Evermore

Later, I braced myself and walked to her room. There, I saw the increasingly cruel effects of her disease: she wanted nothing more than to communicate but her hearing was largely gone and when she tried to ask me to repeat myself, her words sounded like nonsense. She met my sad smile with a crooked, half of her face quit working weeks before, grin. I sat on the edge of her bed, held her hand, and willed her to feel my deep and abiding love.

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As He Walks Away

I watch for a moment, tears streaming down my face, and then turn to leave. I make it about 10 steps before I turn and walk to a spot where I can watch him. He doesn't see me, doesn't turn my way and before I know it he disappears under the sign for his concourse. An ugly cry starts and I will my feet to move; if I don't start walking, I may never leave.

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Outrage

It is possible to BOTH support police officers AND stand in outrage when one of them uses the badge they wear to murder. There are bad apples in every profession. My rage against particular members of those sworn to protect does not diminish my deep respect for the large majority of officers doing their very best each and every day to make our world a better place.

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Not Everyone's Cup of Coffee

He looks up at me, breaks into the storm of hurt-fueled anger brewing in my mind, and says, "mama, I was just asking." I tell him all the time it is better to ask questions, to talk about it when he notices differences and similarities, rather than to look away and pretend the person he is observing doesn't exist. I guess I didn't realize that person might be me someday.

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Dear Steven,

Part of me believes I froze as a method to slow down the clock. If photos weren’t ready, you couldn’t graduate. More likely, however, my lifelong struggle to keep up with what seem like the most basic of tasks is the cause. The practical part of me acknowledges there are some things I just don’t do well. Scrap-booking can be beautiful. I want to punch someone in the face at the thought of having to attempt such a thing myself. When I first learned skills similar to scrap-booking were needed, I should’ve asked for help.

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Grey

Last year, my sons prayed at a church in Paris. Praying is not something we do all of the time. Tonight feels like a night for prayer, no matter our individually identified recipient. To be human, tonight, means replacing despair with hope. Fighting back against the ominous grey means finding hope. I'm not sure I am there, yet, but I'm trying.

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