SUSAN HAYDEN SANTA MONICA CA WRITER FULL

Susan: There was a real struggle to connect, until I discovered that, like me, you had been widowed. Susan: When I first saw you, I remember thinking, “Why do I have to sit with this bereft stranger and make small talk until our mutual friend arrives?” You looked as if you’d had the life force syphoned out of you. This simple and profound intimacy is the love that we all long for. They are moments when we touch one another, when we are there in the most attentive or caring way. The things that matter most in our lives are not fantastic or grand. It was necessary to allow him to walk on, by himself, and not look back. It was my old husband who forged ahead, sensing he was no longer welcome. It was my eyes that veered toward my new husband, in the distance, returning. It was as if they were half human, half Pac-Man. It was he who pointed out the fire across the road and the people running from it. It was he who sidled up and started walking alongside us. It was Who invited you back? and Why’d you ever leave us in the first place? It was my former husband, dead a dozen years, who came to greet us. It was just me and my son, just us again, but not for long. It was he who started walking back to Arizona to retrieve it. It was jarring when my new husband told us he forgot his cell phone. It was finding what matters most, what matters least. It was exhausting but we had to move forward. It was time travel as my son was 11, not the young man he is now.

It was a road trip without a car and we were determined. It was Arizona to New Mexico with my son and new husband. It was like trudging on the side of a highway. It was mostly unpaved, but concrete in places.

SUSAN HAYDEN SANTA MONICA CA WRITER FULL

It was full of strangers, all heading in the same direction. It was a pilgrimage, like the Camino de Santiago or Route 66. It was 4th of July but there had been snow. It was an icy road, the kind I swore I’d never walk on again. Your lips at rest, a small smile that they keepĪnd I am safe from the dark where you found meĬolors now burst as the sun finds your ring Some mornings I wake and stare as you sleep It was your true light that pierced through the dark

Or perhaps lightly touch your foot just soĪnd watch as sparks shower and shoot and singĪnd rise through your eyes and so brightly glowĪs all life sprung from just one tiny spark

Susan hayden santa monica ca writer