Grieving is a task, a finite event to be crossed off a list. That’s how it felt. Whenever I was conscious of my grieving I’d remind myself ‘this is where we are right now, this too shall pass’. Wrong. It’s a never-ending process. Don’t get me wrong, it does change. Read more…
Image via Wikipedia When I was growing up the favorite hue of a favorite aunt was anything but black. Any color was fair game for her closet. Evenings out were cloaked in patterns of pink (hot) and varying shades of red or wine (from Beaujolais to bordeaux). Church clothes were Read more…
Grief is the bully of the emotional playground. In the midst of laughter and squeals of delight it will come stomping through the sandbox; it’s shadow covering the jungle gym and monkey bars, while other feelings cling to the periphery of the chain link fence. I started taking a Flamenco Read more…
Tonight was my seven-year old nephew’s last soccer game for the season. I won’t keep you in suspense; they lost. Badly. 6-0. The other team were veterans of the league, they had played together last year, they had ‘plays’. But before I digress into a rant about details that are Read more…