By Sandra Clark

This short piece of fiction from Featured Writer Luisa Perkins was first published in Segullah’s new book. “Margaret, are you grieving Over Goldengrove unleaving?” –Gerard Manley Hopkins *** “When we depart, we shall hail…all whom we love, who have fallen asleep in Jesus.” –Joseph Smith *** When Margie was little, she prayed to die before …

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By Lauren Elkins

“Natalie is quickly slipping away.” I read this text on my phone as I sat in the boardroom at work, conducting a meeting with a department supervisor and several leads. As I attempted to talk, to continue directing a political discussion, tears welled in my eyes and my voice wavered. The others around the table appeared tense from my unsolicited emotional response. I tried to explain why.

Stating it makes it real.

Natalie died from cancer two years ago.

It happened at the same time that my husband and I attempted to sell our condo. In spite of the non-existent financial recovery for our real estate purchase, I didn’t want to live in a home where I could tell you exactly where the upstairs neighbor was standing at any given moment and I could smell when the downstairs neighbor’s weed-smoking boyfriend returned home. This wasn’t where I wanted to raise my 9-month old son.

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Guest Post: Seeking Light

By Kellie Purcill

The gleaming, golden orb pulsates with energy. I cradle this bright globe in the space between my outstretched hands. Eyes closed, I effortlessly roll and recede, left and right; I am a clear, sparkling wave on a peaceful shore. I raise my orb overhead; it radiates in purity. I focus on my cool, cupped palms, …

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Five Seconds from Brilliance

By Julie Nelson

A hummingbird trapped inside a window, bashing against the pane— a body heaves, feathers batter a soundless song. He knows not the open door of sun and nectar— only glimpses captured through clouded glass. And inside you, the cancer grows thick — your body bruises against the veil shrouding eyes from the narrow portal, clutching …

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Blood Isn’t Thicker Than Water

By Kellie Purcill

I donate blood. Not for money, not for a love of pincushions, but because I know it makes a difference. (The Australian Red Cross Blood Service also gives chocolate milk, juice and TimTams to donors afterwards, which is admittedly a sweet deal, but not my only consideration). Because I am such a fantastic bleeder, I …

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We’re All a Little Broken

By Kelsey Peterson

My oldest brother used to catch geckos as they scaled up the bricks beside our front door. One night I watched as he tried to snatch a particularly fat one, but the lizard’s tail fell off in his hands before it made a frantic getaway. I pictured what it would be like if my rear …

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“All these things shall give thee experience”

By Dalene Rowley

Yesterday, as my dear mother-in-law, Barbara, and I worked in the kitchen while most of the men and the children (yea, even the adult children) caravanned on the traditional drive through the mountains of the Uintah Basin to count deer and elk, I recalled the Thanksgiving before. Some forty of us had gathered last year to break bread and give thanks together in the hogan family room my father-in-law built on to their home long before I joined the family.

I looked at Barbara, who is still dealing with the ill effects of breast cancer treatment from last year (no one tells you of the way lymphedema will affect the rest of your life, because they are just trying to get you to survive the chemo and radiation required to beat back the cancer). I thought, “What were we thinking, descending upon her last year like that while she was still trying to regain her strength and regrow her hair and reclaim her life?”

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Love, Not Time Heals all Things

Sunny Segullah postToday’s UP CLOSE guest post comes from Sunny Smart.  Sunny is a stay-at-home mom with two part-time jobs, four full-time kids, and one fantastic husband. Those stats aren’t likely to change anytime soon. She loves to bake but hates to cook, loves cleanliness but dreads cleaning, wants to be a vegetarian but really loves steak, and thinks laughter makes the world go round. Most days she can be found consuming large amounts of caffeine, baking bread, and laughing with friends. She feels honored that Segullah is sharing her story.

I was fifteen when my father passed away. The doctors had told us three months previous we must make him comfortable and wait for the inevitable. It would be painful, we were told, but there would be plenty of drugs.

I remember the smell. Each day after school I checked on my father, emptied his urine and colostomy bags, swabbed his mouth with a wet sponge so he could swallow, checked his IV’s, moved his arms and legs to slow the painful atrophy. I remember when the black spots started appearing on his feet.

“He’s rotting,” our neighbor, a nurse, told me as I stood staring at his swollen, speckled feet. “His body is already dying and starting to decompose.” These may seem like harsh words to say to a young girl standing at the bed of her dying father, but I found them strangely comforting. Almost as if the moment I was dreading most would come in small increments and I wouldn’t be faced with losing him all at once.

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Dying Hair

By Darlene Young

Leaning over the bathtub rinsing the dye out of my hair, I notice that the droplets splattered on the porcelain look like blood. It reminds me of my mother, whose death had nothing to do with blood or bathtubs or hair-dye, but who had always prided herself on not coloring her hair: “It crosses the …

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Falls, Gardens, Deaths

By Adam G

HE SAYS IN NEW MEXICO the weeks before Thanksgiving are High Fall, autumn in abundance, all bright colors and fruits. Thanksgiving is the high point of that season, and also its end. Then it’s whooping crane season, Christmas, and winter. In the weeks before Thanksgiving the cottonwood leaves turned bright pumpkin yellow. We were driving along …

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