My mom wasn’t on board with the whole gay thing at first. I never even had to tell her; she overheard me talking to my girlfriend on the phone, and recognized the tone of my voice. “I’m going to consider it a phase,” she told me to my face. “You’ll get over it. Oh, and … Continue reading Shadows wane
Almost two years ago, I was sitting at my mother's bedside in her hospital room, putting the finishing touches on a short story. I submitted it from the armchair at the foot of her bed on September 29, 2017; she died twenty-four hours later. On September 10, 2018—almost a year later—my story, "The Siren and … Continue reading All aboard
Today I bought a book I don't plan to read. I know, all you minimalists and declutterers out there are gasping in horror, but look--I'm a Taurus. I like my stuff. Even stuff that doesn't spark joy. The book in question is Eight Cousins by Louisa May Alcott. I must have read it twenty times … Continue reading Stuff and Things
I am pleased and honored to share that my short essay about my mother, How to Remodel, has been published by the lovely folks over at Dead Housekeeping. About Dead Housekeeping (from their website): When people die we can still clearly picture the way they did things. We don’t remember our departed in a vacuum, … Continue reading News: How to remodel
We got the kids’ school pictures yesterday. We send them to the grandparents every year for Christmas: four different addresses. Our mothers, our fathers. My wife shook the pictures out of the envelope, showed them to me: N’s goofy grin, Z’s untamable hair. Three sets of photos. Three sets, not four. My mother’s death did … Continue reading Lace
