socrates and me

I think that I’m stuck in the denial stage of grief. It’s not that I deny the fact that my father is dead – his ashes sit in a box on my mantle, surrounded, at the moment, by a few Christmas ornaments and my kids’ picture with Santa and Emilia’s bardo-drawing – it’s that I can’t wrap my head around the fact – is it a fact? – that his death is the end, that his life is over, that I’ll never see or speak with him again. The absoluteness of it all, the finality: I’m having trouble accepting this. I can’t accept this. My heart aches from its stubborn refusal to accept this.

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Shame And The Written Mom

March 13, 2009

Husband: “So, that whole thing, earlier this week? That made you a little crazy, didn’t it?” Me: “Yeah. Kinda.” Husband: “Why? Why did it bother you so much?” Me: “——-?” Me: “——-.” I tell stories for a living. Mostly, I tell my own stories, the stories of my motherhood, and reflections on same. I do [...]

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