As  some of you already know, my husband of 34 years died on March 10 after a massive brain bleed. He was in the hospital for ten days--getting better--and then he had a second, even more massive bleed. The doctor said there was no hope for recovery. He lived five more days. The kids and I kept a bedside vigil, but Andy was no longer there.  I write this blog as a tribute to him--the best man I've ever known. 

And as I sat by his hospital bed, my mind wandered down the many roads Andy traveled. Up until the time Andy was four years old, he lived in Baden-Baden, Germany. His parents, German physicians, worked at a Sanatorium, nestled in the Black Forest. Andy was an only child.  But Hitler changed that idyllic life when he no longer allowed Jewish physicians to practice medicine in Germany. Andy and his parents fled to Switzerland on Crystal Night, then America. By the time they reached Ellis Island, most of his family in Germany had been rounded up, taken to concentration camps and murdered.   
 
I believe the realization that his life had been spared when so many others were not, impacted his life in many ways. Knowing he was living on borrowed time made him believe all humans should be treated alike, regardless of their religion, race, sexual orientation, or ethnicity. Realizing that his own life could have been snuffed out in a gas chamber for no reason other than Hitler’s belief that Jews were inferior to Arians, made him a very tolerant and aware individual.
 
He was active in the Civil Rights Movement and went to jail with other demonstrators in Alabama for driving Black residents and helping them register to vote. Andy told me it broke his heart and was a physical ache for him when he witnessed Black teenagers on TV who wanted to have a soda at the Woolworth’s counter or a drink of water from a public fountain being swept away with firehoses and beaten—sometimes to death. He needed for his life to matter. He needed to make a difference. Andy wanted to help the way others had helped him and his family escape Nazi Germany and build a new life in America. Andy's love language was service.
 
During his time as the Associate Dean for Student Affairs at the University of Arizona College of Medicine, one of his responsibilities was to develop a strong minority presence. He started a high school program called MedStart where kids from the reservation and other minority students were supported and nurtured from high school through college to help them make good choices that would later enable them to meet medical school entrance requirements.

I think he was quite proud that by the time he retired from that position, the U of A Med School had graduated more than a few Navajo, Hopi, Apache and Papago Indians as well as a number of Hispanic and Black students, and the number of women in each class was 50%. That had never happened in the history of the medical school.
 
Even in his retirement, he fought for others. Soon after we arrived in Oregon and bought a horse ranch (his life-long dream) the Arian Nation had plans to set up its headquarters in Grants Pass. Overnight, the Human Rights Alliance (of which he was president) gathered 1500 people to protest in front of the Josephine County Courthouse with signs saying, “Not In Our Town.” The Arian leaders changed their plans and left Grants Pass.
 
On the 50th anniversary of Crystal Night, the Human Rights Alliance put together a program which included the Anne Frank exhibit and weekly lectures at the local college by Holocaust survivors. Many of them stayed with us at our ranch.

One man, in particular, Sam, who was a Schindler’s list survivor—probably in his early eighties—delivered one lecture. At the end of his talk, when he asked if there were any questions, a young female student raised her hand. “Have you been changed by your experiences in a concentration camp?” Sam thought about it for a moment and then he said, ‘Yes. It made me more kind." Andy and I were so touched by those words. And I will never forget them.
 
In his retirement, Andy gave presentations at many schools throughout the country on the Holocaust, including the purchase of an exhibit of photographs depicting the terrible history of this event. While giving his presentations, Andy wore the star of David pinned to his shirt—which identified him as a Jew. He did these presentations because he wanted young people to know what happened in places like Auschwitz and Buchenwald. He wanted no one to experience this kind of horror again.
 
I hope you all don’t mind traveling with me as I sit alone now, trying to imagine life without him. I’ve lost my husband, my friend, my lover and the first person to read my novels. But the world has also lost a dazzling light.
 
Thanks to all of you who took this painful journey with me. Thank you for all the comments that make me feel loved and supported. At the end, I held his face in my hands and told him it was okay for him to go, that his work here was complete. 

As I write this, it has been 68 days since he passed. I wonder how long I'll mark the passage of time this way. Nothing in life is permanent (except for love) We all die.  I am still sad, devastated at times, but I also feel fortunate to have walked alongside this extraordinary man for 34 years. 
 

I am very happy to learn that Missing Pieces, the book I wrote about my father and the journey we took together toward forgiveness, has made the cut and is now a finalist for the RONE Award. I've been a finalist before, even won it last year for my thriller, Tormented. But it means more to me this year because before my father died, I promised that I'd tell our story--his story really.  A grenade blew up in his hand in WWII and it blew up in the hands of his uborn children as well. Our childhoods were far from idyllic. But when an aoritic aneurysm threatened to blow up inside him, I flew accross the coutry to be with him. During that time, he told me his story--all the missing pieces--and I came to love him in in a profound way. And that is what I want to remember—to remember always. The two of us, father and daughter, shadowed by the first light. Momentarily alone together, our breath rising into the morning air and him, lying there, telling me for the first time, the story of his life. The story of the man who was, after all, my father.

Just days before it was to be released, I panicked. What if people hate it? What if the reviewers call it "self indulgent" drivel? But this isn't what happened. Missing Pieces has the best reviews of any of my books--averaging 4.9 stars. So, you never know. 

​I hope Missing Pieces wins the RONE Award, not so much for me, but for my father 

It makes me very happy to announce that my novel, 
Tormented, is the winner of the Rone Award this year. I feel like a kid who's just won the national spelling bee. Last year, Redemption Lake, was a finalist. And I went to the awards ceremony as a bridesmaid. This year I got to be the bride.

