Loss of Sibling
What Sisters Don’t Say
When we were in our early twenties, my sister and I didn’t speak for a few years. She even wrote me out of her will
June 18, 2025
When we were in our early twenties, my sister and I didn’t speak for a few years. She even wrote me out of her will
During the Wall of Remembrance portion of Grief Dialogues: Memorial Day, something cracked open when I stepped onto the dimly lit stage. Another world slipped
Before the custom of worldly influence took over our consciousness, at least for myself, the celebration of Mother’s Day was a simple time in our
Do not stand at my grave and weep I am not there. I do not sleep. Almost 30 years ago, my father died. Diagnosis to
From Maiden to Mother to Crone It occurred to me recently that my days seem filled with a constant repetition of one- and two-step tasks,
My mom had very small hands. Yet, I was excited when my hands were as big as hers. Mom’s hands were dainty, but she didn’t
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?