A Mile in Her Shoes

The paper-cuts of grief…

It’s not the big things. The big things pretty much hit you in rapid fire:

The absence. The empty chair. The quiet lulls in conversation you know they’d be filling.. The emotional upheaval… the firsts: Birthday. Anniversary. Christmas. Family gathering. Those are the samurai sword like cuts of grief. They hit hard and cut deep. After a while, they slow down.

That’s when the paper cuts start.…

Even Here. When I can’t be. Parenting with faith.

“I’ll always be there for you.”

At least…Until.. i guess: I can’t.

We recently experienced that day. One I understood in theory, but not by experience. Theory is so much easier than practice.

My phone rang sometime after 10:00 pm.. I should have known it was bad. I answered to hear this: “I’m ok. But, we’re going to the ER. I’m having a lot of stomach pain. I think it’s my appendix.” It was my…

Dear Momma and Women who Warned me about Aging: Thank you. And I’m sorry.

I have to admit it. I thought you were weird. I mean, really? Chin hairs? You admit that? You randomly find them when driving ? You can’t just take care of those when you’re getting ready?

Yeah. You were right. They do just show up unannounced with the most horrible timing. And I think you’re right. They can grow an inch over night, cause I know they weren’t there yesterday.

I’m glad you warmed…

Trapped. In Target Clearance. #literally

“Teal. Black Leopard spots. Flowy. Sleeveless. And on clearance? Yes!!!!Am I dreaming?”

If only I knew then, that the dream would soon become a nightmare.

“Black skinny jeans. Today is the day. I’m feeling that teal leopard top. Black cardigan? Check. I’m wearing it.”

Oh the things I think, when I’m fresh from the shower and contemplating my day. I’m shallow like that.

I slipped on my jeans with…

I prefer not to look stupid. (I have issues.) This is why I don’t line dance. I’m the who’s off just enough to get elbowed and step on toes and start a dance apocalypse. Apparently people have issues with that. Cha cha electric hustle slide? Nope. Not happening.

It’s not just dances that I refrain from because of this preference. (FYI: preference here is code for FEAR.) I work pretty hard not to…

The Oxymoron’s of Motherhood- Mom Shaming and Mommy Wars

Some things are oxymorons. Like: Mom shaming and Mommy wars.  Mom and shaming do not belong together. Mommy and war- likewise. Yet- they’re both a thing. in my opinion? A “terrible, horrible, very bad day” kind of thing. I hear they even happen in Australia. (Let’s see who gets that.)

Mom Shaming: the act of calling out the choice of another mom and humiliating her for it. Often done on social…

Reclaiming life and home…

There is a moment in the grieving process when you put your head up, wipe the tears and suddenly see, for the first time, how grief has affected (infected?) everything around you. It happens some time after you notice the earth of the sun through a window and you catch yourself laughing out loud at some stupid Netflix show.

What you see, may be different from me, but what I saw? Was a hot mess. A…

Father’s day… in a family without one.

The card aisle at Target has been excruciating for the past month. I’ve walked all the way around the store to avoid it.

Every Facebook ad is for another gift.

Home Depot is a nightmare.

Even the grocery store is touting steaks for dad!

But there is no dad here, anymore.

Father’s Day.

For almost 3 decades it’s been a day to love my husband and appreciate all that he has been as a dad. Last year…

The Second Year of Grief: in which dirt becomes therapy

My preferred dirt is sand. On a beach. Under a towel. With a nice cold glass of tea. And a book. And music. That’s it. I’ve never liked anything else to do with dirt. Not gardening. Not flowers. (unless they’re precut and arranged. I can’t even do that well.) I feel weeding is a punishment and life can be punishing enough.

Surprisingly-the second year of grief is all about digging in. To dirt and…

The second year of grieving- what now?

The first year of grief is all about pain, stabilization and survival. The second year? Rebuilding.

Here’s the thing- I have no idea what to build. A new life as a single woman… sure. I don’t know what that looks like. How can I build without a blueprint?When we built our home, we had shopping a list of negotiables and non negotiables to look for.

It looked something like this:

Sidewalks ( not…

The other “A” word… anger. Part of grief we prefer to ignore.

Anger. I’m Italian, this should not be a surprising emotion for me. It’s familiar. Usually.

But anger in grief? Even Italians try to keep that under control, I mean really, what good does it do? And aren’t you the ultimate jerk if you’re angry at a dead person? Not to mention, isn’t anger at God a fast pass to hell! Anger is bad, isn’t it?

Maybe not.

Even knowing that anger is a necessary part of…

The Grief-ological Clock, in which grief ignores our timelines…

“The first year is the worst.” “Don’t make any major decisions for a year.”

Tick tock. Tick tock. Time is running out. Again. I know this feeling. I remember experiencing a shade of it as I turned 30 and hadn’t (yet) gotten pregnant with my hopes for third child. Then, it was my biological clock ticking away… every day pushing me over to the danger zone. Now I feel like that clock has started…

The Weight of Grief

It crushes. It makes everything harder. Breathing is hard. Running through the airport leaves me dripping sweat in places sweat should only drip in a gym, and wheezing like an asthmatic donkey. Attractive. I know. But it’s more than physical weight. It’s the weight of grief.

I thought I was doing fine. You know, Doing “all the things.” (Well, Let’s be real, more like most of them.) Crying.…

She’s in a suburban home, struggling with holding on and letting go of her kids. She battles depression and struggles with perfection. She matters.

She lives on a rural farm, she’s trying to survive potty training and pregnancy and harvest season. She’s struggling with financial issues, She matters.

She waits for her urban apartment elevator through 3 button pushes. She wonders if she’s…

Of pride and being on the religious “short list.”

Do you ever read a verse in the Bible that you wish wasn’t there? That annoys you? Rankles you? Which might be what feeling challenged is… if it’s annoying.

Me either.

Especially not “Pure religion and undefiled before God and the Father is this, To visit the fatherless and widows in their affliction, and to keep himself unspotted from the world.” James 1:27. I mean, who would find that…

The perfection paradox…

She’s here, again, at MY target. Seems like she always is. Or maybe I just notice her every time she is… I mean, how could you not? She’s stunning. Those legs. The hair. The outfit. (Ensemble May be a more accurate term, this chick has class and style.) She has actual toned arms that don’t keep waving after she stops. I’ll admit, I keep trying to figure out whether she’s had anything “done.”…

When fears are realized….

5:15 I’m cooking dinner.

5:30 dinner is done. Hubby is not home on time.

5:32 call hubby. No answer.

5:40 call again. Start to feel slight heart palpitations. “He’s supposed to call if he’s going to be late. Dinner is going to be wrecked. I’m sure he’s fine.”

5:45 stomach flip flops when I hear sirens. “He didn’t get in an accident… I’m sure he didn’t.” Not sure who I’m trying to convince- other…