Every Thanksgiving and Christmas we haul the extra table up from the basement: a cheap white pine table, the varnish yellow now, that we used in the kitchen until eventually it became too embarrassing. When we carry it upstairs, we do it in pieces, and once it's in the dining room the tabletop gets flipped over and lowered to the floor so someone--usually my husband or my son Sam--can attach the legs. As one of them works with screws and Allen wrenches, I read the legends inscribed by our kids on the underside of the table when they were little; the one we see first, in large red letters, is "Boo, Sam sucks a lot, by Nick."
Read MoreCold. Alone. Dead. These were the few words that registered among the many spoken to me on that horrific afternoon when they came to tell me my son was gone. Fentanyl was added to the mix over the coming hours.
“Who? What? How?” repeated over and over again was all I could muster in response.
“We don’t know,” was their answer.
My living, breathing nightmare had only just begun.
Read MoreOn Monday, August 20th, 2012 at 11:54 p.m., a piece of rail snapped beneath an eighty-car train carrying 9,837 tons of coal as it passed over a bridge above Main Street in Ellicott City, Maryland.
Just a moment before the accident, Elizabeth Nass and Rose Mayr, two nineteen-year-old friends spending one last night of summer together before heading back to college, sat on that same bridge, dangling their legs over the edge.
Just a moment after, the train cars tipped over on their bodies, crushing them beneath piles of coal.
Read MoreI stand at the church parking lot entrance and stop each car.
The surface lot is small and we’re saving it for those who NEED to park closer. Please park in the parking garage, yes, the one RIGHT there, and get your ticket validated inside for free parking.
I smile, nod, and point.
Read MoreAt the Y pool, 7:00 AM on a Wednesday morning, my lane stretches before me.
I’m in the chilly water, kept at what I’m told is “competition temperature,” a shock to me my first time here. Nothing to do but swim, swim, swim to try to stay as warm as possible. I’m the only swimmer who has pulled a long sleeved swim shirt over her suit, in addition to wearing swim pants reaching to my calves. After weeks of swimming, I am still not accustomed to the cold water.
Read MoreMy birthday is December 30, five days after Jesus’s and one day before New Year’s Eve. It is the perfect day to be born if, like me, you prefer your birthday slide by unnoticed. I never had to bring any classroom cupcakes. Not a single black streamer hung from my office door on my fortieth, which suited me just fine.
Read MoreWriting a memoir is being in the diaristic present. I’m here but writing about then—a then I have not documented, a then that is lost, a then I re-create with each stroke of a word, as if I’m a time traveler denied access to my past.
Read MoreWhen we took her to the toilet for the fifth time that day, as I held her up, and you pulled down the necessary, I noticed her back. She wanted to take her clothes off, and we didn’t have the will or strength to resist this time. She stood there, swaying half-dressed, and briefly one-legged like a disheveled flamingo. I saw how her freckles, the texture and colour of her skin exactly like yours.
Read More“Can you please repeat what I just said?” Debbie asked. Her usual, wry smile I recognized so well said, “Why do you even try to fool me? I know you so well.”
“Oh…what…No, I am okay, I got you. I actually heard you,” I replied.
“No, you didn’t, and I know it. I absolutely do not mind repeating myself for the fourth time, Abha. And, if you really got me, why don’t you repeat what I just said? Repeat it,” Debbie said.
Read MoreIt was a night like any other that summer. Short skirt, fishnet stockings, thick lines of black eyeliner, ruby red lips, and dancing. I’d had a line of coke before the night began, and part of a bottle of cheap wine—seriously cheap, dollar-a-bottle Strawberry Hill. It was early in the night for us, a hallway mark of 1 a.m. David Bowie’s “Suffragette City” was at the part of the song where everyone screams along.
Read MoreRight now, I am looking at a photo of us. From a lifetime ago. Stuck within the pages of an old book, the photo fell to the floor.
Read MoreHeavy, viscous steps. One hundred of them from the car door to the wheelchair rack. Another thirty-seven past the receptionist and into the lobby. Three more, and then your toe taps against the elevator railing, careful not to fall.
Read MoreMarch 14, 2020
The days are getting longer, but winter still holds New England in its chilly grip. Looking out at the empty harbor, no boats bob merrily on moorings, and the still dark water reflects the last rays of the setting sun and scattered streetlights. John and I sit in a half-empty theater, with vacant seats clustering around small groups of two or three people.
Read MoreBesides my husband, I have lived with no other being longer than Mullen. When we lived in Austin, after I suffered a miscarriage, my husband saw a pitiful ginger tabby kitten at an adoption fair. If we had any reservations, they were nullified when the adoption volunteer gave us Mullen’s history; his was the saddest tale in the shelter. A few weeks old, he had been found in a plastic bag, riddled with fleas and mange, cast away on the side of Mo-Pac.
Read More“A plane just crashed into the Twin Towers,” Sister Mary Frances said. Her eyes were wide, and she was breathing hard. She had just returned from dropping Sister Mary Michael at the Newark airport. “It’s terrorism,” she added.
Read MoreI grabbed orange-colored poster board from the art section at Walgreens, then joined my wife in the check-out line. I made sure to stay six feet apart from the person in front of us, even though I'm double-masked. I felt the customer behind standing too close and turned around to see she was not wearing a mask.
Read MoreMy mother passed away when I was eight years old, and for some time after that, I journaled to cope with difficult feelings. She wrote in beautiful notebooks while she was sick. I suppose I was trying to find a connection. I shared thoughts and feelings about a variety of topics: what pony I was going to ride that week in my horseback riding lessons, stories about my dolls’ lives, and random emotions.
Read MoreThe first thing I remember about that day was my coffee. I sipped it nervously on the way to our eight o'clock appointment, the Anatomy Scan. I'd just recovered from my first miscarriage and was miraculously pregnant again. I was painfully nervous. My co-workers talked about the anatomy scan like it was the pinnacle of pregnancy appointments. In addition to finding out the gender of the baby, I was on pins and needles about whether all would be right anatomically.
Read MoreI load up my motorcycle on a foggy morning and wind my way through the Sierras and out of California. I cut across Nevada then ride along the Arizona-Utah border. After days passing throughsage bush valleys, sandy deserts, and arid foothills, I rode over the Continental Divide this morning, my fifth day on the road. I arrive at a diner in Saguache, Colorado, a small historic mining town in the San Luis Valley.
Read MoreHow does one define their life? How do you sum up everything that has happened in the last 20+ years? A friend told me that the best stories are about overcoming obstacles, how one deals with loss and love, and finding the silver linings. I believe that my body art tells my story. I’m proud to say that when I chose to decorate my body with tattoos, I chose from my past experiences to show things that are important to me. Things that have shaped my life.
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