Category Archives: The language of families

A Year and A Day

I saw my mother alive, awake, talking a year ago yesterday. That was the last time. When I saw her in December she was gone in mind, if not in body. I was around to watch the body go. I … Continue reading

Posted in Grief, The language of families | 2 Comments

Honey Almond

10 and a half years ago, I looked at the paint colour in the master bedroom, which you were sure was called “shit brown” and I couldn’t bear sleeping in that room. Having picked out colours for the living room … Continue reading

Posted in The language of families | 2 Comments

Internment

In the sanctuary the day of your funeral, while everyone was downstairs bridging life and death with sandwiches and coffee, the light spilled yellow from ugly stained glass and was silent. Just past the Ponte Neuf, I caught your scent … Continue reading

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Tribes

I have an ophthalmology appointment today, which is no big deal, except that they are going to dilate my eyes and I won’t be able to see to drive myself home after. Mr. Spit is out of town, so I … Continue reading

Posted in The language of families, Tiny Points of Light | Leave a comment

This Is

I was sitting in my therapist’s office a week last Wednesday and I told her that I have been grumpy. Not mean, not vicious, just, well, cranky. Go too slow in traffic? I’m the one behind the wheel cursing at … Continue reading

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It comes in waves

It surprises me, although perhaps shouldn’t, how much better people are at the death of a parent than a child. A child’s death leaves a void of silence, ill conceived condolences, you feel almost ashamed that you have been so … Continue reading

Posted in The language of families | 5 Comments

Oh Wise Internets

I have thought about it all week – I’m just not comfortable with recording something as intimate as a funeral. I will compromise – a few photo’s of the credence table with her ashes and some momento’s on it, I’ll … Continue reading

Posted in The language of families | 2 Comments

Now and Then

Last night, in the bath tub, I did what I always do on the anniversary of Gabriel’s death. I looked at his photo’s and I allowed myself some time to remember and weep. The first photo of me holding him, … Continue reading

Posted in Gabriel, The language of families | 2 Comments

Lost

I came back into the office today for the first time since Tuesday. I brought with me a sweater I knit for my mother’s birthday about 5 years ago. It is hanging off my chair. It is both practical – … Continue reading

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Keeping Time

I have been packing up my mother’s apartment and making arrangements. It’s a strange thing. When everything fell apart 3 years ago, it seems she lost everything. I want to cry and rage at what seems such a forsaken existence. … Continue reading

Posted in The language of families | 6 Comments