Coping With Grief
Embracing Strangers
As the driver pulls into the ambulance bay at the hospital, a wave of relief washes over me. Now that we have arrived, I can
October 28, 2024
As the driver pulls into the ambulance bay at the hospital, a wave of relief washes over me. Now that we have arrived, I can
Once upon a time, there was a woman named Maggie Gorishek who—like the children’s book character, Strega Nona—worked in her autumn years, churning and churning,
To my mother, Sandy, this is for you.
You were gone before I could know you, but you are in everything I am. You left behind three daughters by the time you were 30—Allyson, Andrea, and me. We grew up without you, but never without the love you gave us.
I’m sorry. Please forgive me. Thank you. I love you.
July 31, 2014, was just another beautiful, sunny summer day in the suburbs of Chicago. I would have never guessed when I woke up that
I sat early one spring morning with my love’s head resting on my lap and his big trusting eyes looking into mine. For a clue. For a sign. For help. He seem to dissociate from what was going on with the rest of his body. It was just him and me there. In ICU. The beeps, the buzzers, the voices fading into a monotony of noise. He to me and me to him. I stroking his head, caressing his body, his magnificent body. His eyes boring into my heart and many on lookers, despite the early hour, watching the moment that was the two of us.
Do I have the strength?
“Now what?” I asked the Chihuahua that twitched at my feet, wrapped around my ankle. “I need to get some work done, and I’m distracted
I never thought much of them. To me, they were just some tall and ugly wildflowers in my least favourite colour. Orange. But my father
It cowers in the corner, newly born. I turn my spite-soaked back, riddled with resentment and pull the thin veil to sink beneath its cover.
Grandma Dee called friends and family to report that she had twins. We went the very next day to her high-rise Baltimore apartment. Shaded by
When I fold them, I see you my devoted launderer, how you washed and dried and folded for decades in our small attic laundry, where