The beauty of the conference center’s garden was a gentle reminder that life is good. Life is to be enjoyed.
When someone tells me they enjoy reading my blog, I’m thrilled. But, when Malena Lott (founder and executive editor of Buzz Books), told me she enjoyed reading my blog, I was over the moon. Not only because I need constant validation like an insecure puppy, but because she likes my writing despite (or because of) the dark subject matter. And how did I respond to this compliment from an experienced, talented author? Did I take the advice of my former boss and swallow my self deprecation? Sort of.
“Thank you. I really have no idea what I’m doing.” Why did I say this? Was it true? Well, yes and no. Up until …
This man haunts my nightmares, when all I want to do is see Eric in my dreams.
Yesterday morning, as my mind began to awake from a deep, restful sleep, I shifted my body ever so slightly, and a searing pain shot through my neck and left shoulder. I tested the motion again, and knew this pain wasn’t going away with few ibuprofen. I was frozen. I was stuck. I couldn’t look down. I couldn’t look up. I couldn’t look left. I could’t look right. My face was pointed slightly down and to the left, and that’s where it stayed. I couldn’t shower, I could barely dress. I had to call for help to take care of my children and drive me to the chiropractor.
But why? Why so much pain? Why have my left shoulder …
I’m positive that it’s negative. (Not my actual test, don’t worry.)
First of all, there’s something I’d like to say to pregnancy test manufacturers: WHY ARE YOUR PACKAGES SO DANG HARD TO OPEN?! I mean, really, can’t you give us a little tab to pull or perforation to tear? Why does that plastic have to be sealed so tightly without even the slightest bubble under which to slip our nail and tear the stupid thing open? Because when you take a pregnancy test, you’re a little on edge, no matter what you want the outcome to be. Is this some male packaging engineer’s idea of a sick joke? “Let’s make ’em scramble a bit before they find out if their life’s about to change…forever! Muahahaha…”
Ok, now that I’ve gotten that rant out of the way, …
As tempting as it is so stay in the rabbit hole, the outside is much more alluring.
12 posts. 5,324 words. Thousands of views. Hundreds of comments. I’ve been telling Eric’s Story for only a week, and already so much progress has been made. But friends, I’m exhausted. Mentally, physically, emotionally, spiritually exhausted.
I’ve descended into the proverbial rabbit hole, consumed by the creative process. My natural tendency is to dig deeper, stay longer, until I have to be retrieved after collapsing in the depths. But this time it’s going to be different. I will only write when the words well up inside me and spill out like water over a flooded dam when my fingers hit the keyboard. When it starts to feel like an obligation, it’s time to back away.
I’m taking a break, a …
She loved him tenderly, and defends him fiercely.
I’ve always known my mother is intelligent. Super intelligent. And I’ve always known she is kind, and thoughtful and selfless. But I had no idea how brave she was, she is, until she stood behind that podium. At a national conference for survivors of clergy sexual abuse, she told the story of her son. Her baby. How he’d been abused and had taken his own life. It could have been prevented. The church had been negligent, and change needed to happen.
Her voice cracked, but did not waver. She shook her fist, she looked the crowd in the eye. She transcended the role of ‘mom’ to woman. A fierce, yet remarkably calm, woman. She was a tiger, poised and ready to protect her children, to protect your children, …
I never knew sheriff’s officers drove red trucks. Not until that night. I could barely make it out, at the end of my parent’s quarter-mile long driveway. Its presence told me my world was about to implode. I froze. No, I had to drive. Dad had called me, and said only one thing, “Catherine, you need to come home.” But what about the boys? (I was babysitting my sister’s four kids in town.)
“Catherine, you need to come home.” It was all he could say. It must have taken all of his strength just to get that sentence out.
I parked. The air thickened. Movements were in slow motion. The mist suspended in the air as I made my way to the door. My father, a large man with broad …