My elderly mother sat across from me at her kitchen table, staring down at the sliced strawberries in her cereal. I noticed she was nervously stirring the milk with her spoon, unsure of what to do next. "I can't eat this," she sighed, "I can't swallow it." Her eyes met mine. A petrified little girl …
Tag: grief
Love You (Part 1)
You cannot take on her pain. She has to go through this on her own. The voice sliced through my frenzied thoughts as I sat alone at the traffic light. It was commanding, leaving no room for argument. I silently cried as jolts of fear coursed through my body. I knew that was true. But …
A Starry Night in November
November 17, 1991. What was it about the air that day? Sharp and bright, laced with the scent of burnt amber leaves. The sweet promise of decay and death infused my senses, yet a bitter taste lingered on my tongue. Something wondrous and beautiful tugged at the frayed edges of my mind. Those worn gossamer threads were unraveling, and it chilled me to …
Dear Dad
Part of a parent's job is to make us feel safe. Comforted. Accepted. Loved. Hopefully, this gives us the ability to venture out into the big bad world with little fear. You did that for me. Thank you. When I try to visualize your face, I see your smile and your twinkling blue eyes -- like we're sharing a secret …
Go On, Open It
When I feel the darkness closing in, it's hard to breathe; the crushing pain and tears threatening to break me into tiny little pieces. Yet this rawness, this fear inexplicably opens me up, exposing my heart. I start to reach out again. I grab onto the positive, the light and hold it close. With patience and tenderness, I …
Signals from Beyond
When someone you love dies, you tend to wonder where they are now, if they're still 'around' in spirit, that sort of thing. It's only natural. My late father was a big goofball, very funny, but in a dry-as-toast humor kind of way (explains my sense of humor, I suppose). Before he died, we used …
The Breakthrough
whump-whump-whump-whump The helicopter overhead was distant--the propeller's thumps a low murmur seeping into my mind, stirring up dread, thick and suffocating. I stood inside my grandmother's old house and gazed at the peeling yellowed paint on the walls and the layers upon layers of dusty photographs covering every inch. In one black and white photo, a young pig-tailed girl's face beamed, sitting on her father's knee, her face forever frozen …
She's A Maineiac 