Ayleen Lindahl: Writer

BSU | ENGL 4170

As a writer, I am slow as a snail if I have no deadline. Otherwise, I will keep a story outline brewing in my mind for days, weeks, months, or even years. The tension slowly builds up and finally I will sit down and begin writing down the ideas and try to start my piece. The following are College stories or poems that did have deadlines and are finished products. Some of these may be about painful experiences and were hard to write, much less read again.

Poems

Essays

Shadows in the Woods
This is a poem that I created from memory of my childhood. My cousin and I were in our young years, around ages seven. We always ran through the woods in search of bears and never quite got one since we were frightened off by every sound.

Legacy
This is an essay I wrote with my mother in mind. She has gone through so much and I wanted to show her how proud I was of all her achievements.

Shell
This poem is supposed to be read slowly, a replica of people and how even with all our faults, we are still special

That Damn Motorcycle
This story is based on the morning we found out my father had been killed in a motorcycle accident. I have been told many times that it made readers cry, so view at your own risk.

Legacy

She is my legacy. She has my smile, my eyes and bubbly personality. She is a part of me that will always be, like the beating of my heart.

These days, she has shown me her joy for living, giving me cause for an early heart attack. She goes out late at night, dancing and carefree, as I sit at home, checking the clock every ten minutes. All this while visions of predators, car accidents, and any other disasters dance in my head.

I know she is old enough to make her own decisions, but I also know this is all new to her. As I stand behind her with a curler in my hand, I wink at her through the mirror. She is beautiful, always has been. I feel I need to protect her, keeping her away from hurt and life that is pawing at her door. Yet, looking at her lively expressions, telling me about her plans for the weekend, I see she is ready and I need to let her go.

As the old saying goes, they all must fly the coop sometime.

So, I give my mom a hug, watch her get in the car and hope she has a good time. I think back on the years of her progress, the change in her attitude as she dealt with her grief of being widowed a week before her twenty-fifth anniversary. It makes me glad to be around as she grows into the new woman before me.

Dad would have approved her choices, no matter how much she worries about it. She had lost that spark in her step, faltered in her first new steps, but has come out of that sad shell. She glows once again with that happiness of life and I am glad to be a part of it.

At first she did mechanical things, calling the insurance agencies between fits of crying, with my brother and I comforting. I’d hold her at night, trying to fill the shoes of a man she’d been in love with for more than twenty-five years. This was impossible, but I was there for her with her every step. We went through his things and tried to pick up on life once again, but there was always the emptiness in the house that could not be erased. We all looked over our shoulders, thinking he would be there, standing behind the chairs, hovering, as he’d watch T.V. over our shoulders.

I finally made the decision for us. We packed up and moved to Minnesota to be with family. Here, she slowly healed through a grief group where she made friends, talked to them and started going out to dances. Overcoming the fear of Dad being angry or not approving her newfound life, she met many wonderful people and has gained that warm glow we remembered. It wasn’t snuffed out; it had been dampened by the tears, but flared alight with the people in her life.

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