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I am chatting with my friend, Crystal (as always, name changed to protect the innocent). The sadness in her voice is palpable. It is just about a week after the anniversary of her father’s death and days after returning from her brother-in-law’s funeral. Crystal is reflective. Death brings this out in people. I, too, am…

I have always prayed for signs. After losing my mom, I was especially desperate for them. I remember telling my uncle, the priest that I had prayed for a sign my mom was okay and that I had asked for one by the end of the week. I wanted to make sure that I didn’t…

The mall teems with people. Cars are vying for spots. It’s one of those days were it may be a better idea to save some cash and head home. If I were going to vote on locales where human beings can be their ugliest. A crowded parking lot would have to be in the top…

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 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,…

I often say that I write of love. If you go to my website (www.colleensheehyorme.com) and to the, “About Me,” page it is how I define my brand. I also say that ‘love,’ is as simple, yet as complicated as the concept of ‘brand,’ is to business. The marketer in me realizing that love is…
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