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Being a Mom (What it Means to Me)
Trying to put into words what being a mom is – to me. It’s hard. I can’t explain it. It’s like a combination of feelings, words, hope, happiness, sometimes sadness and/or grief, being scared or nervous, anticipation, wonderment and awe, as if every feeling I’ve ever experienced is multiplied times a thousand and it leaves me at a loss for words. It’s not simple … yet it is. When I look at my two kids I can instantly see them as if they were just placed into my arms. I can see them or imagine them when they’re graduating or getting married or having children of their own. It’s rewarding…
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The Village That Raised Me
My aunt Mary passed away on August 17 this year. She was my godmother, who I lived with on and off for the first thirty-three years of my life. She gave birth to my two cousins Eddie and Tim, and also to Erin, who is the same as sister to me. We knew she was going to pass towards the end, which didn’t make it easier but did allow us to confront the pain and anger of life’s unfairness in a present, expected way, versus the sudden stunned shock that I have seen last for months and months in friends who lose parents unexpectedly. I have been stomaching…
