From Nicholas A. Caputo:
My beautiful wife, Phyllis Ann, loved the Christmas holidays. Our home looked like a toy store, every nook and cranny crammed with her hidden bounty, to be distributed on that special day. Her desire for giving was unusual, as it was not just her family she gave to, but also to strangers she saw in need. On Christmas Eve, everyone but Phyllis Ann went to bed early. She would wrap presents all night until the wee hours of the morning, then insist upon doing all the chores of cooking and cleaning herself on Christmas Day. I asked why she insisted upon wrapping presents during the early morning hours. She smiled and said, “It’s quiet, without interruptions. Then, at three o’clock I put the radio on low and listen to the story of Scrooge. I feel I’m living in that era and can feel the people’s plight of existing in poverty.” A beautiful woman with a loving heart, as big as Heaven itself.
I realize that I am not alone in grieving the loss of a loved one. But I am alone living the loss I feel within me. I wrote The Buds of Blossoming Trees to relive the only happy life I had, as though still being with her, until that terrible and fateful day. I didn’t have family around to vent my frustrations, feelings or concerns for the many questions I had to relieve this demoralizing trauma I was experiencing.
It’s been awhile, it’s going on ten years since my Phyllis Ann left me. I am told by those around me I should be getting on with my life. I know, I feel they are right, I should be active and participate in social events to start on the road back to normalcy. I have tried, but to no avail. The thought of why keeps gnawing at me. I should be eating dinner and dancing with Phyllis Ann, but I can’t. Of course, the rest of the evening has gone, and once again, I’m alone with my thoughts. Before she left she said, “Get on with your life. I know you. I don’t want you to be alone too long.” But, she never told me how I should do that.
Ours was a love story that lasted many years. Initially, as I wrote each page, my heart was filled with happiness. I was reliving my life with my Phyllis Ann. Then, as the events reversed, each word that led to page after page was like a knife piercing my heart. The constant pain still lingers today. It is a story that human nature relates to, that life is not all peaches and cream. There is still that part that turns sour, a part that enters every life.
The Buds of Blossoming Trees is available through PublishAmerica, or by sending $16.95 plus $3.00 shipping and handling to: PublishAmerica, P.O. Box 151, Frederick, MD 21705.