Blog Archives

The Privilege

I have the privilege of holding my almost 90-year-old father’s hand. I have the privilege of stroking his white hair and putting cream on his dry face. I have the privilege of seeing his face light up when I arrive and crestfallen when I leave. I have the privilege of knowing he loves me, and I love him. The past is the past; we have transcended that struggle.

I have the privilege of him calling me by my mother’s name. “You were a good golfer,” he tells her via my personage. And I now carry the burden that she carried of taking care of him. I share her joy and sorrow at the opportunity lost and gained.  Do I do this for her or for him…or for myself?

Posted in honor of my father, Nicholas J.Nugent, 1914-2004

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June 15, 2014 · 2:56 pm

Fifteen Days

He’ll be home for a full fifteen days, she said.
Her face so full of joy.
And they don’t count the transport time, she said.
A full fifteen days.
 
Her son will be returning home from Iraq.
His wife will join him.
They’ll all be together again.
For fifteen days.
 
She’ll sleep soundly.
She’ll laugh without hesitation.
Now she won’t have to worry.
For fifteen days.
 
I’m getting through it, she said.
The anticipation of him having to leave was almost worse.
But now he won’t leave again.
For fifteen days.
 
We get emails from him, that helps, she said.
Yet sometimes it’s better not to know.
But there’ll be no need to worry about his safety now.
For fifteen days.
 
They’ll too soon say goodbye again.
Their hearts will break once more.
But they’ll let him go, knowing he’ll be back.
For another fifteen days. 
                        ​                               -Patricia A. Nugent 

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May 24, 2014 · 1:33 am

Choose Peace

The meeting was over. Mark stood up and said, “I like your sign,” pointing behind me. I turned around to see the CHOOSE PEACE poster that I had picked up at a peace vigil.

I was surprised by Mark’s comment, surprised that he would resonate with that sentiment, as he didn’t seem “the type.” Because I so often face ridicule for my anti-war ​stance​, I said nothing​, waiting for the “But……”

“I’ve got a son in Iraq,” he continued softly. “And another whose unit is being reactivated. I’m all for peace.”

“So am I,” I responded. “I​’ll  keep working for peace to keep your sons safe.”

“Thank you,” said Mark, as he left my office. “Please do.”

​     Mark unexpectedly died a few years later. I sent this story to his widow, hoping his sons had survived to read it also.  ​

©Patricia Nugent

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May 24, 2014 · 12:59 am

Stone that Started the Ripple

The Stone that Started the Ripple is a humorous dramatization of a modern‑day reunion of suffragists, women who devoted their lives during the last half of the 19th century to fighting oppression. For more information on my play, click on the Suffragist Play tab above. Thank you!

 

 

 

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March 17, 2014 · 6:05 pm