People who equate truth with fact are missing the point.

Darkness Is a Cannibal

No Points for Style

I remember walking up the stairs to Robert’s apartment, determined to end the hateful stalemate that was immoveable, static, a mountain or a moon, and I walked up the stairs trembling and I would end it. I would end it if I died. . . . → Read More: Darkness Is a Cannibal

The Cosmic Measuring Stick of Love

Since I appeared on The Ricki Lake Show: Inside Childhood Mental Illness last Wednesday I have heard from dozens of parents. Most say some variation of “Thank you for sharing your story. It makes me feel less alone.” Some are pleas for help finding appropriate services (How painful, not to have an answer, but . . . → Read More: The Cosmic Measuring Stick of Love

Happy In the Meantime

Real happiness is nothing like what we see on TV. That happiness comes from big houses and children who go to Ivy League colleges and beautiful dresses that drape gracefully over slender hips. For me, it is some mysterious combination of praying, serving, loving people, and creativity. . . . → Read More: Happy In the Meantime

Truncated Motherhood

The setting of a great hope is like the setting of the sun. The brightness of our life is gone. —Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

I had a therapist about a year and a half ago who gave me a hard time for maintaining Jacob and Abbie’s bedrooms when they had been gone so long. “It’s . . . → Read More: Truncated Motherhood

The Success of Love

Parental Alienation Syndrome creates a world in which the ground under our feet shifts and rolls without notice. . . . → Read More: The Success of Love

One Final Roadtrip

In the end, after almost everything was finished and her life was coming to a close, my grandma found joy. . . . → Read More: One Final Roadtrip

Behind My Eyes

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

Withouting

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

Cry Me a River

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

In the Beginning

Forest at Dusk

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

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