Elizabeth McCracken is the easy answer here. An Exact Replica of a Figment of My Imagination is the "OMG. Holy shit. I am NOT crazy!" book. The "what happened to us WAS/IS and forever will be fucked up and it is OK that I was not in my right mind every moment of the way" story. As beautifully written as any horrible story could be, McCracken, man. She speaks to me.
So, how's about a not-so-expected answer now?
There was one book that I read, cover to cover, when I still couldn't see straight. One that I picked up throughout the day and then used to pummel M with facts and information that I had gleaned from it every night when he came home from work.
"Hey, M! Guess what? Did you know the Hardy Boyz made their own trampoline wrestling ring in their back yard when they were kids?"
"Hey, M! Did you know their mom died when they were young? That's sad."
"Hey, sweetie..." [WHAAAAAAAT? Tell me, m. just what did you learn about Matt and Jeff today? I'm just dying to know.]
I can't explain it. I went for a walk most days. One day found me at the library. I saw this book. I picked it up. And good goddess, it became my security blanket. I couldn't get enough of the Hardy Boyz and their trials and tribulations in the WWE. It was simple. It was straightforward. It probably dropped my reading level down several grades. But whatever. It entertained me and g*ddammit I wanted to be entertained.
It did the trick.
Unlike me, trying to replicate a super-sweet wrestling move on M. a few months ago. Yep. Scar is still there.
1 comment:
lol I love your second choice :) I love something unexpected like that. I must be the only bereaved mother on the planet that hasnt read that book (figment) yet!
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