It's hard to describe how good it makes me feel to win this award. It's a validation for all the hard work--the knowledge that someone else finds my work worthy. We writers don't make much money anymore--selling books  for .99. But for me the real thrill is to know that I've written the best book I can possibly write. And to know that readers are enjoying my words--and that maybe I'm making life a little better for others. That's where the joy comes for me.  

Of course, I also love to write. There is nothing I'd rather be doing that plotting a story that will entertain and perhaps move readers to a place of emotion. So I'm the lucky one--being able to spend my life doing something I love. I wish that for all you. Find something you love and give it all the passion you've got.  Thanks for your support on this writing journey. It's been quite the ride. 

I'm very pleased to announce that Missing Pieces launched on April 17th. I was much more nervous about the release of this book than with any of my others. I suppose it is because there is so much truth about my life within the pages of the beautiful cover, Elle Rossi of Tirgearr Publishing , designed. The two photographs she used are of my father--before and after the grenade blew. The novel tells the story of a daughter's journey with her crippled father-- from hate to understanding, forgiveness and ultimately love. My father, a carpenter by trade, lost most of his right hand when a grenade blew up in that hand. He sustained injuries so severe that he was kept in VA hospitals for years. The grenade uprooted trees and killed his best friend. And when he was finally released, he suffered from what we now call PTSD. He self-medicated with alcohol and was often angry and abusive to his children. We sometimes felt as if the bomb had exploded in our hands as well. Weeks before the release, I had nightmares in which reviewers labeled the work, "self indulgent drivel." I worried about how my family would react to my divulging all those well-kept "secrets."

​But that's not what happened. The reviews so far have been excellent, averaging 4.9 stars, and I couldn't be more pleased with the way readers are responding. I've received letters from other post WWII children who grew up with veterans damaged by the war--telling me that my story was their own. Hearing another human being's  life story has the ability to change us. Learning all the important things about my father's life certainly changed me.  

What Reviewers Are Saying

 ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️This is a review of Missing Pieces, the latest novel by Susan Clayton-Goldner. Before I dive into the review, I need to mention that I was provided a review copy of the book by the author and this is the eighth book of hers I have read and reviewed. 

I admit to liking all of her books that I have read so far and I am going to start by telling you right up front that this is her best work yet. In Dale Carnegie classes they tell you to talk about what you know and according to Susan Clayton-Goldner's synopsis of the book, this story is about her and her father and their relationship. I don't know the author personally so I cannot comment on what parts are fiction and what parts are true, but I can tell you that the characters came to life in front of me while I read and I could not put it down. On the beach in Hilton Head with sand blowing into our tent, on the plane to New York City, and while visiting with my daughter and two grand daughters, I was totally absorbed by the story. Not even when the not-quite-2-year-old was climbing over my back to get my attention, could I put it down! 

I know from my relationship with my father that I only knew parts of his story. Thank God my older brother interviewed him once about his family's emigration to the United States and the effort that it took to get here. He also recorded it so we now have his story in his words and when we need to we can listen to him tell it in his words.

Each of us has a family with a story. Some are more interesting than others. This book is about Susan Clayton-Goldner's. 

The book starts with the writer character receiving a call from her older brother telling her to come and visit her father as he has to have surgery and it is risky. He could die. She doesn't want to as her memories of her father are not pleasant. Her brother “guilts” her into it and she comes and spends time with him. As she doesn't have anything nice to say to him she asks him to tell her his story. When he does, old memories return. But these memories are not of the times that caused her to hate him. These memories are of more pleasant times. So she starts to wonder if she ever knew the man at all. The more stories he tells her, the more she needs and wants to hear!

I will warn you that this book will tug at your “heartstrings” and probably bring on a few tears. I know it did for me. It also reminded me that our time here is limited. Some will have more time than others. We need to make sure that we treat those we love with kindness while they are here as we don't know how long they will be with us or us with them. And those we don't love? Try walking a mile in their mocassins before you even think about judging them. When you do, maybe you will see the world from their point of view. 

The title Missing Pieces comes from the memories that were missing from the “puzzle” that was her father. As she found them, she put them together with those memories she had, and she ended up with a new version of the story of her life. It is that story that is slowly revealed to her and the reader as she listens to her father's story.

I loved the book and I think you will too. Read it; see if I am right. I bet I am!

​⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️Lilianna has been trying to put her father's abusive treatment behind her for almost twenty years. But when her brother asks her to come back and stay with him before surgery, she finds herself unable to say no. Soon she's finding a side to her father she never thought she'd see.

"Missing Pieces" is an engrossing story, in turns heartwarming and heart-wrenching, about family relationships and family legacies. It's a story of how drinking and abuse get passed down from generation to generation--but also a story of overcoming hardship and loss through love. Lilianna's father tells her his story of losing his mother and growing up during the Depression, and Lilianna realizes there are parts of him she never knew about, or that she suppressed in order to focus on her resentment of his abuse. She even recognizes her own behavior in him.

The two stories are deftly interwoven, and although this isn't a suspense story it keeps the reader's interest high by alternating Lilianna's story with her father's. Readers should be aware that child abuse is dealt with frankly, although not pruriently. Overall, "Missing Pieces" is a beautifully written family drama/women's fiction story in the vein of Jodi Picoult's work.

My thanks to the author for providing a review copy of this work. All opinions are my own.

What Readers Are Saying:

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