Everything that goes on in the minds, souls, and bodies of 40 year old women who are juggling the demands of parenting, our own parents, and our marriages, while trying to age gracefully and maintain a sense of identity.
The Holidays are here and I’m mindful of the fact that I’m not the only one grieving this year. Feeling the need for someone wiser than me to escort me through the confusing process of mourning, I recently began seeing a grief counselor – a wonderful woman in her 70’s who has experienced some profoundly
“Grief, when it comes, is nothing we expect it to be. Grief has no distance. Grief comes in waves, paroxysms, sudden apprehensions that weaken the kneeds and blind the eyes and obliterate the dailiness of life.” – Joan Didion, The Year of Magical Thinking This definition of grief from the first chapter of Joan Didion’s
I’ll be honest: I am sort of limping along right now. The only thing I really want to do is grieve. Full-time. I would like to be a full-time griever. In a perfect world, these would be the only things on my to-do list – and even these would be completely optional – for as
Last Wednesday night at about 6:15 pm, my mom’s heart finally gave up a long, hard fight and she died. The day began dramatically, my mom waking my dad up at 5 am, in the grips of a heart attack. My dad rushed her to the Emergency Room in Flagstaff, Arizona where she quickly received
I grew up in a family with shallow roots. That’s not meant to be an insult – I’m merely stating a fact. Like many other adults I know, my parents chose not to raise my brother and me in the same community as either of their respective families. Instead, we spent our childhoods several states
