“Earth laughs in flowers, to see her boastful boys
Earth-proud, proud of the earth which is not theirs;
Who steer the plough, but cannot steer their feet
Clear of the grave…
Hear what the Earth say:—
“Mine and yours;
Mine, not yours….”… Read More It’s not about the kitten
Sure, life events can sting you, but then they’re in the past, and it’s how you think about them that hurts you.… Read More Almost 6 years of not knowing
for a minute, the world seemed a bit bent, like a funhouse mirror that I’d stepped into.… Read More Doing the best we can against the Jabberwocky
Life goes on. Life-altering events are mulched over and the diamond bits are buried. The pain doesn’t go away, it’s just part of the soil. … Read More January 2021 – 1705 days.
One benefit of being busy with work and school is that you have no mulling minutes. Everything’s coagulated beneath the surface, cold and solid.But a congealed bloodclot at any stage is really only a blockage that prevents hemorrhaging. I don’t have time for a break of any kind: no heartbreak, especially. And I think this… Read More No time for a break
A briefly anonymous man was featured on the news up in San Francisco. He’d been found at 170 Pacific Avenue in San Francisco. 6’2″, 350+ lbs.An acquaintance on Facebook alerted me to the news clip, and when I saw the photo I was convinced my son had been found. https://abc7news.com/society/sf-hospital-needs-help-identifying-patient-in-its-care-/6171263/ I’ve blown this image up… Read More Not Jake.
In all the scenarios I’ve ever imagined, never once did I think of Stephen King’s dystopian vision as a possibility of what Jake could endure. At this point I skitter like a rock across a lake over thoughts of where Jake might be. It’s an unbearable lightness of being. I am unbearably light. I had… Read More A new wrinkle
I get to see my missing son when I sleep.He looked like Jake, but his voice was childish, like when he was 7 years old. I thought in the dream that it was because his circumstances had made him more childish–he spoke of what gas stations would let him pick off the ground, and of… Read More Days uncounted
In a month and a half it will be my birthday and the anniversary of Jake’s disappearance. Three years. 1,095 days. No sign of him, still. I often think about his last text to me, in which he said, Happy Birthday, Mom. I love you. The text is saved on a phone I don’t use… Read More 1,050 days missing