I Could Make That for You!

My eventual honesty with Mama started with a Laura Ashley comforter. I was going away for the summer after 10th grade as a dance major at the Georgia Governor’s Honors Program and could decorate a space entirely for myself. I envisioned decorating my side of the college dormitory in all Laura Ashley, as I had seen in the J.C. Penny catalog with matching floral bedding and draperies. I wanted to have matching things like that, not like my bedroom at home with homemade curtains and a white-painted desk that Daddy built. I decided that a thick, floral, luxurious Laura Ashley comforter would be my official welcome to adulthood, one that smelled sweet and felt cool to the touch.

Thanks I Guess, ThanksSelena RaygozaNovember 27, 2023mothers, Daughter, Growing upComment

Tiger Stripes

I get home a little after midnight. Mom is awake reading Joyce Meyer on the couch and Dad is upstairs sleeping. I head to the kitchen to grab some water. She takes off her reading glasses and watches me.

“You’re not supposed to be out this late with a cinderella license.”

Rebellious BodiesGuest UserDecember 26, 2022Mother daughter, Daughter, mother, body imageComment

Grief Is a Book You Can’t Put Down

In 1994, in cold and damp London, in a Waterstones bookstore, the memoir And When Did You Last See Your Father? perched on a paperback display. Three weeks after my father’s death from pancreatic cancer, I had gone to England to start my junior year in college studying abroad.

GriefGuest UserAugust 24, 2021grief, father, Daughter Comments

Star Stuff

The story starts more than 4.6 billion years ago. Somewhere in the Local Group, the cluster of galaxies that the Milky Way lives in, a star died. It might not have been a massive star—maybe only five suns big. But it grew too big to support itself, and so it burned out. The outsides exploded, throwing dust and star matter into the universe—a supernova—and the core collapsed in on itself. The engine of its heart gave one last pump and ceased to exist. It left behind a dense neutron star, and a cloud of debris.

GriefGuest UserAugust 23, 2021grief, mother, Daughter Comment

Dear Mom

Dear Mom,

I'm enjoying a cigarette on my rooftop. I'm sorry that, as an all knowing thirteen-year-old, I told you how to live. It's funny how much changes in ten years. The older I get the more I understand your stress and anxiety. I remember watching you and thinking, "Why can't you just be strong for me?"

Mother's DayJulia NusbaumMay 27, 2019Mom, Mother, Daughter, Forgiveness, Love, griefComment

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