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?
It really wasn’t that hard, except for the tears that kept filling my eyes as I pushed the needle through the quilt's sturdy fabric to form the words, "Love, Judy."
Current status? Buckled up with a bit more confidence than I had a week ago. Oh, and a giant box of tissues, just in case.
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.
It’s not the first time I've taken my Mom shopping since she died, tucking her tiny urn into a pocket for a day out. It sounds batshit crazy, I know, but there is something very cathartic about it.
Was I avoiding my first trip "home?" Well, yes, actually. How'd it go? All the ways.
Mom may not have given me the gift of keeping plants alive, but she did give me the gift of finding comfort in tending to one's garden.
The Solitude of Mourning: Where is everyone? They are right there. All you have to do is look for the ones who show up.
As I grew into an adult, I worried less about the state of my underwear and more about my ghost outfit.
