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I am sitting to write my column. It is a weepy day. A day when the side effects of divorce are difficult to stave off. I am worried about my children, about paying the bills, about a true independent future. I take a moment to click on the Beliefnet article below. I find it difficult…

My door bell rings. I open the door and find my friend, Lisa standing on the stoop. “The book I ordered you arrived,” she says. Lisa hands me the book. I thank her. She is thoughtful as always. We say goodbye. I close the door and head into my family room. I turn on the…

My sister drives the car while I ride shotgun. My three boys chatter behind us . We are hungry. Scratch that, we are starving, so we drive to scout out the perfect lunch spot before our drive back to Sarasota. We are smack in the middle of Orlando, Florida. A seemingly perfect spot for restaurant…

I am chatting with two of my friends in their store. I do not feel comfortable with what brings me here this crisp, fall morning. It is not always easy to share certain things even for a writer like me, but I need to confide in them. The store is warm and inviting with intricate…

It’s a warm, summer evening as we make our way out of the house. My three boys stop and wrap their arms around their Aunt Rita and Uncle Tom. It is a hard goodbye as always. Love spills everywhere. It is now my turn to wrap my arms around Uncle Tom and Aunt Rita. “I…

The table chatter is rampant. Waiters and waitresses rush through the packed crowd. The wine glasses fiddle from hand to hand in between the noshing of tapas. There are three of us on this weekday evening. We discuss work while others are well into the post-work, happy hour mood. We are discussing features for an…

I am in the basement of my childhood home. I am with my brother and sisters. One of them snatches a box from behind the bar. I sift through the box. It overflows with cards and notes. My thoughts drift back to the day that I grab my mom’s birthday card from her bedroom dresser.…

I am seventeen years old. I walk into my mom’s bedroom. We have just celebrated her birthday. I stop to pick up one of the birthday cards on her dresser. I realize it is the one that we gave her. I open it. I spy our trademark signatures……all five of us. My eyes shift to…

I enter my home, sink into my chaise lounge and weep. The tears that find their way out are not slow and graceful, but violent and thunderous. I try to muffle them, but they show no signs of being quieted. I pick up the phone, dial my friend, “Charo,” and while I try to speak,…

  “You’re never going to win, Colleen,” says my husband. I reply as I always do to those familiar words. “If you believe there is winning and losing in love, then you have already lost,” I say. It reminds me of two children walking off a playground. “He pushed me,” says one. “No, he pushed…
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