Hope comes home . . .
I lay awake, heart racing. Resting my hand upon my chest, I struggle to take a deep breath and remind myself to stay calm. I sit…
Finding her way . . .
Surrounded by opened mail and neatly organized piles of bills and receipts, I sit cross legged on the turquoise sofa. My laptop rests on a pillow…
Letting go . . .
Saturday morning I sit sipping my coffee, waiting for Phyllis to join me. Across the small cafe table her black coffee, steam escaping the tiny hole…
A mother’s hope . . .
There is a boy I love. I dreamed of him and what he would be before I ever met him, blonde and blue-eyed, smart and funny,…
All they need . . .
Dump trucks, trash trucks, and excavation equipment lay in the dirt just outside the patio where he last played. There is no mistaking Luca’s house, a…
A mother’s work . . .
In the weeks before Mother’s Day, I had planned to write a glorious and glowing post about motherhood. I felt sure that words would emerge and…
My boy . . .
1978 . . .In the very early hours on Friday of the Labor day weekend, I am approaching twenty-two long hours of labor. I am exhausted and somewhat delirious.…
At Seventeen . . .
My favorite exercise and escape is walking on the beach. I run across the highway to the trail and am greeted by the sunset. I squint my eyes,…
Bare Naked in Public 