Sandra Hudson
Bio
I am an entrepreneur, retired Nurse, artist, mother, wife, and grandmother. I have written for pleasure all of my life. I now have more time to pursue this passion. Hello to all!!
Stories (10)
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A Mournful Song
I usually have to stifle a grossly inappropriate, hysterical laugh when I attend a funeral. Not today. Today they are going to put my closest friend in the ground. My normal nervous tics have been smothered by the enormity of the loss I feel. I falter as I try to figure out where to sit. I am not family. I am more than family, but these people don't know that. Not wanting to feel on display, I choose a seat next to the wall, half way back. My purse is stuffed with tissue. I haven't cried yet. I'm afraid to. I am not sure there would be any coming back from it.
By Sandra Hudson4 years ago in Fiction
The Gift
The clanking of gurney wheels signaled the patient's arrival to my unit before she could be seen. Pushed by weary paramedics and lost in a shroud of linens, she was rolled by the nurse's station toward her assigned room. This '47-year-old female, with end-stage multiple sclerosis', had an infection requiring long-term antibiotics, an appropriate patient for my floor. With paper work in hand, I entered her room, hurriedly assessed her, and requested required signatures from her spouse. He was in a wheelchair and, in passing, I wondered why, but there was no time for superfluous conversation as my shift was about to end. If I never met this patient again, I would not be able to describe her...just one more broken body. A few days later, however, I was the nurse assigned to this patient's care. Now I would have to take a closer look. I will call this patient 'Glory.'
By Sandra Hudson4 years ago in Motivation
Reflection
The pond is frozen solid. The long winter dug her heels in and cursed us with unseasonably cold temperatures. It will take weeks for this ice to thaw. I gingerly sit on the outcropping that hangs over the best fishing spot. The drop is only four feet, but I approach it like it's the Grand Canyon. Old age makes one careful and a fall on ice can easily break a bone.
By Sandra Hudson4 years ago in Psyche
Reborn
It is too dark for three-thirty in the afternoon. My sister, Leila, just got home from school. Every noise she makes seems abnormally loud against the stillness and it sends a shiver up my spine. Something is not right. There's an eerie, greenish light replacing the sunlight that should be streaming in the westward facing windows. I reach in my basket and pull out a small flashlight. I know it will be safe to turn on because my mom and dad won't be home until after five. Leila won't tell. Leila has known about me from the time she could crawl, but she pretends not to when my parents are around. I am everyone's secret.
By Sandra Hudson4 years ago in Fiction
My Reason
Why do I promise things I can't control? It makes me a habitual liar. I should be home by now, but the traffic is insane. I listen to the bellowing politician on my car radio dressing down the Governor for not keeping her pledge to fix 'the damn roads.' What the hell! Every route I travel across town is jacked up by road construction!
By Sandra Hudson4 years ago in Families
Grandpa's Gift
Grandpa's funeral is Saturday. Not a drop of Grandpa's blood runs through this family, but you can find his heart all over the place. All of us, his grandchildren, know that he is Grandma's third husband, but that really doesn't matter a bit. He's been our Grandpa since the day we were born.
By Sandra Hudson5 years ago in Families
The First Step
Here I am, sitting in a waiting room that reeks of sweat and tears and a room freshener that isn't quite up to par. I wonder if this is just a feeble attempt at prolonging the inevitable. Do I even want to 'save my marriage?' My husband says I'm not the girl I used to be. No shit! I'm thinking half the problem is you are still the 'boy' I married. I hope the shrink's office isn't as dismal as this waiting area. It's all new ground for me. I've always kept to myself. The old adage 'kids are to be seen, not heard' followed me into adulthood. It's hard to fight a message so soundly delivered with a father's belt.
By Sandra Hudson5 years ago in Humans
The Old Barn
It was the year I turned twelve that my life changed in ways I didn't fully understand at the time. I met Ell that year. Her real name was Elizabeth, but that didn't suit her at all. Elizabeth was a regal name and Ell was an awkward, pubescent girl with a bucket load of insecurities. No one ever moved into our community - they moved out, if that gives you an idea what type of family Ell came from. Well, that's not completely true. WE moved here four years before Ell, but only to take care of Grandma. Dad promised her she could die in her own home, in her own bed. Her dying took eight years.
By Sandra Hudson5 years ago in Fiction
My Search for Inner Peace
I look at the newness of the pencil in my hand and smile. Graphite and clay combine to form long, elegant threads of pencil lead, capable of smirching the crisp, white paper I pull from the shelf. It will be worn soon enough, I think, as I piece together my thoughts and ideas and turn them into written words.
By Sandra Hudson5 years ago in Confessions
