(I wrote this over Christmas break but never shared... late, but here it is anyways :) ) Trigger. Finger’s always there... cocked, ready. Pull! Clay shatters... grey like my brain. Hits the target, sprays, explodes. But there aren’t any clay pigeons. 2018 brought live targets... Christmas, then night one in the hospital. No electrodes, no... Continue Reading →
You know I was on the phone with my friend Emily two days ago telling her that I hated my speech. I’d written one and chucked that. I wrote the second one and was completely unhappy… And she said that’s because last year you told your own story and it came straight from the heart…... Continue Reading →
I walked along that street, oblivious to the sweat on my forehead and upper lip, loving the sunshine and the periodic breeze. But what I loved more was watching my son walk with purpose towards every house. Towards every mailbox. Towards wherever he could place one of those purple and white envelopes. He insisted on... Continue Reading →
They let me kiss her on the forehead while they held her… The sweet little baby girl. Her enamored parents. Being only a month old, hers reminded me of my son’s sweet face when he seemed so incredibly tiny and fragile. Breakable, yet little did I know how resilient he would be. And little did... Continue Reading →
*I wrote this last Wednesday night... Before today, through all of this, I’d really only cried- like balled my eyes out, snot from my nose- one other time. I’d had too little to eat and a couple drinks celebrating my birthday with 2 of my girlfriends… the stress melting as I sat back and... Continue Reading →
I needed a little liquid courage to put this on paper. (Besides it’s always much grittier, less polished and pretty, like real life.) But he said no. Nobody can know...
I sat there watching it flutter ever so slightly… down, up, down, up… Brief inhale, long exhale. Quick to capture the air, slow to let it go. So soft and sweet I almost held my breath for fear the motion of his chest would stop. All would be paralyzed. I’d panic. Remember to beat, my heart.
...there are byproducts of living with this disorder for which I'm grateful and putting them into words reminds me of something we've done on several Thanksgivings at my parents' house. We picked tree leaves and kept them in a basket by the door- at some point before dinner, each person would take one leaf and write something for which he/she was thankful, then we'd go around the dinner table and share our leaf...