DigitalCommons@C.O.D.

Camp, Amy

Grounding Myself

Singh, Shalini

Light Within

Fitzpatrick, Isabelle

Throne of Straw

Mardegan, Jeanne

The Prairie Light Review 
Volume 46 
Number 2 Spring 2024 Article 34 
Spring 5-1-2024 
Finally 
Jeanne Mardegan 
College of DuPage 
Follow this and additional works at: https://dc.cod.edu/plr 
Recommended Citation 
Mardegan, Jeanne (2024) "Finally," The Prairie Light Review: Vol. 46: No. 2, Article 34. 
Available at: https://dc.cod.edu/plr/vol46/iss2/34 
This Selection is brought to you for free and open access by the College Publications at DigitalCommons@COD. It 
has been accepted for inclusion in The Prairie Light Review by an authorized editor of DigitalCommons@COD. For 
more information, please contact orenick@cod.edu. 
I think most kids go through the Mom, I wanna be an actor phase in 
their childhood; I know I did. Dressing up in my nicest Von Maur dress, talking 
in the mirror as if I was a celebrity being interviewed on The Ellen Show, was 
how I spent my free time. Aside from community theater, my dream remained 
just that: a dream. 
What I was most jealous of was the red carpet premieres and award 
shows that anyone who was anyone was attending. Not only did they get to 
don the fanciest couture looks and were interviewed by Vogue and whatnot, 
but they knew they made it when they were invited to attend. A red carpet 
marked the start of a successful career and bright future.
The invitation called for all-black attire. I looked in the mirror, my 
skirt resembling that of a cupcake as it poofed out while still accentuating my 
waist. I fiddled with my sleeves. They were sheer, like netting, with embroidered 
polka-dots. Tucking in the top to the bottom, it flowed as if one dress instead of 
two articles of clothing. Long, suede boots kissed my calves as I zipped them 
up, while Mom’s vintage Gucci sunglasses completed the look. I did a spin in 
the mirror, excited to answer the “who are you wearing?” questions that were 
sure to flutter in when we arrived.
My team that would be accompanying me to the premiere consist-
ed of Mom, Claudia, Amy, and Mike. We sat around the living room, and as 
I turned my head to catch a glimpse of the young spring that was blooming 
outside, the limo pulled into our driveway.
I’ve never been in a limo before, but when our driver, Brian, opened 
the door for us, I felt like a million bucks. Mom talked the whole way to the site; 
nerves were practically coming out of the air freshener. I made a joke about 
wanting a glass of champagne, despite it only being 9:30 in the morning. Brian 
offered to run into a liquor store for me. I liked Brian. 
Upon our arrival, we were the first ones there. One would think that 
was a rookie move, yet it was all part of the process. Angela, the event coordi-
nator, instantly complimented my choice of wardrobe; I knew I had picked well. 
With just a few steps to my right, I caught a glimpse of the film poster that was 
practically burned into my mind at this point, having seen it loads over the past 
week. It read: In Memoriam: Lino Mardegan Jr. (November 10, 1966 - April 
13, 2023).
Dad was dead.
For something we, as a family, had been preparing for for nearly a 
decade, it still couldn’t have been more shocking. Tuesday he went into the hos-
pital for a foot examination, Wednesday he was told amputation was needed, 
and Thursday he was gone. His kidneys finally gave out and his heart went with 
them.
People always say you never forget what you’re doing when you 
hear a loved one died. I was folding laundry; what an anticlimactic activity to 
end a nine-year familial saga.
  Family and close friends trickled in. I believe it says alot about a 
person if they show up at a funeral; I know it spoke volumes to see some friends 
over others. Each was greeted at the doors by reporters, as Angela took note 
of who was in attendance since Mom would need a list for writing thank-you 
notes. The adults headed into the room for the screening while my cousins and 
I waited in the entrance. Most had already seen my dad yesterday, but I never 
went in. I’ve never been one for previews.
Uncle Kevin walked up to us, greeting my oldest cousin Louis about 
his brother’s lack of attendance. Luke doesn’t really come around anymore, 
so it was quite the shock to see him yesterday, at the wake. Uncle told Louis 
that Luke needed a shave, for he was looking a bit “amish.” Laughter erupted 
around the kids; I was so grateful for my goofy uncle at this moment.
Mom walked out to fetch the kids for the start of the final good-bye 
dressed to the nines, telling us and the choir that she was channeling Jackie 
O. Like Jackie, she was a loyal wife who lost her love far too young, donning 
shades to mask her tears and sorrows, while her shiny black pumps gave her 
height and an escape from all the relatives she didn’t wish to see.
I appreciated the way that she didn’t force me and Claudia to do any-
thing we didn’t want to do. Yet, she did want us by her side, in the front, when 
it came to watching people walk by the casket. It was so weird to see these 
people cry, people who barely knew my dad. He would’ve hated all this.
But he’s not here to say anything.
After the first round of tears had shed during the day, we were escort-
ed back to the limo. Brian opened the doors to the car, which quickly became 
my safe haven for the day. I could look out, yet nobody could see me. If I 
wanted to cry, this was the place to do it.
But, I didn’t cry.
In the church, my mom sat beside me, eyes pouring rain as my aunt 
clutched her in comfort. To my left, Claudia, of whom I thought was my second 
strong soldier, collapsed as soon as the priest began the hymn. It finally must’ve 
settled in for her. I played with my ring the entire mass, attempting to hold back 
Finally
Jeanne Mardegan
3332 1
Mardegan: Finally
Published by DigitalCommons@COD, 2024
chuckles. It’s strange—I will watch any movie, read any book, catch one of 
those animal shelter commercials and the floodgates are unleashed instanta-
neously. Yet, when reality strikes, my eyes remain dry. 
So yes, my dad was lying before me in a casket and all these sur-
rounding people, most of whom didn’t even know him, couldn’t help but sob. 
And they were sobbing for me, for the fact that I now had to go to prom, gradu-
ate, walk down the aisle all without my dad there to witness. And yet, I couldn’t 
stop myself from hysterically laughing at the fact that the priest compared me to 
“a fruit from my parents garden of love” five minutes prior.
From the church we shifted to the cemetery to lunch at an Italian 
restaurant, filled with speech after speech from my dad’s childhood pals. 
Watching them, standing before the crowd, was like watching an A-list star on 
the television. I knew their names and their stories, but I had never met them be-
fore. I sat in the back corner of the restaurant, surrounded by my body guards 
to deflect me from touchy strangers.
Numbness whispered in my ear: he’s really gone.
I’d be 18 in a week, and Dad only knew me as a child.
I’d graduate high school at the end of the month, but Dad’s view 
would be from the afterlife.
One day, I’d marry the love of my life, yet I’d be giving myself away.
I want to have kids and start a family, however, it would be with peo-
ple my dad never met.
One by one, people said their “goodbyes” and I watched as the 
credits rolled to conclude the sight. 
The Window Scene
PhotographRicardo Gallegos
3534 2
The Prairie Light Review, Vol. 46, No. 2 [2024], Art. 34
https://dc.cod.edu/plr/vol46/iss2/34


