My view from The Oaks Theater in Oakmont PA I just woke up from a nap. A NAP. I never nap. Despite its implied sleep, naps make me groggier than I was pre nap. But I’d gone to a concert last night with my daughter and son-in-law, and I stayed out until 11:30. (Note: I’m … Continue reading A little party is always better than no party at all
I began attending Diane Zinna’s Grief Writing Sundays in the early stages of writing my memoir, An Obesity of Grief, and her portals, as well as the writing shared by others, helped me recognize grief’s impact in other areas of my life beyond my husband’s death. The piece I contributed to Diane’s new book, Letting … Continue reading “Letting Grief Speak” is out in the world!
I hate mice. Wait, that’s not really true. I don’t hate hate them. They have a right to exist. Just not in my house. I think it’s more accurate to say, mice creep me out. They’re quiet and quick and oh-so-dirty (cue shudder). A few weeks ago, Jim had to “escort” five of them across … Continue reading Afraid and Fearless
When my first grandchild, Claire, was born, my heart was full of so many strong emotions that it took a few weeks to parse out and understand them all. I was afraid I wouldn’t be able to share her with others. Then when I saw her other grandmother holding her and gushing all those same … Continue reading Crying in an Elevator Holding a Tiny Jesus
His presence has been active (felt) this month—March, in which he was born and his daughter was born and he died—more than previous years.
What’s true is that it’s not possible to hate or disregard someone who doesn’t pray or look like you, or to take advantage of or purposely hurt someone, unless you’re afraid of losing something.
"What does the ache ask from you? Does it want Doritos? That’s okay. Eat them. A smoke? A high?"
"I am who I am because the person I loved most in one moment in time was alive and then he died."
This is full blown grief, my friends; the inability to comprehend what’s being said and done in the moment.
I woke up this morning with the 1975 Austin Robert’s song “Rocky” playing in my head. It’s been decades since I’ve heard it, but there it was, in my ears, and I remembered every single sad word.
Lynn Haraldson, Author and Writing Mentor 