Last week a 6-year-old Alabama boy is murdered in the backseat of his Mother’s stolen car. Yesterday a home-made bomb maims and kills over twenty people. From the cozy interior of my Utah home life hasn’t changed. But it has. It does. The weight of life’s seemingly endless cruelty and senselessness can be together allContinue reading “How We Cope”
I looked at the dish. My hands shaking as they held the pieces. I looked at my son. As calmly as I could, looked at my husband and said “I need some time.” In my room I closed my eyes and let the tears flow. It was true. Mommy was sad.
Because what my computer doesn’t know is that you’ve been gone now for two years. My computer doesn’t know how aggressive your skin cancer was. My computer doesn’t know that we stayed up late with you in your last days, that we stood over you hand in hand praying, that we whispered into your ear “it’s okay, now, let go.”
She doesn’t even cry. Not in front of us anyway. She’s like a rock. We’re in a hotel for days while looking for a new house. She keeps us sane, activity-filled, like the destruction of our home is somehow a fun vacation opportunity.
February is one of my favorite months out of the year. At the beginning of the month we celebrate my son’s birth, at the end of the month we celebrate my daughters’, mid-month we celebrate my favorite made up holiday, which justifies eating lots of dark chocolate and heart-shaped cookies. But in the midst of allContinue reading “February Love, February Grief”