On the one year anniversary of my cousin's death, his older sister wrote that the French version of "I miss you", translates to, "you are missing from me." She shared that this is how she feels about her little brother since his passing. He is missing from our lives. And while the pain dulls a… Continue reading You Are Missing From Me
I'm starting a new series here where I'm sharing old posts from past blogs and giving them new life. I published this in July 2015, just a few months after my mother's cancer diagnosis. Rereading these words, almost three years later, is a surreal experience. And I wanted to share them. "The Faucet Is Leaking"… Continue reading Memory Lane: My Faucet Is Leaking
I didn't sleep great last night. I go through phases with this book where I'm great and I'm writing happy stuff and then a chapter later the shit has hit the fan again. Like life. Life is like that. A few days ago I wrote this scene where a few of the characters are together… Continue reading Writing About Death Is Hard
It wasn't what I was looking for. I'd been eyeing a used Chrysler Pacifica, but when we stopped by the dealership the Pacifica wasn't available. The salesman, an elderly gentleman with a slight lean on his right leg and a jaunty sort of walk, grunted that there was something similar on their back lot and… Continue reading A Goodbye To A Bad Car
I remember writing frantic Facebook posts about the big things happening or potentially happening, hoping that by putting words to these dreams of bigger, greater things they might somehow become more real than layers of code splayed across my cell phone screen. Inevitably those flights of fancy and delusions of grandeur never materialized out of… Continue reading A Do Nothing B*tch
I never speed. I'm religiously faithful to speeding limits. I keep my hands at ten and two and scan the horizon for traffic signs and police. I'm cautious. When I test drove a sports car the salesman told me to open her up and see what she could do. I opted not to and instead… Continue reading The Space She Held
Reflecting on the things I've learned about my mother in the first year since her death.
Layers of makeup can't hide the pain of loss.
When grief takes on the form of a gnawing ache, rather than a sharp, stabbing pain.
Dear Mom, Yesterday you would be 58 years old. Yesterday I'd have called you first thing in the morning, trying to be one of the first people to sing you, "Happy Birthday". Your granddaughter and son-in-law would have joined us. You'd have laughed and thanked us. Yesterday I'd have taken you out to eat at… Continue reading I Have To Write Something For Her Birthday