The back porch hadn’t been invaded yet, so I took up residence there. Since the funeral, the house had been consistently full of people dropping off food and paying their respects. It was strange to see my mother interacting with a room full of strangers, though they all seemed to know her quite well. I tried…
I watch them from the back of the church as they gather together, looking unsure in their black suits and dresses – attire fit for a funeral. It may actually be their first. I’ll have to remember to ask later. Teenagers are meant to attend basketball games, concerts, homecoming dances. I guess this is…
The moment I hear the familiar creak of that old front door, I am free. A weekend at the lake house is always the best therapy. Better than shopping or God forbid, laying on some quack’s couch, dredging up pain and suffering from my childhood. I love it most when I have it all…
It’s a typical funeral day. The kind of day that reflects emotions you didn’t know you were hiding. Feelings you carefully tucked away now peek around every cloud, threatening to make a long overdue appearance. The air is heavy and thick wrapping your lungs as you try to steady your breath. It’s the kind of day…
A letter to the boy at the funeral home today: I attended a funeral today. I didn’t know the man who died, but I know he was your whole world. I stood in a room surrounded by people whose lives he touched. I’m sure you didn’t know all of them, but I know we both…
LITTLE MISS WORDY 