61
Jun 9, 2017
They sit waiting–my children and this party of their best friends, a huddled, cross-legged, patchwork group in costumes as vibrant and varied as they. Even with the house lights dim, I see the startling glint of silver sequins, a neon vest, leotards and athletic jerseys. I slip into a chair and just smile, holding my […]
62
Apr 14, 2017
We wind our way along Pier 60 just as the sun dips, melting gold right into the ocean. I stand a moment and just breathe, watching the way the waves rise, wind-shaped right out of the glass sea. The pier is a flurry of activity as the city gears up for a festival on the […]
63
Mar 24, 2017
I find her note on my desk. It’s just a yellow sticky note written in ballpoint, but the print is her own. I can almost see her hand gripping the pen. That’s it, a small, blinding-bright effort to encourage, inspired by some of Ann Voskamp’s ideas for living given I’ve slapped up on our refrigerator door […]
64
Mar 3, 2017
Driving home at night in the sluicing rain, I can barely make out the thick white lines that mark our lane. Water arcs, pounding dull against the wheel wells, and Zoe says, “Go slow, Mom. We’re almost home.” Go slow. She’s right. It really is the only safe way through. Tonight, it seems easier to […]
65
Sep 16, 2016
“I love you.” He says it slowly, the way he says everything, but lifting the word you, as if in emphasis. It’s not enough just to fling the words into the air above her head and walk away. He knows this. Purposefulness has been a recent goal. So instead, Adam bends his lean frame toward the […]
66
Jul 1, 2016
They cast a long shadow on the lawn, all legs, son in so many ways like his father. It’s striking. Nothing really prepares a mother for the moments when she looks at her children and sees something of the adults they’re becoming, the careful sculpting of the future. No matter how broad those shoulders get, I […]
67
Jan 15, 2016
Some days just feel bruised—suddenly all purple-black and sore, tender. Putting the towels away, the still-warm stacks soft in my hands, I lean into the linen closet and allow the tears I’ve been swallowing to come, quietly. At the moment, I am sick with seems and nevers, near-drowning in shadows and struggling hard just to breathe. I can […]
68
Nov 6, 2015
She apologizes to Kevin like we autism mamas do, ignoring the sharp, slicing pain it brings just to say the words. I’m sorry, my daughter–she has autism. She doesn’t mean nothing by it. She says this gesturing over something Kevin barely noticed, a failure to say hello, a back turned, a little stumble over […]
69
Oct 16, 2015
The hour turns, and my friend waves me over, patting the chair beside. All evening, we have all only wanted to surround her, this iron-strong friend strong enough yet to admit that she needs us to lift her. It takes a brave woman to allow the veil to fall—whisper-light—from her face, to sit uncovered and honest, to […]
70
Jul 3, 2015
I confess that when she comes to get me, I do not want to get up. I just picked up my book—Dorothea Frank’s Plantation, and I have precious few moments to mind-leap on down to the Lowcountry and shut out the world. Every time this author punctuates a sentence with the word yanh, I smell the […]