wouldst thou join me on the dance floor?
The day my son was hospitalized for suicidal ideation, he was wearing a graphic t-shirt. It features a pixelated video game character he loves, frozen in a jaunty pose. The shirt went with him from one hospital to another, along with his … Continued
My best friend and I spent an entire day seated on a blanket spread in my living room, announcing we invented a fun new game called “invisible picnic”. It was boring. Invisible fried chicken legs were tasty for .3 seconds. … Continued
My father looked through me as he died. His coffee-brown eyes blazed with an amber-like illumination. They glowed. His black pupils were the size of peppercorns and appeared to be suspended in the petrified grasp of ancient sap. My sister and I turned to the nurse and insisted, strongly, those were not our dad’s normal, everyday eyes. It was desperately important—to me—she understood the forces at work in that room at that moment…read more
I thought I understood grief but I don’t.
I’ve grieved for miscarried babies and all four of my grandparents. I sobbed and I screamed. I was incredulous and surprised. I sank into sad music. Mundane annoyances became personal affronts. I was wounded. I was broken. When my dad died, I expected all these elements of grief to invade, but on a more acutely intense level. My father is gone, forever. I will never hug him hello and goodbye again. I will never again hear him sing to me on my birthday. He will never visit my home for a weekend. I won’t have to explain to him, again, how the remote works or how to override the coffee maker’s timer if he gets up before it switches on…read more