September 4 is my month and day. Mine. Shared with my family. Yet – it is mid August and my attempt to honor this date, my thoughts and grief in the death of my mother – seems feeble. Time has a way of scooping us up and moving us at a disturbingly fast pace. The
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Drinking From a Fire Hydrant
Exhausted. Tired to my bones. Weak. Shoulders slumping. Weary. Numb. How. Do. I. Go. On? Life is demanding. My mind never stops. One thing after another after another after another keeps on coming. It’s never one thing – or a couple of small things – or even a couple of big things that threaten to
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Grandma’s Scratch Pad
I vividly remember the moment the words sank into my mind. It was a few days after mom’s funeral. We were sitting around the kitchen table going through cards and kind notes filled with sweet memories of mom. A tender moment for each of us. Turning the pages in mom’s address book, looking up addresses
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The Miracle
As these words find their way to this page this morning, I’m not sure what to expect, what’s going to show up. My heart is full. More than 30 years ago when I was pregnant with my youngest son, there were few, if ever, ultrasounds, sonograms or growth scans done – much less 2-D, 3-D
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Seasons
Silence – the place my heart has been the past few months or so. It’s been that long since I posted my last essay. Expressing guilt about that to one of my mentors recently, she explained to me that there are seasons in a writer’s life. This particular season is named “gathering”. In this place,
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Happy New Year – WELCOME 2014!
Having great intentions, I began writing a post observing my favorite moments of 2013 using pictures of my journey this past year. It didn’t take long for me to realize tears were sliding silently down my cheeks. Falling, pulled by gravity, to my chin where I wiped them on my sleeve – some escaping and
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My Christmas Post
Well, it is in fact, December 29th but I am still going to post this. My blog has been down for several days due to an important update I didn’t know I needed and after many emails, texts and phone calls my diligent buddies, J and S, got it all figured out. Goodness, I lack
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Son in the Mourning
Wonder, doubt and fear fill my heart. I wonder when the pain will stop, doubt my ability to conquer it and fear what and who I will become. How is it possible to hurt so deeply? It is dark. A darkness that can be felt physically. A darkness that sucks the oxygen out of me
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Ewwww! That’s Gross!
Having raised three sons and a daughter, I have seen my share of gross. My five grandchildren have given me even more opportunities to experience the “yuck” factor. Despite my experiences, Little did I ever dream that the grossest, most vile thing of all would one day come from my own body. On a recent