The way this monologue got written was that while I was trying to help Mom & Dad, I wrote everything that happened in my journal as a way to hang on to my sanity. At first I imagined turning it into a sort of Greek play, with the nurses as chorus. That came out of Mother’s statement “If he just stopped being fed…” I was tempted to say “That’s murder!” but was discouraged by the nurse. As it turned out, I finally understood what was going on for Mom when my dog Bella was dying. It is so hard to go on being with a loved one when they are dying and there’s nothing you can do about it. There were moments when I just wished it would be over. On the other hand, I was also able to experience my love for her in a new and wonderful way. I wish I had been able to say to Mom “It must be so hard to be with Dad and not be able to do anything to make him feel better.” So I did not turn it into a Greek tragedy, but just typed up the journal entries as usual.
Several years later, my friend Beverly and I went to a workshop at Rowe with Jean-Claude van Itallie. It was called The Healing Power of Theater. He taught us a form for a monologue. It is spoken in the first person, in the present tense, do not use the word “and.” What happens is the event you are narrating becomes very present. A quite amazing technique. I knew immediately that it was what to do with the journal material from that time.
So I rewrote my journal, in the first person, in the present tense, no “and.” I read the result to a number of friends, and also used it in a Ritual of Letting Go. In the process of rewriting, I discovered a number of things, in particular Mother’s use of the passive voice to avoid responsibility, and how she would make me wrong for asking a question rather than give me an answer.
Here is what I wrote in my journal after I got back from the Workshop, in December 1995:
December 4
I wake at about 5:00. I have that tightness across the face and the slight nausea that let me know I haven’t had enough sleep. … I remember a dream, just the final image. …
I give in and get up. It’s dark outside… [Marginal note: I’m too excited by the idea of working with the material from father’s death] … I describe making tea, take it upstairs, light the candles, and begin to write.
It’s July first, 1986. The call comes from my brother Jack… [first draft of 4th July Monologue] ….. [three pages]
I’ve been writing for an hour. Time to stop and feed the birds. This is fascinating and wonderful and I love it. I realize that I couldn’t do the play about my father’s death because I couldn’t make up dialogue. Working with the narrator in the present tense and giving the bits of dialogue I remember is the way to do it. Hurray!