Procrustes, son of Poseidon, the stretcher who hammers out metal and amputates limbs of anyone too tall, or stretches anyone too short, either way killing them --a Procrustean bed is an arbitrary standard to which exact conformity is forced with disregard for the obvious harm that results. Sallie, I wrote in my recent memoir about being a child of divorce in which the child is forced to cut off pieces of herself to suit each parent--Procrustes indeed! I just read your remarkable essay to my husband, whose ex-wife kidnapped his two sons, age six and one-and-a-half along with all their furniture one day while he was away at work, coming home to an empty house. He has told me many times since he may never be able to forgive her for what she did to him and their children. I asked him what if he had to write her obituary? He said, I could do that. I said, what if everybody had to write an obit for the one person who hurt them the most? We are all prisoners to the cast of characters who harmed us, Procrustes-style and epigenetically, throughout our lifetimes, unless and until we forgive. But first comes understanding. And love. Your story, fueled by love of your daughter and which became a gift to yourself, Sallie, is a gift to us all.
Beautifully rendered. We each are our own worst and best Procrustes. As a single father by mutual agreement, I raised my children essentially alone until they were teens. Perhaps the hardest thing about it was “not telling them the hardest things”. Now in my 80’s and they in their 50’s, it still is. Thank you. I’m proud of that and you should be too.
Years before she died, my dear wife Fran—not the mother of my children but she loved them nonetheless and they adored her—asked me to write my own eulogy for her to give at my funeral. She had ADHD and was fearful she’d fall apart with nervousness. I occasionally reread it. It still works but I’d so gladly trade it for the one I gave for her’s.
What a beautiful piece. So well written. Now I want to to go back and study it for craft! I love that there were no "twigs" as Elizabeth Strout would say. Nothing extra, or indulgently literary, and yet it is so sensory. The situation of kidnapping a child is unique, but the universal power of this piece is that it captures the way most any divorce creates a schism in a child. I grew up with warring and finally divorcing parents, and Sallie Reynolds captured the emotional rewiring that goes on in each person's psyche as a result. Thanks for this gift.
This was so powerful! It resonates with me in so many ways. I also have the child-of-immigrants, MENSA, you-have-to-cure-cancer, bubbling with rage father. I see you, Sallie. I see how your life was just from these few words you wrote.
An unusual prose, arranged and developed like a poem to its final line that strikes and resonates the entire memory-poem. The final line illuminates its every facet. Magical; I'll carry this with me today.
Beautiful and heart wrenching! I was like the daughter, and my mother like the author, only she gave up the fight and we lost contact. This story hit home in the best and worst ways. Thank you.
Procrustes, son of Poseidon, the stretcher who hammers out metal and amputates limbs of anyone too tall, or stretches anyone too short, either way killing them --a Procrustean bed is an arbitrary standard to which exact conformity is forced with disregard for the obvious harm that results. Sallie, I wrote in my recent memoir about being a child of divorce in which the child is forced to cut off pieces of herself to suit each parent--Procrustes indeed! I just read your remarkable essay to my husband, whose ex-wife kidnapped his two sons, age six and one-and-a-half along with all their furniture one day while he was away at work, coming home to an empty house. He has told me many times since he may never be able to forgive her for what she did to him and their children. I asked him what if he had to write her obituary? He said, I could do that. I said, what if everybody had to write an obit for the one person who hurt them the most? We are all prisoners to the cast of characters who harmed us, Procrustes-style and epigenetically, throughout our lifetimes, unless and until we forgive. But first comes understanding. And love. Your story, fueled by love of your daughter and which became a gift to yourself, Sallie, is a gift to us all.
I love this
Now here's a writing exercise: "What if everybody had to write an obit for the one person who hurt them the most?" What if indeed!
That would be an exercise is kindness, empathy, forgiveness...oh, and writing, too!
Thanks, Peggy.
Thx for the Procrustes refresher!
I too appreciated the Procrustes refresher!
The observations made in this essay are paralyzing in their candor, lyrical in their reminiscences. Lacerating but cleansing. I am in awe.
My sentiments exactly. Ms. Reynolds, please consider publishing more often as your words are much needed.
Beautifully rendered. We each are our own worst and best Procrustes. As a single father by mutual agreement, I raised my children essentially alone until they were teens. Perhaps the hardest thing about it was “not telling them the hardest things”. Now in my 80’s and they in their 50’s, it still is. Thank you. I’m proud of that and you should be too.
Years before she died, my dear wife Fran—not the mother of my children but she loved them nonetheless and they adored her—asked me to write my own eulogy for her to give at my funeral. She had ADHD and was fearful she’d fall apart with nervousness. I occasionally reread it. It still works but I’d so gladly trade it for the one I gave for her’s.
Awww.
What a beautiful piece. So well written. Now I want to to go back and study it for craft! I love that there were no "twigs" as Elizabeth Strout would say. Nothing extra, or indulgently literary, and yet it is so sensory. The situation of kidnapping a child is unique, but the universal power of this piece is that it captures the way most any divorce creates a schism in a child. I grew up with warring and finally divorcing parents, and Sallie Reynolds captured the emotional rewiring that goes on in each person's psyche as a result. Thanks for this gift.
Wendy, thank you so much for your response. It is all I could want!
I concur 100%, and could not have said it better than Ms. Murray. You have a tremendous gift, and I hope you keep sharing your pieces with us.
wow is that ever true!
Lives are so complicated. Love mixed with control and dash of cruelty. Phillip Larkin’s “This Be the Verse” x 1000.
They fuck you up, your mum and dad.
They may not mean to, but they do.
They fill you with the faults they had
And add some extra, just for you.
But they were fucked up in their turn
By fools in old-style hats and coats,
Who half the time were soppy-stern
And half at one another’s throats.
Man hands on misery to man.
It deepens like a coastal shelf.
Get out as early as you can,
And don’t have any kids yourself.
Sigh. Thx for that Phillip. You too, Sallie. Glad you have your daughter all to yourself now.
What a generous gift to your daughter. ❤️
Oh My, Sallie, what a story; it transforms such a hard history. Your brave writing opens windows and unlocks doors. Brava!
This was so powerful! It resonates with me in so many ways. I also have the child-of-immigrants, MENSA, you-have-to-cure-cancer, bubbling with rage father. I see you, Sallie. I see how your life was just from these few words you wrote.
An unusual prose, arranged and developed like a poem to its final line that strikes and resonates the entire memory-poem. The final line illuminates its every facet. Magical; I'll carry this with me today.
This is fantastic writing. There’s so much love and a stored pain in it. It hits hard.
Thanks, Emma.
Wow! So powerful and haunting. Beautifully told!
Oh, that's amazing!
Beautiful and heart wrenching! I was like the daughter, and my mother like the author, only she gave up the fight and we lost contact. This story hit home in the best and worst ways. Thank you.
I'm so sorry. I hope you find her again some day.
<3
Fabulously moving. Thank you.
What a compelling unfolding of a difficult history and relationship, with your daughter at its centre. Thank you, Sallie and Oldster.
Brilliant, sallie! Thank you so.