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 …
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 …
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 …
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 …
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 …
