I imagine that, like me, you want an answer: something to eat or do or break or understand that will make the difference, make this bearable.
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 […]