This is the stage that all of Shari’s thinking blog readers have been dreading for years, when her humor and good sense desert her and she disintegrates into dramatic, navel-gazing grief for weeks on end.
In which I arise today Read More »
Thank you so much for your advice and wisdom on my last post. I wrote what follows before I read your stories, but I could be quoting you. You also said some things I’d never thought of before. Thanks for being so brave in sharing your words. Here are the suggestions good women gave to
Processing miscarriage Read More »
Dear Son, It is always easier not to feel. Some days, even weeks, I am entirely numb, knowing I lost you but unable to feel a thing—no love, no loss, no tears. Then comes a day when it all breaks over me. And afterwards I get up and clean my house again and cook supper
When I was a child, I had more grandmothers than I could count—grandmothers and step-grandmothers and great-grandmothers, all beloved— but only one Grandpa. Grandpa was from Minnesota—a tough cookie, hardly sick a day in his life. He loved snow and popcorn and apple cider and northern lakes. He could tell stories that left us in
Remembering Grandpa Read More »
Her world is receding, shrinking into a pale aqua cube with bright lights, lots of cords, an IV drip for every need, and a trio of inhabitants: herself, her husband, and her mother. The hospital staff are waiters and butlers, serving IV’s, checking the cords, and bowing themselves out. She is receding too. Like a babe
Walking through the woods, I found a little door. I’m sure I saw a welcome mat laid down, curled from waiting. I’d like to stop in for tea sipped from an acorn cup, and some sweet nut cakes. I’d like to forget that I’m adult, that there are dirty dishes and bad news waiting in
Alice in wonderland, or not Read More »
Confession: The only thing worse than seeing someone for the last time is not seeing someone for the last time. It wasn’t my grandpa after all. Someone had taken him away and left a wax effigy; not a very good one, though they obviously tried. The cheeks and mouth were all wrong. And the hands
Hard workin hands. Logger man hands. I remember how they felt around mine when I was seven, tagging along on his errands. I remember how they looked holding the whoopie pies I baked him, their smooth circles dwarfed by his huge fingers. All of his sons were big sturdy men with hands to match, but
The best part about Grandpa Read More »
“In the beginning, O God, your Spirit swept over the chaotic deep like a wild wind and creation was born. In the turbulence of my own life and the unsettled waters of the world today let there be new birthings of your Spirit. In the currents of my own heart and the upheavals of the
Words from a friend Read More »
Confession: You already know this about me–sometimes I write about caterpillars when I can’t write about cataclysm. My grandfather is dying today (my only grandpa, pillar around which my earliest memories twine), and my sister is in the ER for the third time in a week (my only sister, oh my sister). I hold this
