Day Four: Serially Lost
Today’s Prompt: Write about a loss: something (or someone) that was part of your life, and isn’t any more.This doesn’t need to be a depressing exercise; you can write about that time you lost the three-legged race at a picnic. What’s important is reflecting on this experience and what it meant for you — how it felt, why it happened, and what changed because of it.
Today’s twist: Make today’s post the first in a three-post series.
Our blogs are often made of standalone posts, but using them to take readers on longer journeys is an immersive experience for them — and you. It allows you to think bigger and go deeper into an idea, while using a hook that keeps readers coming back.
15 min writing exercise.
It is said that children learn about loss through the life cycle of keeping an animal. I have some very clear memories of experiencing loss through these situctions when I was very young. When my mum and dad split, my dad, sister and I moved in with my nana (my dad’s mum). During that time we had several animals. My first memory is very vague about a black cat called, Sooty. My sister and I used to dress him up in her dolls clothes and push him a round in her pram…I think he ran away, but after I recently asked my sister about this, we are now not too sure if the truth was that Sotty had passed away.
One day my dad brought back a load of goldfish, by the next morning all but one of the goldfish had died. We were told that the last goldfish left had killed off all the other fish, so we called him Tarzan! Tarzan lived for years, on one occasion he had jumped out of bowl, but we popped him back in and he carried on living. I think he lived for a good 8 or 10 years.
My Nana also kept budgerigars. One morning (when I was still very young) I came down to find the budgie (I think it was called Kimi, come to think of it, I think all of my nana’s budgies were called Kimi) laying on the bottom of the cage. I ran upstairs and told my nana and sister that the budgie was asleep on the floor of its cage and wouldn’t wake up. That was to be my first clear memory of loss.
A much more gruesome memory of loss come from another memory around the same time. I think my dad had bought two rabbits, one male one female ands built a single hunch for them both. In no time the pair were mating like…rabbits!
Not long after a whole batch of baby rabbits were born. To this day I don’t understand why a hole was in the floor of the hutch my dad had made (lazy dad!) was left with a hole was small enough for one of the baby rabbits to full through, but not bigger enough for its head. Remember that famous bunny boiling moment in the film Fatal Attraction when there’s lots of screaming and dramatic music? That’s how I the scene plays out in my head when I ran down to see my rabbits only to find one of the bunnies hung to death.
My Nana (who had lived through two World Wars and already bought up her two children on her own, wasn’t s fazed by the sight and just dug a hole and told me to bung the dead rabbit in the hole! I’m not sure if my memory has expanded on that situation, but I’m sure that scene happened more then once!
So, that’s my first blog on loss. It’s no wonder my favourite writing genre is horror!