My first boss died a couple of weeks ago. He was a big man when I knew him. He lost weight after I moved away. He lost more with the cancer. While I’ll remember him by his laugh, a deep gut-chuckle, his wife and kids will remember his frailty. I’d trade shoes with them, if I could.
Sorry, sorry, I know I never make it over to ketchup with Mel and Michele, and then when I do, I’m all downer. The truth is, I’m awful at short prompts. I rarely speak in less than a hundred words, and when I do, too much is lost in the translation.… Read the rest
This morning, my children are safe and in school. But before I dropped them off, I read about four children who have died. One death was buffered by time, another was agonizingly fresh, and two more happened on a preschool bus in Carollton, Kentucky. These losses rattled me, not because they were mine, but because in my bipolar brain, there is only a short walk between the things I fear and the things that others live.
Each loss calls to mind another. I think about my best friend’s little sister, who died at fifteen, and I remember a student of mine whose son narrowly escaped drowning.… Read the rest