|
 I start a load of laundry, take the boy to school, pour a cup of coffee, put the dogs out, answer email. I fold a load of laundry, make some phone calls, drink another cup of coffee, sit at my desk and write a few listless words that won’t go where I want them . . . → Read More: Behind My Eyes  For context, you might want to read this first. You know what sucks about being sad? Besides the sadness, I mean. It’s the all-consumingness of the thing. (Spell checker doesn’t care much for the word consumingness, to which I say get over yourself, spell checker! I have bigger problems than you!) No, what really . . . → Read More: Withouting Let’s just call grief what it really is: a wily, slimy, and brutally persistent motherfucker. Grief is like moths that thump against the lampshade until I am almost mad with their noise, except these moths are 40 pounds apiece and they are slamming against the inside of my skull. It’s a weight in my . . . → Read More: Cry Me a River  Here’s the thing: in the beginning, everyone is lost and alone. No matter how a person goes from being parent to parent of a child with disabilities, in the beginning the world turns itself ass-end-up. Whenever the news comes or the realization dawns—during pregnancy, immediately or shortly after birth or adoption, or later—there is . . . → Read More: In the Beginning I was doing pretty good. No, really. I was. Not great; after a many-months long depression, I wouldn’t expect to bounce back to some kind of happy-chirpy version of myself. No only would that be unrealistic, but everyone who knows me would be bug-eyed with confusion and amazement, so that sounds a little freaky. . . . → Read More: Grief Is an Emotional Tsunami and Integrity Sucks but Being Syndicated at BlogHer Is Pretty Cool so I’m Calling Today a Wash As predictable as sleepless nights with a newborn… As predictable as spring winds in Albuquerque… As predictable as taxes on April 15 in the US… That’s how predictable I am. My sons are both nearly perfect physical replicas of their fathers, what people have called, ever since those weird Austin Powers movies, a “mini . . . → Read More: As Predictable As Rain In Seattle  I don’t usually give advice. Even if you ask me for advice, I might shrug because really, why would I think that I know more than you about anything? But grief…I know a lot about that. It’s a shitty thing on which to be an expert, but that doesn’t mean I should let that . . . → Read More: Aftermath At 11:32 on Wednesday night, Brian’s cell phone rang. By the time he unhooked and removed his C-PAP mask, found his pants, and dislodged the phone from one of his pockets, he had missed the call. He saw that the call had come from his parents’ house and he knew the news wouldn’t be . . . → Read More: Grief Is a Rising Tide Down, down, down into the darkness of the grave Gently they go, the beautiful, the tender, the kind; Quietly they go, the intelligent, the witty, the brave. I know. But I do not approve. And I am not resigned. ~Edna St. Vincent Millay Perhaps my family seemed a little callous . . . → Read More: Contrary to the Natural Order A long sabbatical from blogging leaves a blank space where there should be thousands of words. Non-bloggers probably don’t know about that vacancy, but every writer knows what I mean. The words of the past months are starting to crowd my skull, but fortunately, a happy thing happened last week: when I thought of . . . → Read More: My (not so) Triumphant Return  |
    |
||||
|
Powered by WordPress & the Atahualpa Theme by BytesForAll. Discuss on our WP Forum |
||||||
