On Wednesday, April 9, 2008, on a hospital bed, in the living room in our house at 1205 N. Mandan St., at about 9:25 P.M., as I held her hand, my wife, my lover and best friend, Joanie Wigen breathed her last, while Bailey and Brandy stood silently by, not knowing what was happening, but knowing that their friend was in trouble.
Every year, at this time, the melancholy associated with that night invades, and won’t let go until I do something, say something or write something. As I read the epilogue again, I thought I need say nothing more, but I will add just a few words.
On this anniversary, I decided to repost the epilogue to the Where The Popsicles Are, to help me escape the melancholy.
This was first posted in February 15, 2014 when I finally finished the first draft of Joanie’s story. It kind of sums up why I wrote what I wrote, and what it meant to me and where I hope it goes in the future.
Where it goes in the future, is still a work in progress as I try to figure out how to marshall the resources necessary to get in some form that will be worthy of consideration for publication. I will keep you posted.
“Begin at the beginning and go on till you come to the end: then stop.”
Joanie and Muffin
Well, there you have it. “Where The Popsicles Are” has come to an end. I tried to heed the King’s advice to the White Rabbit in Lewis Carroll’s ‘Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland,‘ but I remain surprised that it took me this long, or that the story ended up being this long.
The first post of this narrative was on Valentine’s Day of February, 2013, so it has taken me a full year, and upwards of 150-thousand words to get to this point. As a journalist who wrote for TV and radio news, and newspapers, I have never written this much on any given subject in my life.
I suppose I could blame Joanie, for it was her suggestion a couple of years before she died that I write some columns on…
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