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The Land of the Living

Land of the Living  This is how I perceived my life for much of the time since my beloved Susan left this life: I was sure my life was over once With a backward glance I watched all my dreams dissolve and fall apart Lost the thread, I dropped out of the race When I lost my place IN the center of her heart… EPITAPH FOR LOVE BETH NIELSEN-CHAPMAN I occupied some weird and mysterious space somewhere between life and death. I got up every day and went through the motions, for all intents and purposes, a zombie with a distaste for brains. And yet throughout that time, there was some sort of flame flickering in the depths of my consciousness. I would not relent, would not submit to the darkness that I so desperately craved. And then, as I detailed in a previous essay, my daughter-in-law told me she did not think I had a will to live. She was correct.   Wisdom and self-awareness often come in small pearls and often some time and some assembly is required. When m
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Permission to Forgive and to Heal

Permissionary – Permission to Forgive and to Heal This week marks the 20 th anniversary of my mother’s passing.   She survived my father by some 38 years. She passed quietly at home, the 9 th of January 1999. We suspect that it may have been by design because the one of suspected contributing causes was carbon monoxide poisoning, the result of a faulty furnace that was scheduled to be replaced. I was ten years of age when my dad passed away. In my then child’s mind I viewed him as the hero and my mother the villain of a life that was, in retrospect, difficult for everyone involved. It was some very childlike black-and-white thinking. After my father passed away in 1961, there was a period of chaos lasting a couple of years, during which we moved from New York City to Maysville, Kentucky and then shortly thereafter to  Cleveland, Ohio, where we lived for a time with my mother’s parents. While I was young, I still maintained the childhood ideal that parents are some
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Giving Yourself Permission

Choosing to Give Yourself Permission Welcome to my new blog, which I am calling “Permissionary” for reasons that will become obvious later. I hope to make this blog a permanent (as permanent as life should permit) fixture of the blogosphere, discussing topics ranging from politics (yecch!) to philosophy to music to the best way to make a good mac and cheese. So, why permissionary? I have a very hard time giving myself permission for almost everything.  Since late 2014, when the love of my life, the light of my life, Susan, walked off this mortal coil, I have consistently failed to give myself permission to live. Rather I have occupied a space somewhere between life and death. A wonderful song written by Canadian songwriter Bruce Cockburn says it best: Sunset is an angel weeping Holding out a bloody sword No matter how I squint I cannot Make out what it's pointing toward Sometimes you feel like you've lived too long Days drip slowly on the page You catch
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