“Creeping along like a snake on its belly, a car, with headlights off, pulled alongside the road and parked with just the faintest crunch of tire on gravel. They opened the car doors and closed them carefully so as not to awaken the inhabitant inside the lone trailer sitting next to the towpath. It was a pitchy night—the dense darkness encircled both men like a shroud. It had rained hard just before nightfall and the damp chilly air sculpted a vaporous mist, blurring the lines between grass and trees. The overcast sky blotted out any star or moonlight. Darkness crawled into every dimension, suffocating any hint of light.”
“I must run! I must!” Esynama whispered, forcing her legs to move faster and faster. “Moyo risked his life to tell me mama was dying. I will run to hold and kiss her one more time.” As she made her exit, she stuffed a banana in her pocket for her journey. The inky black night showed only a crescent moon, lighting her way. The rivulets from the heavy rains rough cut the road. The thick callouses on her feet served her well as she made her way through the rills and gullies. Running around a bend, she heard a gunshot. Frozen in fear, she stopped, her heart racing…”
“Abigail’s eyes became watery knowing her dear father, Pinky, would be proud of her. She loved Bill so much and was deeply grateful for another chance at love.
Don’s disfigured face reminded her of the horrors of being a railroad worker in the 1800s, but on the other hand, Bill’s face represented all that was good in the railroad industry. Those two images represented in Abigail’s mind a tale of two lives joined together by the love of family and friends.
It was a tale Abigail looked forward to living.”
“The seven resilient qualities of connecting with nature, openness to change, dealing with the dark, overcoming scarcity with creativity, connecting with people, using the power of reflection and finding a purpose are underscored by a deep spirituality…thankfulness and transcendence become foremost in one’s journey toward resilience.”
“Was he loved? Was he missed? Without question, he was. I recall the last time my mother came to visit me in Michigan … The maple trees were beautifully colored with hues of red, pink and gold…The day was a gift. I looked at my mother, who had become so age-worn after my father died. She was a mere shadow of her former self. She missed him so much. On this clear blue joyful day, my mother came alive and started to sing. The words and notes were like gold hanging in midair… Oh Benny boy, oh Benny boy, I love you so…”