Writings and Ramblings

I sat in the last row.  There before me, before all of us was a large cross laying claim to the front center of the humble space.  The speakers came, one at a time, to stand behind the pulpit as we listened to their stories.  It was a light affair, if you could consider a funeral to be so, but the spoken words about a man who was cherished held weight.  He was honored and respected.  Heads nodded in agreement at the truths being shared, and somehow the occasion of a life gone quietly from the earth did not hurt in the most terrible way.  It was a celebration of life lived well.


Last night I had a dream.  The details have gone fuzzy now, but I still remember the emotions that stirred me awake.  He was gone.  My son's life taken from my own, and I would never hold the warmth of him again.  It was final.  Permanent.  I was left touching the ache of my helpless sorrow, my hands erasing tears that would never cease to fall.  I was broken to pieces and spilled out on the floor.   Even i…

I didn't want him to go.  Not really.  Not when I looked inside of myself and knocked down the walls surrounding my thoughts.  I didn't want anyone to see this side of me, not even my husband though I'm sure he felt hints of it in conversation.  I kept my objections hidden in silence because they felt wrong, and they looked ugly.  It felt selfish for me to say I wanted him to use his vacation time for me and our family.

I didn't want to feel jealous, but I did.  I wanted to be supportive though I never tried with great intention.

So he packed his bags with only a vague feeling of my displeasure and took off in a plane to Managua, Nicaragua.  At the airport he cried, and I was glad because I wanted him to miss us.  It wasn't the first time he had taken a trip while I stayed home to care for our children.  And home was exactly where I wanted to be, but still I nursed an aching resentment of being left behind.

When he returned that summer of 2012, he shared all of his…

I was sixteen when I landed my first job as a waitress at Friendly's.  My entire career in that field lasted a total of 3 months, but the benefits of working there have stayed with me far longer.



I remember one particular evening shift in July of that summer.  It was an ordinary day with waiting tables, cleaning them off and doing it all over again.  A group of guys slightly older than myself, sat themselves in  my section while I did my best to play it cool.  I served ice cream and milkshakes and tried to be charming without embarrassing myself or revealing the awkwardness I felt inside.  They left a decent tip.

A call came to the restaurant later that night from a guy that asked for me.  I finished wiping down my tables then grabbed the phone with more than a little curiosity.  My cheeks burned red when the voice on the other end asked me to go on a date.  I was hesitant and suspicious even after he reminded me that he was the one who sat in my section earlier that night while …

It's a lazy Sunday afternoon and I stretch out in the room with Holly Hobbie wallpaper.  I tire quickly of following the patterns of girls with bonnets and wish again to be outside.  The window to my left is cranked open as an invitation to the summer breeze that blows through.  I'm suppose to be napping, but at eight years old I can hardly appreciate the luxury of it.  My feet instead find protest in the injustice of not being able to run through the fresh cut grass that is waking all my senses.  I am missing the cold shock of it, and the green stains that cling to curious toes.




I hear the hum of the mower continue for a long while, and when it stops the calls of the outside reach me more clearly.  I lay for an eternity watching the sun change shadows on the wall.  The entire time I am regretting the missed opportunity of feeling that warmth across my face.  Outside I am vibrantly alive, and in this room I am merely existing.

Many mornings of my childhood found my bed empty b…