A lift with sad baggage
I drove through the mall on a blustery, cold, gray day, with a driving rain splattering on my windshield. Traffic through the mall road was slow and I had time to look around me. I noticed a woman wearing a red coat, moving slowly and struggling to carry an overloaded shopping bag in each hand… read more →
Too many feelings.
For all of my life I never felt loved by my father; he was always away working and almost always preoccupied with important things at home. As I small child, I have no memories of playing with him where I didn’t end up in tears. He would tell me the words of love, but there.. read more →
Grief.
Linda J. Smith, an educated, passionate, and wonderful colleague, told me that grief is like labor. only in the opposite direction. In labor, the work has its own power and rhythm; it waits for no one. The feelings gradually increase in intensity and become all-consuming. Then, BANG! The baby arrives. In grief, the work has its.. read more →
My turn is next.
When I was little, two generations of my family were alive, I was the third. I had 4 grandparents, and 2 parents; there were lots of grand-aunts and grand-uncles, and first and second cousins. My dad’s parents lived on the opposite coast so I rarely saw them; my mother’s parents lived a drive away so they.. read more →
Music hath charms. . . .
I am with my Daddy for our last visit in the nursing home before I return to Philadelphia. I brought the magazine section of the Sunday New York Times with me, hoping that this reminder of a decades-long practice will awaken some brain cells. He reads the title aloud, and opens it to read. He.. read more →
Conversation in the nursing home.
I pull up a chair and sit next to my 90 year old father, who might make 91 in less than 3 months; he’s already outlived his parents. He is lying on his back, in a lowered hospital bed with side rails up and supporting pillows on both sides. Cushioned mats are next to the bed.. read more →
