The Name of The Son

Imagine.＂Imagine there’s no heaven. It’s easy if you try.＂Only... it’s not to be the wistful hopefulness of John Lennon’s lyrics. Imagine instead...It all falls away in front and to the right of you at a dizzying, frantic pace, rushing like a roller coaster falling from hell further into the abyss until it jolts you to a halt where you find yourself standing.Standing on cold frozen ground, cold wind swirling about you, people dressed in black as a small white coffin is lowered slowly into the frozen hole just there, in front of you.Indeed, ＂imagine there’s no heaven. It’s easy if you try.＂Imagine yourself three decades later, the sadness of that day worn into the lines on your face, weathered slow grief on display if you only know to look for it. Imagine a voice, the voice of a loved one- your father- whispering to you. In one ear, he whispers, ＂we need to find him.＂ It doesn’t sound all that crazy as you roll it around in the small reservoir of what remains of your hope. After all, Dad lives in the whisperstream. He hears things, sees things you cannot. And he says it is possible that your stillborn child’s soul may have survived the death of its body. He says it may still be alive in another child, somewhere in this world around you. It’s crazy, I know, but you think about it. And you try to decide whether to believe, and whether to go in search.Imagine.In his strange hallucinatory tale, D. Ray Withrow advances the fantastic story of a father and son- a dead Dad and his boozy boy- negotiating the relationship they neglected in the living years. Turn the page and visit their world, dance the dance of the electrons that is their lives.