that split-second, I wiped away my tears, sat on my bed, and dialed my son’s cell number knowing full well that he would be traveling by his car en route to the hospital to see his dad.

Without allowing myself the benefit of gathering my thoughts or what or how to say what needed to be said, I asked my son where he was and calmly requested that he pull off the highway. Then I told him. “Your dad just passed away about ten minutes ago". As my son and I balled, I continually heard myself apologizing to him while he cried uncontrollably, that his dad just died. I apologized as though it was something that I myself, had a hand in.

I felt awkward, unbalanced and lopsided. These feelings are ones that I am not accustomed to experiencing while interfacing with my children.

It was then that I realized its okay to feel out-of-sync when death is upon us. That is how we get in tuned with our own feelings of loss. We somehow generated feelings of “me too" and understanding.

As my children and I try to come to grips with the passing of the one we love, we will get stronger day by day. Some days will be harder than others, but we will continue to strengthen. That’s the meaning of progress isn’t it? Getting stronger as time goes on?

We are left with our memories of life with Mitchell. Memories are what sustain us at this point. And of course, we have each other to crutch when we feel our hearts laden with an overabundance of "remember whens"……

Sure, my life feels lopsided now, as most assuredly the lives of my children. But we will bounce back. We will get back to our usual selves and continue living our lives. That’s what Mitchell would have wanted for us.

Yup, maybe I am experiencing a brief period of “writer’s block" right now, but its okay. At least now I know what it feels like. Or do I? After all, you are reading something I’ve just written aren’t you? Maybe it wasn’t writer’s block at all. Maybe I was just feeling lopsided because I was/am mourning.

What do you think? I’d like to know.

C. V. Harris’ Memoir, entitled Stubborn Stains is available through Barnes and Noble, Authorhouse.com, and other retailers. She is working on her sophomore novel entitled Ricochet.

(c) 2007 by C. V. Harris. All rights reserved.