I read once that grief manifests similar to love. It starts as this impending nausea that is felt at the base of the gut and sooner or later transforms into a strange settled-ness in the soul. Grief comes in waves. We know this. I sat on the beige carpet of…

Grief feels like fear but postures like love. This is why it is so hard. Those are the words I wrote tonight. I suppose so much of my life, probably like yours, has been spent quietly catching breaths and learning the appropriateness of reactions. Insert hardship. Output — a million…

Did you know you can make dinner without them there? I didn’t either. I sat and drank my cheap red wine. Maybe more than I should. Maybe a heavier pour than is encouraged. Somewhere a study is being done on women like me… I creak my neck. That’s what women…

I’m like her. But also, I’m not. I hate to even compare but alas, we all do. She’s poised and collected and pulls her hair into a beautiful top bun on her head. I take a deep breath. I notice her perfected white smile and sparkly two carot diamond that…

I haven’t written in five months. When you’re a writer who finds themselves full in the words that are strung together and you neglect the very ache of your soul, creativity finds itself in a barren catacomb of infested nostalgia and grotesque shame. It becomes overgrown with neglect. But the…

The late night kitchen smelled of a typical chicken dinner with steamed broccoli and a leftover starch baked in the oven, there on a mundane Wednesday night. The air was hazy as I attempted to put the babies to bed. They squealed in delight as I chased them down the…

I fell in love with you the way you fall in love with a perfectly rolled cigarette. Always unsure at first… but it’s a bit enticing and curiosity plays into the crevices of insecurity. All the facets fit beautifully, methodically and brilliantly. Each part knew its place. Rolled carefully. …

Lewis tells us that grief feels like a lot like fear. I suppose if grief is the seafaring ship and the rising waters below us ache with the weight of our choices, fear instinctually becomes the driving force and sail. …

I drove into the corner of the dusty parking lot. The slim space covered by shade on the excruciating hot summer afternoon. My heels hit the pavement as his tiny hand grabbed the back of my wrist. Fidgeting his little fists into mine he casually expressed… Mama, you’re wearing a…