At some point, my grandfather decided to not read most of my blog posts because they are “too sad.” Which is a fair point, I suppose. However, this post is about him, so he’ll probably read it. Sorry Gramps, cause some of it is sad. I can’t help myself. In fact, let’s just jump right […]

Tuesday was National Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder Awareness Day. I know this because I have a bookmark saved to my browser that lists all of the “national celebratory days.” I use this page so that I can track with the really important holidays, like National Peanut Butter Lover’s Day (March 1st),  National Fruitcake Toss Day (January […]

Sometimes when I am avoiding journaling my thoughts and feelings, I decide it sounds like a fun time to read through old journal entries rather than write new ones. I also do things like deep clean my bathroom or alphabetically catalog my bookshelves, you know, useful procrastination aids like that . . . It was […]

Last week I learned about sundials, about the curve of the earth and the limits of my mind to comprehend the invisible. I am in a season of reconsidering what is worth considering worthwhile: what is simply urgent rather than essential. I spent half a day mesmerized by how time passes so slowly and then […]

I have been reflecting lately on the process of recovery and sobriety, growth and change. In some ways, early sobriety was a lot harder than it is now, but in other ways it was easier. In the early days, there was a lot of day by day, minute by minute, wrestling with my addictive behavior […]

To be entirely honest, I procrastinated getting you a Mother’s Day present. Or getting you a card. But I’m not really a fan of most Mother’s Day cards anyway. I actually had a conversation earlier today about the challenge of finding a good greeting card: so many cards are just full of cliches or hyperbolic […]

Your hands shaped the way I see myself, directed the dreams I dream at night, created the pictures I see in the shadows when I should be sleeping. I am furiously and frantically enraged, but I don’t know where to direct it: I don’t even know your name. I don’t know how to grieve that […]