Your child is not an island. Except in those quiet moments when it feels so true that he is. When you have Googled and Facebook grouped and lurked on message boards and found not one soul like his. Maybe if you type his symptoms in differently, if you switch “hypoglycemia” with “blood sugar” or leave […]Read more "To the Mom Without a Diagnosis"
Sometimes life is funny. Like when Elie Mae tells me she can’t go to bed because her baby needs to potty. Me: What in thee world? Elie: The baby feels like she has to poop. Me: Elie, WHAT in thee world?! Elie (talks to her baby): I’m gonna be sad if you fall in. Sometimes […]Read more "The Words I’ve Needed"
We have borne the burden of proof. Buried it. Our bullet-ridden bodies not enough to poke holes in your privilege. Years ago, The Elders held picnics. Pack a lunch; kill a darky. Crunch a carrot between your teeth as his bones roast. His body s w i n g s… Then still. It’s Oprah’s Favorite […]Read more "To The Un-Indictable"
There are clues, you know. Certain phrases she uses. The way she listens to people without over-identifying. The way she makes mediation look like slicing through soft butter. I’ve come to terms with it: Paul and I are raising a mini school counselor. I mean, I’m totally cool with it. She’s like Paul in a […]Read more "You Might Be Raising a School Counselor"
I had a dream the other night. A nightmare, really, in which I received a phone call from Paul that broke my chest wide open, as if my ribs were but papier-mâché, my lungs a dangling diorama. “Do you know where Elie is?” he asked. “Tell me you’re kidding,” I said. “Isn’t she with you?” […]Read more "On How to Feel"
Truly, I am sorry. I hope you were not in a meeting with your CEO or describing your bowels to the internist or standing still on one foot, clutching your prayer beads, as the scorpion backed away. I hope you were not, with great anticipation of all the feels, consummating your marriage or defending your […]Read more "I’m Sorry My Son FaceTimed You from a Bathroom Stall in Target"
I first heard her say it several weeks ago. She was walking up the last leg of the ramp that leads to our apartment when she sighed and suddenly became an 83-year-old woman: “All the problems…” she said. Sometimes Elie Mae will insert an “it’s” beforehand, as in, “It’s all the problems.” Never does she […]Read more "All The Problems"