At a writers’ group meeting in Yelapa, the assigned writing prompt was: What Will You Have to Say Good-bye to When You Die? 

We had 45 minutes. I turned to a clean page in my notebook and looked out towards the Pacific pounding into shore.

Say good-bye to? What DON’T we have to say good-bye to when we die? 

Then I thought, what would be the hard things to say good-bye to? To which I answered: Pain. And Beauty. 

Time was ticking by. 

I started the piece with Part 1 – Pain. Later I’d add: Part 2 – Beauty. 

A life-changing incident to exemplify Pain sat ready in the wings of my mind. It would write itself. It would take the remaining 37 minutes to write. Part 2 – Beauty would only get a minute. Ain’t that the way. 

Here’s an excerpt from Part 1 – Pain. 

***

A nail landed in the crown of my head. It was sticking out of a piece of wood. It lodged in there. I was eight years old. My eyes went wide and wild. After a moment of silent shock, I lifted my arms in a mirrored arc so my hands could search for the rough intruder, which lay to the right side of my head like a stiff pony tail. Travelling up the wood, against the grain, my thumb and index finger prickled with splinters. At the very top where the nail was stuck, pain began to throb and the wetness of blood oozed from the apex. I yanked out the nail by the wood and ran upstairs for help. 

Let’s say it is a fine sunny day… 

***

I made up a really nice alternative ending to this horrific life-changing incident. The new ending didn’t erase the truth of the Pain, but it punctured the bubble I’d wrapped around it and allowed the Pain to seep out, sit in the sun, and evaporate drop by drop.