English

Finally

Yearman, Keith

Venezuelans Waiting to Cross Van Buren

Sana, Adam

Enmeshed

Tipton, Tom

The Prairie Light Review 
Volume 46 
Number 2 Spring 2024 Article 9 
Spring 5-1-2024 
Dies Natales - for Lydia 
Tom Tipton 
College of DuPage 
Follow this and additional works at: https://dc.cod.edu/plr 
Recommended Citation 
Tipton, Tom (2024) "Dies Natales - for Lydia," The Prairie Light Review: Vol. 46: No. 2, Article 9. 
Available at: https://dc.cod.edu/plr/vol46/iss2/9 
This Selection is brought to you for free and open access by the College Publications at DigitalCommons@COD. It 
has been accepted for inclusion in The Prairie Light Review by an authorized editor of DigitalCommons@COD. For 
more information, please contact orenick@cod.edu. 
Aloft in the clouds,
a thought was formed
that etched you into being.
The billowing of souls
intermingling in the mist
was crossed by a white ray
that pierced and quickened you.
 
Heads bowed,
parents of sacrifice
threw themselves down,
floating from the clouds
into the mystery of your being,
calling your name
before it was known.
 
An incantation of spirit
sung by a shroud of humanity
found your melody,
droned a harmony to it,
unheard.
 
And darkness swirled 
within the pall of your being,
sharp edges lunging against the mist;
frost sliced the design of your heart,
and revealed the beauty of its Maker
in your wound.
 
A fog settles to ground,
hangs within the low spots of fields,
and presses you below,
and ever below
its heavy droplets.
 Until the streak of warmth
breaks through blue.
And above,
the yellow glow of creation
bids you rise 
 
to walk again
upon the soil
that bows before your feet, unnoticed;
And that fog that had weighed you down
as tears now washes your eyes,
clears your sight,
and opens it to sun-glared vistas,
hitherto hidden,
now gloriously open before you.
 
Behind you falls
the ebony monolith of your past,
as you are pulled forward
into the ever-curling vibrancy of nature.
A world of green movement
transports the self beyond the self.
 
Rising again aloft,
upon the echoing upward draft,
you look down upon what was,
and see what will be –
a symphony of silence
bursting into eternal peace,
touching the face
of your MakerAcrylic on canvasMegha Jain
Door of Rajasthan
Dies Natales
for Lydia
Tom Tipton
76 1
Tipton: Dies Natales - for Lydia
Published by DigitalCommons@COD, 2024


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Grounding Myself

Light Within

Throne of Straw

Finally

Venezuelans Waiting to Cross Van Buren

Enmeshed

Dies Natales - for Lydia

Flying

Old Woman in Window

Death Alley

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