22
It is January and the sky is a vibrant blue today. Not something we often see here in Oregon in the dead of winter. There is a cold wind blowing the clouds and rain away, rain that would remind me of that day 22 years ago when I said goodbye.
I don’t want to always feel sad on this day, and yet I do. I feel sad that as I watch my girl play he’s not there to chase her around the house or terrify her with stories of bugs and wild animals, as he used to do with my… Continue reading
Marilou
When I saw it sitting on the shelf, my hand reached out for it automatically, almost as if that appendage had a mind of its own.
It reminded me of her, that bar of Ivory soap. The scent that would linger on pillows and bedsheets and my shoulder after a hug. The scent that enveloped her skin, bare, as she leaned over a basin while I rinsed her hair, her gnarled hands reaching up every so often to check my progress. “Nope, I still feel some, right here”.
She lived with us, practically, for so much of my childhood. I… Continue reading
What Will Always Be Missing
Today is just another Tuesday. Except it is not just another Tuesday. Today marks the 20th time another year has rolled around without my dad. Another year that I mourn for what might have been. What should have been.
I don’t grieve in the same way I did 20 years ago. Time has softened my emotions. Grief that once was sharp and raw has now become dull and scarred over. Events, smells and sounds can bring back the memories, but they no longer have the power to cripple me as they once did.
Mostly now, I look at… Continue reading
Twenty Years On, Part 3
I remember it was gray. It was January, after all. I don’t remember if it was cold. I remember the minister speaking in generalities about my dad. He didn’t really know my dad all that well, seeing as how my dad was not a churchgoer. He simply hadn’t been able.
The one memory that stands out clearly from the day we buried my father was that I prayed hard to just get through the day without breaking down. So many eyes were upon my mother and me. Everyone looking at us, whispering in hushed tones.
I remember scattered fragments of… Continue reading
Twenty Years On, Part Two
The call came at 2:30 am Thursday night/Friday morning. Within minutes my mother and I were speeding toward the hospital. I don’t think either of us said a word during the short drive, each of us lost in our own private terror.
We arrived at the hospital and reached the floor of my dad’s room. We are put into a waiting room. Told to wait. Speechless, we sit, and we wait. Each minute seemed like hours. A nurse comes in to tell us the doctor will be in shortly to talk to us. She cannot say any more. We overhear… Continue reading
Twenty Years On, Part One.
The call came at 2:30 in the morning. I had a phone right next to my bed, so I was the one that answered the phone. I was sixteen. It was the hospital, asking me if this was the family of Mr. Ausburn. Even through the fog of sleep, I knew something was wrong. My heart was pounding, it felt like it had jumped into my throat. I yelled into the phone. I kept asking what is wrong. I got no answers other than we needed to get to the hospital immediately. By then my mother was awake and I… Continue reading
I write here
I’ve Been Featured On:
I Guess I Don’t Suck
