I too have turned my child over to hard things, and I too have let him cry into his pillow, and sometimes I hate myself for that.
The point of Christmas is that Christ entered. Here. He is the last person in the world to be upset with a mess, or rattled by the unforeseen. He is acquainted with grief.
I wrote this piece many weeks ago, about living as a foster parent and a woman. Now at last I am young enough to share it.
I dreamed I saw her again Her sweet little grin Her sister hung back and wouldn’t touch me But she came to my arms And snuggled And smiled I held her And when I woke there was a pit of darkness in my heart That will not go away, still And no matter what I […]
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 […]
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 […]