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3 Things to Know if Your Mom Dies
So, your mom died. Maybe you’ve reached the part of mourning where you find yourself googling the ways to deal with grief. They’ll tell you that they’re all steps, one following after the other. But if you’ve actually lost someone, you probably know that it doesn’t work that way for most people. Grief, in my
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Happiness
This one was harder for me than I expected. I think it’s easy to get caught up in the day-to-day of everything. Sometimes it’s hard to see through the fog of life, especially in a society that highlights only the things that shine. The truth is that for most people, things aren’t always “right.” Sometimes
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Not Who I Am Anymore
I’m not sure exactly when I stopped believing in god. I mean, it wasn’t like I just woke up one day and decided to stop. I’m sure it was around the time my mom died. I went through a period of questioning why god would allow this to happen, why he couldn’t help her–you know,
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Pedestals and Mack Trucks
History has had a way of placing certain preconceptions onto women. We can’t be too sexual or too intelligent or too opinionated, but we should be sexy, smart, and educated. Society has told us that women are supposed to be pure and free from the tainted condition of the world. I think that Margaret Ripley
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Aoki’s Consequence
Quote In Junzo Shono’s short story, “Evenings by the Pool,” the author writes, “But again, what is it that so frightens all these men? Is it neither a particular group of individuals, nor anything else you can really put your finger on. It haunts them even at home, in their time for resting and relaxing
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Expanding Tolkien and Fantasy
When J. R. R. Tolkien wrote The Hobbit in 1932 and the Lord of the Rings series in the 1940s, I imagine he had no idea the effect it would have over millions of readers. I’m certain he had no idea the way it would take over Hollywood and the film industry. He didn’t know
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155 Days Until the End
I didn’t call you back. Why didn’t I call you back? I should have. I even could have. But I didn’t. I’m left with the bubble in my stomach, and the singe on my skin; they both reek of regret and sting like poison. A girl needs her mother The words keep turning in my
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Dirty Dishes
I don’t know where to start, and I don’t know where to go. The fabrics need washing and the tub needs scrubbing, but I don’t know what goes where or how. Can you hear me, Mama? It’s me, your daughter, Your youngest, your Frances. I think that’s what you called me. Is that what you
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Recognition
I had a dream about you last night, mama. I dreamt you were wearing your favorite shade of green. Your hair was dark brown and curly, Your eyes, a warm, familiar hazel. You sat on the couch—the old one we used to have at the trailer. Your capri-covered legs crossed at the knee. I walked
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Close the Laundry Door
“That old mutt sure does love you, kid.” Dad beached the white boat on the sand and hopped down. I could see where the sun had darkened his face and neck, he looked younger somehow, happier. I tried to picture him with Mama. Her graying hair and his deep tan, the flip-flops and high necklines
A.B. Lee Writes 