Wednesday, July 26, 2006
Scott Bronson's post over at Popcorn Popping bothers me. His refusal to accept that his writing was way off base bothers me. I know through experience that this will probably come home to bite him, and he will recognize his own ignorance.
These are pictures of my loved ones. The bottom is my husband and son, taken 6 weeks before they drowned.
As I sat in the hospital waiting room, surrounded by family, as the doctors were trying to save my son (my husband was already pronounced dead), I thought two things I would never have voiced:
"Give me back my husband, take my son."
"I'm afraid--I think the plane will crash." (They were life flighting Davey, he died before they got there) I still feel guilty for thinking of my own welfare, for the physical fear I had. I'd flown quite a lot before that. I didn't get on an airplane again for 18 years, after James died.
His is the top picture, taken two years before his death. What a sweet, sweet boy.
The unthinkable thoughts I had when the two Marines came to tell me that James had committed suicide were, "I wish he'd died in an accident, that I could think this was an act of God."
"I wish it were someone else's child. Take my sister's son."
"I won't have to worry about money. The military will pay for everything."
"That chicken salad looks so good."
I could go on. When those two boys were abducted and tortured and murdered by insurgents in Iraq early this month, I thought, "thank God he died before he went to Iraq."
But I never, not once, worried that anybody would pity me. My husband and I never had that discussion. I totally did not give a crap about that.
The fact that Scott so totally missed what he was trying to portray tells me that he was aiming for shock, not excellence in his writing.