First-person narratives based on real human experiences. The moments that change us. The relationships that define us. The lessons we carry forward.
At 2:47 on a Wednesday afternoon, three weeks into my recovery at Tulley Creek Rehabilitation and Care, I watched a locksmith kneel at our mother’s... Read more
For fifty-one years I believed I was the daughter my mother tolerated and my sister was the daughter she loved. I was so certain of... Read more
The last words my father ever spoke to me were “save your money for the funeral,” and on the Fourth of July, thirteen years after... Read more
My brother Ransome stood in our mother’s kitchen three days after her funeral, slid Thorne a check for thirty four thousand dollars, slid me nothing,... Read more
At 4:30 that morning, my husband walked into the kitchen, saw me holding our two-month-old son while I cooked breakfast for his entire family, and... Read more
I came home from the rehab center in Bangor on a Tuesday in October, three weeks before the doctors said I was ready and about... Read more
The morning Lorna stood up in the basement of Zion Lutheran and told two hundred of our neighbors that my brother and I had never... Read more
I was fourteen the first time I knocked on Mrs. Abernathy’s door, and I only did it because my mom made me. That’s the honest... Read more
At 9:47 that Monday morning, three weeks after my father’s funeral, I sat at my kitchen table with a mug of coffee gone cold and... Read more
My brother sold our mother’s house the same week she moved into memory care, and he split the money three ways with our sister and... Read more