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The Sacred and The Mundane

When my children were born (especially that first one), I moved from one understanding of life and how it lived to another. My perspective shifted. I was the same person living a new reality. Let’s not get too sentimental, though.

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Good Advice

I woke up in the middle of the night with my mother on my mind. No, I wasn’t dreaming about her (I haven’t yet, I don’t think). But I was having trouble regulating my body temperature (too warm despite the air conditioning) and awoke thinking about the advice my mom had given me about menopause.

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My stepdad told me he is doing a lot better these days (even though he’s never once admitted to doing badly). He said this at the very same moment that he was choking on tears. And I totally get that. I’m doing a lot better too, except when there’s a giant lump in my throat and my eyes are stinging.

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Imperfectly Mine

Okay, I’ve been holding back on this one for a while. But I’ve been receiving condolences now for over four weeks. Every single day, no exaggeration. These days, it may be just one or two people in a twenty-four hour period.

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It’s true; it does happen. Just caught myself doing it. And the answer to my question—who exactly would I try to bargain with—it turns out the answer is HER.

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Talking to Myself

Now when I talk to myself, I can pretend I’m talking to my mother. That’s an unexpectedly happy development. Not only that, I find that I know exactly what she would say. Or at least I think I know what she would say.

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