Who’s listening? On writing and living a Story

The fog crept in steadily. The morning was dreary, unusually dark; so much so that my son asked if the sun was coming today. As I began my morning run I felt the drizzle soaking through the cloth on my arms, but it is unseasonably warm so my legs, bare to the elements, felt refreshed…

{Dust to Dust}

This is the week I learned that our children do not belong to us. We are not gods, to create a small being in our image. They come to us needy and helpless, and we are Caretakers.  Lives, made up of oxygen, carbon, hydrogen, nitrogen, calcium and phosphorus, even heart, mind, and soul; each are but dust returning to…

{on feeling the crazies and hoping, still}

some days just are. crazy that is, when you wonder how to catch your breath.  and realize in a shocking moment that you may not be taking in h20.  and yet miraculously you’re still alive. panic, dread and fear threaten to consume. some internal, perfectionist voice screaming: this can’t be right? how can parenting be so hard?…

{Fly Away From Me: On Children}

I woke up this morning, the sun creeping in earlier than I wanted.  Coming out of my dreams, I felt grief wash over my body, sore from running daily; I felt the years wash over me physically.  And fear. I am afraid for all the time—lost.  Gone. My children are almost grownup into people, yet…

{The Black Dog is Chasing Me}

I struggle with periodic depression.  I’ve written a lot about it here on the blog.  See above link for more.  This, this is today. I feel myself withdrawing.  I am slowly closing in on myself, retreating … Avoiding the very thing that heals, I do the thing that I most hate:  run. I cannot stop….

{My Father is Dead} A Remembrance on Father’s Day

“I will not leave you orphaned… I don’t leave you the way you’re used to being left–feeling abandoned, bereft… I’m leaving you well and whole.” — John 14 My father is dead but he is alive in my head. He haunts me. I often wish I could kill him  off for good, then I remember how much…

{On Parenting and Being}

Parenting is undoubtedly the most difficult job I’ve ever done. It’s not instinctive for me or intuitive, though Tom frequently argues with me on this, the fact remains that I do not feel like a good mother.   I’m a perfectionist. I’m hard on myself. Most days I fear I’m such a f-up that I can’t…

My Duct Taped Heart (a poem)

I’m awake early, even before my alarm. Lieing in bed listening to the rolling thunder, wondering to myself. I know a rain spout is loose, it was duck taped on. It worked for a season but even that finally came loose and free. I don’t know how to fix things. I wonder about my father and…

What’s changing, so that I can be writing!

This is such a busy time for folks with kids.  We are living the last month or so of school and for whatever reason my kids seem to teeter on the brink of things this year academically, spiritually, emotionally — this has been a challenging and demanding year.  With summer looming, there will be any opportunities to…

Family in Town (a poem about family, loss, addiction, and change)

Family in town and from out of town sometimes means heavy remembering, and just a little trying to forget though you are no longer disappearing. Into the bottle. Family in town means many goings-on, even when you’re sick and tired.  It means running out of money. It means trying hard to make everyone happy.  Trying…

Choking

You choke on the words. You hurt me. Three simple words, a confrontation that won’t come. The fear-scab comes off the child-grown-up-into-woman wound. The mutilation, scarred over long enough   that you had actually forgotten. Again. Impossible. You needed to forget. Until mother-sister-blood family rips it off again. Their indifference, your insignificance, that’s what you need…

What Kind of Mother is She?

It occurs to me that I don’t write much about being a mother.  The reasons are simple.  I have no idea what I’m doing.  I use my instincts.  But I have no exact answers.  It took me years to accept that my mom and dad “did their best.”  They didn’t purposefully f*ck with me.  And…