I look both ways, left, and then right, and left again, checking to see if I could find a gap in the traffic across the four lanes of Evans Avenue. My helmet was looped over the left handle bar, held in place by my left hand gripping the handle, my right hand holding the back handle of the scooter, behind the saddle. That’s right, I was not astride the scooter, but rather next to it, crossing Evans on foot.
Read MoreI wish I had more to bring you than a post a month. Or even every 45 days, but things aren’t happening to me the same way these days then when my dad was dying. Back then, time mattered. Then, weeks were significant chunks of time, days mattered. Between COVID-19 and the loss of my dad, time moves by differently.
Read MoreI’m tired of the word “sad”. I think about being sad every day, even if I’m not particularly sad. I looked up some synonyms and prefer the following words: glum, melancholic, disconsolate, forlorn. Today I am forlorn.
Read MoreDear Dad -
I really miss you today. It’s Mother’s Day, and Mommy was so good to me as she always is (I did make her lunch, to be clear), and yet I just can’t stop wishing you were here, too. I haven’t cried a lot since you’ve been gone, but today I’m fairly overcome.
Read MoreIt has been one month since my dad died.
One month since I last held his hand, one month since I got to have one last conversation with him - a conversation I am trying so hard to recall all the details of, but find them slipping through my memory.
Read More
