Lost in the Reflecting Pool: A Memoir

by Diane Pomerantz

Memory is always personal. It is filtered through a subjective lens; it is in this way that memory differs from truth.

Oh, I have SO much to say about this quote, but most important is that I absolutely LOVE it. It is both accurate and a whimsical way of expressing this idea. --Jen from Quebec :0)

Outwardly I controlled my rage; inside I pushed it further down.

For years, Charles continually surprised me with thoughtful gestures like this. Every time we went out for dinner, there was always a beautiful bouquet of flowers on our table. We always laughed because I was always surprised.

*W.S = This ONE sentence turns out to be a bit of FS that pays off repeatedly later on in the book. --Jen from Quebec :0)

“Momma, look—I think he’s catching up to them!” “Wow, I think he is, too. He sure is fast. Amazing, isn’t it?” “Momma, that’s the kind of thing that makes me want to cry happy tears.” “Me, too, Sammy. We should remember that little bird, okay?” I was glad that Sam would have memories that brought happy tears. I hoped Elli would, too.

I had become expert at making myself oblivious to discomfort.

Friends and neighbors were bringing dinners and arranging meal trains. I was in awe of how many people reached out with love and support. I mentioned this to Charles one night, how good and kind people were. “Don’t think it has anything to do with you. Cancer makes people nervous. That’s why they’re calling and reaching out—they’re just anxious. It really has nothing to do with you . . . just say the word cancer, and people get scared.” I know that I heard him. I have never forgotten his words. Yet the moment passed and I said nothing.

QUOTE FROM THE 1ST FEW CHAPTERS SUMS EVERYTHING UP PERFECTLY ABOUT HER + HER HUSBAND, CHARLES =******"He had no clue about love or compassion; it was as if there was nothing inside him. He was an empty shell. I had only a glimpse of it then, but not in the way I would come to see him later. Back then, it emerged from the depths of my consciousness only in times of anger. At those times, I shouted at him, shaking with rage, “You weren’t there for me!” But, for the most part, I pushed my feelings away." **********

At that moment, I had no idea what symbol of comfort a heated blanket, and those who offered it, would become over the course of the next year.