Ten

Ten

Tonight will be the last night I tuck you in as a nine-year-old. Ten will greet us in the morning. Ten. I keep repeating this number over and over. Each time, tears brim in the corner of my eyes. I remember your first bath in our home, a small apartment in Texas. I...
When the Grief Has No Place to Land

When the Grief Has No Place to Land

Two weeks ago, tears streamed down my face while watching a movie in a packed theater. My visceral reaction unleashed a grief I try to keep under wraps. Most of the time I am successful, but in this particular scene, a daughter eulogizes her father at his funeral. I...

Donuts Always Help Me Remember

As a little girl, Sunday mornings meant one thing: donuts. I woke early, opened the door, creeped onto the driveway and fetched the morning paper. Rushing to the dining table, I shuffled through the headlines, grabbed the comic section, the glossy Parade magazine and...
The Gaps Cannot Be Filled

The Gaps Cannot Be Filled

As February winds down, I am confronted with the birth of March. It is a month that presents a paradox – the arrival of Spring, but the anniversary of my father’s death. This year will mark six years since we lost him. There are days that I still struggle...

Sometimes the Unraveling Is Unexpected

It happened during a break from writing. I looked at my morning coffee mug at the corner of my desk, recognizing the stale smell of what’s forgotten in the air. The afternoon sun beamed through the slits of my office window. I glanced at my watch, knowing that...