“Did you bring your mom?” “Yes! She's right here!” I said as I pulled a tiny urn from my pocket for all to see. ALL. All six-hundred attendees of the Erma Bombeck Writers’ Workshop. All who giggled and clapped as I held up the Tiny Traveling Urn that brought me to the Dayton stage.
On one hand, I tend to do everything with intention, very thoughtfully planned out. On the other hand, I dive in without looking back. Why? Delusion.
As I left the Richmond airport, two weeks ago, my phone pinged announcing a voicemail that had been received while I was in the air. I was returning from a second attempt to avoid the feelings surrounding the first anniversary of my mother’s death, arriving home on that very first anniversary date. Because I was … Continue reading Message Received: The Erma Story
Today marks one year since losing my mom. It’s been both the longest and shortest year, during which I learned a hell of a lot more about grief than I ever wanted to. For instance, did you know there is no trophy for Best at Grieving?
As I was shitting my pants, I was praying that our dog missed all the trees in her sledding path (she did) and remained upright (she did).
January's tsunami has not mixed well with a quiet morning, a cup of coffee within arm's reach, and a few hours dedicated to mapping out my Monday morning epiphany.
In the land of travel planning, not every booking is a big one, but sometimes, the smallest booking of all is the one that offers the biggest reward. Sometimes, that means an early drive to the airport on a day that I'm not going anywhere at all.
I think the most important thing I learned was that having grace for oneself is a gift. Make sure you give yourself that gift, too, okay?
Nothing says, "I have my life together" like a holiday card that arrives weeks before the actual holidays, right? Well, it’s the thought that counts, I suppose.
Growth comes at the edge of discomfort. Does it suck? Sometimes.
