My husband and I drove the roads of rural Washington, meandering past rose gardens and long grass that bent beneath the sun. The Cascades rose in the distance, casting shadows over the valley. I lay my head back, imagining the highway as an old dusty road, carrying families…
Brush Strokes and a Brain Injury
In the corner of my study, a large canvas leans against an easel. Swirls and brush-marks, soft shades of yellow and gray, dark splotches filling empty spaces.
You can find me in front of a canvas, usually on stressful days, pulling bottles of paints…
What no one tells you about a brain injury is this, once your brain has failed, you are afraid of it failing again.
Which is why I have a hard time letting go. Memories are tied to all I own.
Soon after my accident, I started minimalizing my life…
Where do memories go when we lose them?
Do they fall to earth, get trampled like dust beneath our feet? Or do they flit through the sky, like fiery ash? Perhaps memories float through the atmosphere, tiny atoms waiting to one day reattach.
I wonder, when we lose memories, if…
I am thirteen. On trial for two crimes committed when I was four.
My mom sits across the table from me, mending held tight in her lap, staring at me with narrowed eyes. The judge in the courtroom of my life.
“How can you not remember?” she asks.
It Could Happen Again
It could happen again. It’s true.
I could be sitting at an intersection, waiting to turn. A car could hit me from behind, and my brain would be flung from side to side, my words and thoughts scattered like thousands of pieces from a puzzle. Just like before.
This is why I worry when I get into a car. Why I freak when I see an accident.
It’s also why I wrote this article, to tell others about my worry, and how I am trying to get past it. You can find it here: Conquer Worry
My gut twists with that kind of anticipation one gets when they know something horrible is about to happen. I breathe deeply and look at the calendar.
It is July 10, 2017, four days before the anniversary of my brain injury.
My inner clock reminds me of this day every…
I once knew a couple who waited for some day. Sad to say, that day never came.
My aunt and uncle had many dreams. They dreamt of retiring to a lake, cruising across the open seas, visiting family far away, and opening their own antique shop.
My aunt and uncle…
Don’t hate me, but I can’t stand collections. Multiple pieces of the same item lined on a shelf, like dusty soldiers waiting to attack, give me the heebie-jeebies. I hate clutter, in both my house, and in my mind.
I blame this hatred of collections on all the collectors I’ve…