On Grief. One.
I am in the grief process. And one of the basic problems I’m having with this grieving process is that the person I most want to talk this though with is the person I’m grieving. My mother, Mary, is fading from Alzheimer’s. I was never close to my sister and my dad and I have always had a contentious relationship. Mom was the one that was there for me. She was not a perfect mother and there were times, especially in my adolescence, that it would have been great if she’d asked
Help Yourself, Kid
It certainly started out innocently enough. A Friday night in autumn, three seventh-graders sprawled out on our tummies on brand new slumber-party sleeping bags from JC Penney, eating M&M’s by the handful. Susan put an album on the record player. Propped up on pillows, our heads close together, we examined every inch of the new album cover, Goodbye Yellow Brick Road. We read every lyric and listened to the songs over and over again, 13-year-old girls trying our best to figure
