I left yesterday. I loaded the horses in the trailer before dawn, as my mom stood in the doorway crying. She said Don’t go when I hugged her, in direct contrast to the other day when she asked why I was even there. I knew another part of her …
I left yesterday. I loaded the horses in the trailer before dawn, as my mom stood in the doorway crying. She said Don’t go when I hugged her, in direct contrast to the other day when she asked why I was even there. I knew another part of her …
I walk into the laundry room today to hug her goodbye, and she venomously whispers I know what you’re doing, like I’m an apologetic teenager sneaking away to a keg party, making premonitory amends to a disapproving parent. But I’m 43 years-old, at least for one more day. My …
I live in a log house nestled in a river valley between an alpine prairie and mountain range. My mom was seething when we bought this small ranch as a family retreat. She doesn’t like dust. So I was a little confused last month when my dad told me …
I’m in my early 40s, and my mom is still kind of here. Probably not for long, though, so I’m going to start writing some of these moments down. For both of us. Not really for her, since she doesn’t read much these days. More for you and me. …