Lisa DiFruscio

Freelance Creative Writer & Journalistic Photographer

Location:Oakville, Ontario, Canada
Phone: 905-257-8645
2 Skills

Journalism Graduate 1991
Spiritual Psychology Certification 2007
Photo Journalist – various newspapers
Private Tutor /ESL Certificate
Published Author – Niagara Anthology
Best Children’s Book – Library Award
Copywriting for all genres
Magazines and Newsletters
Academic Papers
Business Writing
Professional Research (all content)
Freelance Writer
Academic -Creative
Niagara Anthology - PUBLISHED POET

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BIOGRAPHY ExcerptLisa Michelle DiFruscio
A good friend of mine stands dying. At least that is what his doctors diagose. Twenty-one specialists filled a hospital examination room and predicted with all human (not spiritual) certainty that he would leave this existence in a few month's time. That was a year ago.
He stands, ever uncertain of how much time is left to him, but is solemn in strength and faith. When I saw him Friday on New Year's Eve he looked slight of stature physically, but there was an actinic glow in his eyes, radiating an unmistakable Will for life. A grand-daughter had been born to him the day before Christmas Eve. "You should feel how strong her tiny hands hold my finger," he announced. "She's so small...".
I made some herbal tea for him - a custom healing blend for liver detox from The Mystical Tea. We talked about many things, some random and some rehearsed from a time when everything seemed normal, and the diagnosis wasn't then imaginable. He seemingly drifted away in conscious thought, taking his large twenty-four carat gold crucifix and weaving it through his fingers several more times during his two hour visit. It was a gift from his Mom who had passed a few years ago. The chain and crucifix were both oversized for a man not much larger than five feet, four inches and reaching a mere one hundred pounds. But his heart I can testify - is colossal.
We reminisced about earlier times in our friendship and laughed. Some of the things we had done - a secret known only to us - would stay between us. Not forgotten was a choice I'd been given and regrettably didn't take. One he said still made him angry. But I knew by his amenable eyes and mischievous grin he had learned the real truth in forgiveness.
He got up from the long ebony carved table. We were sitting facing each other and both glanced out through the floor to ceiling glass pane out to the forest where winter was silently cast. I walked with him to the door, and our hands became cradled. His hand encircled my forefinger. Sometimes a kiss isn't just a kiss. I was feeling that he'd come to say goodbye.
Travel well my dear heart
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