I am in here.
It would have surprised me even yesterday morning how much of an emotional drain that burying your mother is. I’d felt steady all week, after all. Everything went as planned, many people came to the mass, and even Aunt Helen and Uncle Darth were nice to me — at least, as nice as you can … Continue reading Afterwards
I’ve moved myself into my son’s old room, which has a nice thick rug on the floor for crawling upon (not allowed to put weight on my foot even if I could stand the pain), and a new futon in the corner upon which I now conduct my life. If I am laid up, I … Continue reading I dream of nightmares
Why shouldn’t I be relieved? I am not happy, mind you. I have no plans to party now that you’re gone. It’s more like releasing a breath that I’ve been holding for forty-seven years. I don’t want to keep you from your journey, or me from mine. You were my mother for a reason. Why … Continue reading Dear Mom,
Of course, I can’t have just any old Bad Week — I have to do it up good and proper. Last night, getting off of the plane in Cincinnati, I set my foot down wrong on the last step and fell. I got to ride to the hospital in an ambulance. Always wondered what that … Continue reading The Day of Vicodin
white pebble 