It is sunrise in New York City. Yellow, red, yellow hues mingle, when hope turns to elation.

The moment I have been yearning and searching for these past thirty days has finally arrived.

It somehow wiggled its way through my cloud of depression,

Broke through my deep grief enough I can again pick up a pen, fold open a composition book,

so inspiration presents, creativity meets the talent, and I’m once more free to go wherever they take me.

Destiny is chosen by God, its path determined by family suddenly appears on writer Sheila Knowles laptop’s screen.  Sheila stares at the ten Courier font words as if they are written in some alien language and wonders where they came because her last clear memory is when she sat down this morning with a cup of coffee and cigarette to begin her next book.  The final one, she had told her publisher in no uncertain terms, about the fictional family she had created and which had miraculously been embraced by the public.  Or connected is what her reviewers called it as they raved about her main protagonist being fascinating, reminiscent of a classic Dickens character as she traverses from one fantastical literary Gaiman-like world to another.   But as wonderful as it has all been:  the critical reception, the public embracement, and the love that went into creating such creatures, it is also a sphere Sheila is anxious to leave because it reminds her too much of her own family.   A group of guarded mysterious individuals who make Sheila feel like a child with her face pressed against the glass waiting to be invited in.

            Like today when Sheila called her father’s home to see how he was doing after his chemo treatment.   A cancer, thought Sheila as his home phone rang, which she heard about by being one of a long list of email recipients. 

            “Hello,” Sheila heard her father’s wife, Teddy answer.

             “Teddy,” Sheila said careful to call her stepmother the Teddy Bear name she preferred over the name she was born with.  “It’s Shelia.” 

 “Yes,” Teddy briskly responded and then indifferently added, “Oh, hi.”

“Is Dad there?” Sheila asked ignoring the slight.

 “Mornings are bad,” Teddy went on to explain, “It’s not a good time.”

 “I understand,” Sheila began with sympathy, “But since Dad isn’t available, maybe I can talk with you.”

 “About what?” 

“About, how Dad is doing?”

“He’s not doing well.  His last chemo was yesterday.”

“That’s what I heard from Phil,” Sheila answered referring to her brother’s email of that morning where he said he, his wife and daughter had just seen their father, “He said he was down there with his wife and daughter and Dad was having a hard time.”

“Yes.”

“And Joanne,” Sheila went on now referring to her sister, “Said she too was coming down later this month.  So I was wondering how May looks for me to possibly come down.”

            Sheila heard a slight pause before Teddy replied.

            “May won’t work.  We’ll be in Lake Tahoe.”

            Refusing to be put off, Sheila persisted, “I could come in April then, if that works better.”

            “No–We’ll be travelling to and from Houston for radiation.”

            “I see,” Sheila murmured back before going in for more rejection, “Well, I DO want to help, and I wouldn’t be your guest.  I would stay at a hotel.”

            Sheila sensed from the silence on the other end of the line Teddy had run out of excuses.

            “Okay,” Teddy’s voice began, “But I don’t know when.  Check back later.”

 “I will.  But in the meantime, if you or Dad need anything, or if YOU need anyone to talk to, you have my number.”

            “Yes, thank you,” said Teddy and then she hung up the phone. 

            Shelia stared at the silent phone for a few moments.  What was going on and continued to go on with her and her family?   She had asked therapists who scratched their heads when she showed them an email received about her inappropriate behavior at a once-every-five-year personal interaction during a wedding or holiday.  Extended family members too look puzzled when Sheila responds to their questions about a Christmas gift by stating it was never acknowledged.     And friends have gazed at her in amazement when she apologizes for being late in meeting them but she had to call her sister on her birthday and she did not return the call.  

            Sheila’s thoughts are interrupted as her cell phone ring.

            “Sheila,” the familiar voice of her editor in on line, “Everyone is anxious for the end of the story, when will you have it done for me to look at?”

            Sheila looks up at the 10 word line she has written and thinks about the conversation she had that morning with her stepmother.

            “You know Larry,” Sheila hears herself saying, “I’ve had second thoughts.”

            Sheila cannot miss the excitement in Larry’s voice as he asks, “About the book or about ending the series?”

            “Both,” Sheila replies as she re-positions her fingers over the keyboard anxious to begin once again.  Because now she knows her family and her lack of place within it has done something pretty wonderful.  They’ve given her the opportunity  to create a world of her own and to make her mark within it.