In March, I started seriously thinking about writing a memoir, and this memory is what I thought would start it, because I wanted to capture the busy softness of my life before. I wanted to start it in a way that said it was more of a love story than a horror story, but horrible things definitely happen. Continue reading memoir: fore/ward/telling
I don’t remember learning how to love, originally. I only remember the origins of little love-habits. I remember holding onto my stuffed elephant, tucked safely in my right arm always– a light grey beast with pink-tinted ears. He must’ve been a foot tall, if he could have stood on his own, but he couldn’t. He needed me. His fur was worn down, paper thin, from … Continue reading you are loved, in the active voice.
My cats didn’t eat my husband’s dead body. I asked. The very nice lady said she would have noted any bite marks or removals from the body during the autopsy. They have to do an autopsy when someone dies and isn’t found for two days. They have to do an autopsy when a 35-year-old man dies and there isn’t any obvious reason why. You have … Continue reading ungroomed grief