In June, I put a photo of some cards from my father up in the header (this one, here). And then I never explained the photo. I had intended to. But it became one of a couple dozen unfinished thoughts of this summer.
* * * * *
Once . . . → Read More: Unfinished
“Think where man’s glory most begins and ends, And say my glory was I had such friends.” –William Butler Yeats
I am overwhelmed by your kindnesses.
Cards, texts, emails, calls, messages, comments, and an old-school, hand-written, two-page, beautifully-eloquent letter.
An abundance of food, including The Salsa (!!), and even strawberry-jalapeno cotton candy (!!!).
. . . → Read More: I Have Such Friends
I’m going to level with you: I don’t know what I’m doing.
I mean, I know what I’m doing–the motions I’m making, the checklist of details and minutiae I’ve outlined, the probate forms I’ve drafted, the gathering into order what was already in order but what feels better to reorder and . . . → Read More: Treading, Treading (Flailing, Thrashing), Treading
Some glad morning when this life is o’er, I’ll fly away; To a home on God’s celestial shore, I’ll fly away (I’ll fly away).
I lost my voice, Sisterhood. It started in March, a hoarseness, a rawness when trying to express some words, some thoughts, and I discovered that it was . . . → Read More: That Glad Morning
A few nights ago, The Child and I loaded into our car to head home from church. Before pulling away from the curb, I scrolled through the missed messages and emails that had accumulated on my phone while it had been silenced. Growing impatient and bored with my reading (and being anxious to . . . → Read More: Considering It: Sing About the Wheels
From the OtherSuchucopia (you know, the funky horn from which an abundance of randomocity overflows):
One After a roller-coaster several weeks, my father is home–and doing well. Like really well. Like…just thank you, Lord.
The doctors’ recommendations of last week that we meet with hospice now feel like an . . . → Read More: An OtherSuchucopia
I do not know what it is like to be a cancer patient.
I only know how it is to be the granddaughter of one,
the niece of one,
the friend of one,
the daughter of one.
And words a daughter never wants to hear:
“Stage III B or IV”
“All that can be . . . → Read More: Cancer is an Expletive
Exactly thirty-four years ago today, my parents and I were hanging out together in a hospital room at the downtown branch of one of the hospitals in The Big City, getting to know one another. I was the baldish newborn over which they fussed and pretty much The Coolest Kid They’d Ever Known. . . . → Read More: Celebrating Thirty-Four, Ironically, Back Where We First Met
I’m about to ramble. I feel it coming on and am powerless to stop it.
You’ve been warned.
I sort of fell off the face recently. I know from calls and e-mails and texts that some of you have noticed. Which in its own way rocks. Not the falling . . . → Read More: A Momentary Pause from My Falling off the Face