Drip drip drip. Tropical Storm Sally has been raining on us for three days. The gray drizzle suits my mood but makes me want to sleep all the time. When I’m awake and not working I stare out across the field and wonder why I’m here. Does the butterfly wonder too or does he know […]

Sunday afternoon blues. No plans no responsibilities, only time to reflect. Beau cried like his heart was broken when he had to leave with Mama. He has a lot of fun out here. I know he’ll be better in two minutes, but it’s still hard. The back of my car holds boxes I picked up […]

All my mind wants to do is hibernate. Let my body do physical stuff while my mind figures out how to put all my pieces back together. But here I am looking at unemployment, with no backup. I have to find a job. That’s my goal for today: Find two and apply. I can’t imagine […]

I’m on week 21. There are times that I laugh, smile, feel happiness, and even look forward to things. Some bereaved parents say they feel guilty for feeling happiness. I don’t have that. I’m thankful for every minute that isn’t spent in anguish. I do best when I keep my days busy with non-pressure activities. […]

I need to see him, touch him, smell him, laugh at his bad dad jokes, fix him fried chicken and macaroni and cheese, get a text from him, play a video game with him, sit on the back porch and watch the bird feeder, fuss at him over his messy room, his clothes still in […]

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My grandson Beau is with me for the weekend. He’s two. And brings me joy and pain all at once. Joy because he’s such a precious little fella. Pain because he’s so much like his father. It’s hard to be with him. But harder to be without him.  I curled up in bed with him […]

Twenty weeks. Long weeks. Lonely weeks. Where are you?

The last man standing in the middle of the night was Jim. Insensitive sometimes, but patiently present for hours on end. He tried. He’s gone now too. Barely a word in the past week. Busy… The misery is too much. For everyone. Especially me. I was told by other mothers this would happen, but I […]

The Mirror My eyes are green Hers are black Her hand goes to my face Who is she? Who am I? Will I ever see me in the mirror again?