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Their Bad Mother

Emilia: “Mommy, Grandpa lives in Heaven now.” Me: “I know.” Emilia: “Does that mean that he’s an angel?” Me: “Yes, sweetie, I think that it does.” Emilia: “And do angels have wings?” Me: “I think so.” Emilia: “Does that mean that they’re fairies?” Me: “Um… no. Fairies are different.” Emilia: “But fairies have wings.” Me:…

Sisters and cousins and babies, oh my: a family portrait (me, my sister, and our children), as conceived and directed and shot by Emilia, age three and three quarters. Emilia has a very promising future with Sears Portrait Studios, I think.

We spent the weekend going to country fairs. We spent the weekend on Ferris Wheels and watching tractor pulls and eating cotton candy and ice cream. It was good. My heart still aches, and I still struggle, daily – hourly – with the challenge of coping with the emotions surrounding my father’s death. I still…

From the Life Goes On files: Emilia prepares for her first day at Big Kid School. Oof, my heart. OOF.

I think that I might be having an existential breakdown. That, or I’m just exhausted and depressed after a month of dealing with the aftermath of my father’s death. Or both. I think both. The death of my father rattled me in a way that I could never have expected. I knew, of course, that…

This is the skyline as we approach our temporary home, the place that we are staying as we attend to the business of my father’s life and death. It’s the sky, behind a thick veil of smoke. Today, a few days later, the veil is even thicker, and the ash falls like snow outside our…

I said the other day that life would go on, and it has gone on, in its way, although it’s really gone on in much the same way as it was going last week – dealing with death and its aftermath, although now we have the added complication of a forest fire raging at our…

My husband and children are finally with me now, after two long weeks apart. And tomorrow we say goodbye to my father, formally, for good. And then life will go on. I will continue to struggle through the work of dealing with his affairs – which is immense, but also good, in a way, it being the last…

My babies are so far away while I’m attending to the affairs surrounding my father’s death, but still, they serenade me from afar: The reminder that there is such immense joy in my life, that that joy sings, is such a gift today, this week, always.

I had said that I wanted – that I needed – to narrate this process, this journey through the experience of my father’s death. But it’s hard. I return to my bed (so far from home) at the end of each day and I am fatigued to the very tippy-toes of my soul. So while…
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