“Did Poppi kill the bear or save it?,” asks my son months after my dad was buried.
Because for a while I was with & never without her. For a good bit my mom was fully, really here.
This. This is how the world ends.
Oh, friends. I’ve wanted to tell you, but there are no words. No words big or right or clear enough, no clue in my hurting, spinning mind of where to begin. I have hovered over this keyboard for two months feeling almost ready and then backing away. But I need you now. We need you now. So …
Like with every other act of parenting, I put on my straight face and made things up. I saw a glimpse into the future with a toddler listening to Dashboard Confessional while crying fresh tears into his black nail polish and let me tell you one thing: Mama ain’t about all that.