The Portal: Portal-ity Thoughts

As the year 3 mark approaches – I find myself in a quiet and melancholy place. Year one was shock and horror, people, appointments with the DA – almost a blur. I learned how to listen to books to put me to sleep – as I couldn’t read, and I am still struggling to finish one book the old fashioned way, although I’ve started many. Brain fog, disbelief, searching, what-ifs. It was a year of people not knowing what to do with us, of mountains of tears and extreme emotions.  Of anger and profound sadness.  A year where food lost its flavor and coffee became all that tasted good.    I avoided people, places, and questions.  It was a year that I couldn’t talk about him without crying, where I dreaded any kind of get together because of the questions that were asked and because of the reality of the lives we were living.  I said no.  I know it hurt people’s feelings, but how could they possibly understand how a wedding or a graduation party ripped our heart...

Instead of a single rose from you this year John, I had to search the internet and find “Cemetary flowers” for your grave. You see, son, the world has gone crazy and a pandemic has hit. I couldn’t go to Hobby Lobby and put together a long lasting bouquet for you, but had to order one online. They are beautiful, for fake flowers, and they remind me of the times you brought me a single rose. Or wrote me a note. I miss you. This is an article I wrote my first Mother’s Day, (2018) but never published. Two years later and a lot of editing down to a “kinder gentler” article, and I submitted it to Still Standing.  Here is an excerpt: {“You know what the day is going to bring. Mom posts will abound. Happy families, tributes and photos of flowers and gifts, and an occasional post about a mom who is a little disappointed in her day.  She had high expectations for what she thought her day should look like, and somehow her children came up short. Try not to comment, or ...