You kick your legs out in front of you ( Read more... )

I have reached a place where grief cannot smother me. As if the pieces of sorrow began to shear off in chunks too large to reach the bottom of my well. Ginger. Layne. Ryan. Pim. Biscuit. A diagnosis. A light. And the feeling that if I can still breathe I will keep moving ( Read more... )

I walk into the hospital, every step feels like I'm moving in slow motion. Second floor, bed nine, ICU. I open the heavy doors and pass each room trying not to look inside. Eyes fixed on the end of the hall. The door is open. I see your face. Half a beat passes before mine crumples into a million pieces spilling down my cheeks. You are asleep, ( Read more... )

I can't even look at you, I'm so terrified of everything my eyes will expose. I am too vulnerable, too obvious here, in this place with no doors to close. Everything is fragile and fleeting. I say your name in the car, gently, as I tell you, I don't even know how much longer I'll be here ( Read more... )

76 pounds ( Read more... )

So it seems the hard part isn't what I must try to do, though those things are difficult. The hard part is what I cannot hope to do through all my effort: ease her pain. Laterally recumbent and moaning softly, her body aches and no turning or adjusting can soothe it. Her good nature does not waiver in the face of humiliating weakness. Yes, this ( Read more... )

isn't it so obvious ( Read more... )

i learn these things almost in reverse ( Read more... )

"that's okay, baby" you say, real slow ( Read more... )

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