This post is about my mother-in-law who died on Monday. It is published with my husband’s permission in hopes that is might speak to families
When I was a teenager, my school would receive the occasional bomb threat. The student council donut sale would be relocated to the parking lot
Inside a letter meticulously written, with roman numerals atop each of its eight translucent pages.
Where is home really? Where do we shelter when we are in unfamiliar territory? How do mere mortals do something transcendent? Which strangers will become friends that guide and walk with us? What does it mean to be someone’s mother or father? How do we keep children safe and raise them to adulthood? Struggle, displacement, uncertainty, identity, fear, perhaps longing for something easier or something past, all wrapped up in that humble nativity scene.
On our kitchen wall there is a framed piece of paper dated August 1944, curiously signed by Neptunus Rex with the assistance of his scribe,
At this point in the pandemic, daytime brings hope. Pictures of friends getting vaccines, talk of summer travel, and, at work, I am not responding