photo credit here i still can’t get over it. i know that i’ve already mentioned it here, but it hounds me, perpetually unsettling in its singularity amidst all former memories of funeral services. it just wasn’t right, what i saw. it didn’t add up, didn’t fit my expectations – it exploded my...
photo credit here can we have an honest moment? can i be real, even if it’s not pretty? because this week is hard. soul-deep hard. on-my-face hard. i remember being ten years old, gangly-kneed, wide-eyed, and fearless. chasing the shadow of my older brother, doing...
from the chair where I sit, I see his face. not “see his face” in the sense of it being etched in my mind, in the way that it has been carved into my daily consciousness since his spirit flew heavenward, but “see his face” in a very literal way – staring back at me from the photo frames that have...
Drason, a father who carries — and is carried, too. i remember the day that little livi was born. four of our besties, Sonya and myself included, were preggers at the same time. we rubbed bellies, shared maternity clothes, and told sweet lies to each other, things like “no, your face...
i spoke with my friend Sonya twice today. the first was hard. with our kiddos napping, we let a phone line pretend to give us a real connection … i listened as she talked about amazing things — things that Banebow is doing that i’m still trying to process so that i can report...
My friend Sonya wore shiny silver shoes. My friend Drason looked sharp in a purple bow tie. Guests entered the sanctuary through a rainbow of bright-colored balloons, and nobody who was in the know wore black. A banner above the door welcomed friends with this scripture, but even I...
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