Cut Flowers and Kisses, Kisses, Kisses...

Aug 4, 2014 by

Tell the truth … tell the truth … tell the truth … tell the truth … I want to begin by letting you know that my father is not dying. I mean, not anymore than you or I am dying. My massage therapist once told me something that stuck … — we are all cut flowers Every day that passes brings us closer to our last on planet earth. So, no, my father hasn’t been diagnosed with a terminal disease and then given an accompanying date of expiration.  That said, there have been times within the last six months of his present struggle that the conversations we’ve shared have sounded a lot like good-byes. “I’ve loved your mom the best I could.” “I hope I was a good father to you, baby gal.” And,...

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Janet Jackson was a Lying Bitch…Sort of...

Aug 1, 2014 by

In 1986 when Janet Jackson released her sophomore album Control she made everyone, well … me, actually believe something like “control” was possible. Over the signature wet, reverby, can’t-help-but-dance-beats by Jimmy Jam and Terry Lewis, Janet’s nubile voice flitted and flirted through words that were more anthem than lyric: Got my own mind I wanna make my own decisions When it has to do with my life, my life I wanna be the one in control – Janet Jackson I don’t know, but there was something in that pronouncement that I, as a 16-year-old new mom and soon to be new wife needed to hear, to believe. With my own life seemingly spinning out of control, it was nice … no … essential to hold out hope that...

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Welcome Home, Sorry to See You Go...

Jul 28, 2014 by

Last Friday evening, my parents finally arrived from LA. My father, discharged from the hospital earlier that morning, gritted his teeth, mastered his pain, and boarded his plane to make it here.  Finally. Unfortunately, the time my father spent in his new home was short lived. Twenty. Thirty. Forty. Ten. These were the approximate minutes to get my father from: His wheelchair to the car … The car to his wheelchair … His wheelchair to the commode … The commode to the bed … “We were promised sufferings. They were part of the program. We were even told, ”Blessed are they that mourn.” C. S. Lewis This house that we’ve so labored over so that it meets my parents’ needs went largely unseen by my father his...

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On Being OK

Jul 25, 2014 by

When I was younger, less jaded and perhaps more shiny, I used to say things like “it’s going to be okay” with the kind of confidence that fit like armor against any doubts that what I was saying could be wrong, impossible, or just plain stupid depending upon the circumstance.  I could hold a heartbroken friend in my arms, rub my hands up and down her back, and whisper in her ear, “it’s going to be okay” like a mantra. I’d plant seeds of hope within both of our hearts even though we both knew the ground was sandy, not soil, fallow, not fertile. There has been, at times, a deep need in me for things to be okay. I’ve witness those of us who might be more wise, evolved, or crazy grab life’s...

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