On the Fourth of July, 1979,
my mother disappeared behind the sliding glass doors of Boston City Hospital.
For Crying Out Loud
Spanning 1964 to 1989, the memoir traces a childhood shaped by instability, the formative years working at Boston City Hospital, and the quiet, lasting imprint of emotional silence. Told with restraint and clarity, it explores how memory endures and reshapes a life over time.
Seeking literary representation.
Outdoor bookstore, Boston winter
For Crying Out Loud
A psychologically driven narrative about memory, endurance, and the long aftermath of emotional silence
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An excerpt from For Crying Out Loud
My mother, Ma, spoke what would become her last words on the final day of her life.
“I’m going to have to go to the hospital tomorrow.”
I will never forget the look on her face. She was exhausted. I was still a teenager, too young and unprepared to respond the way I wish I could now. My brain wasn’t fully developed, and hers was being overtaken by metastatic cancer. I had learned early to avoid emotional discomfort at all costs, and by then, I had become good at it. Still, I carry the regret. If I could speak to her now, I would ask the question I never dared to ask then:
Ma, what was it like for you as a child?
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Susan Norman is a writer, photographer, and registered nurse. She worked at Boston City Hospital, where For Crying Out Loud both opens and closes, and later at UCLA and in behavioral health as a regional nurse manager.
For over twenty-five years, she worked as a professional photographer in Los Angeles.
For Crying Out Loud is her first book.
My work explores memory, grief, and the quiet ways caregiving shapes a life. I write to preserve memory so that even in absence, presence endures on the page.