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From Branch to Trunk
I wrap my wet hair in a towel after my morning workout. I hear the door close and Scott’s quick steps. I ask why he is back an hour and a half after leaving for work. I notice watermarks on his tie. Later I know they were caused by teardrops. Scott: “Here she is, Dad.” He hands me the phone and stands close, his arm around me. I hear my dad speak. Me: “What?”He tries again. I hear a solitary wail in the distance. The sound of grief. I sink onto the bench at the foot of the bed, and only then do I discern the wail rose from a place within me. …
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The Long Goodbye
Looking out the window, I squint from the glare of the airplane wing. The view of the runway gives way to unseasonably green hills then snow-covered mountaintops and fades into billowy white clouds. I feel nostalgic. Even though our entire family will be together next month, I mourn the loss of home base. We spent a quick weekend clearing our house. With the help of our local children and a friend (who has literally seen us through every challenge since we built our house), we deposited the final hard-to-decide-on items at Deseret Industries and storage. Gorgeous views from every room. That’s what I wrote in the home’s description, and it’s…
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A Dog’s Life
Scott picked up the leash and we walked out the door with Boomer like we had so many times before. Only this time we weren’t heading out to explore the city or to let Boomer stretch his legs. This time we were going to say goodbye. To him. Cancer. We’ve heard that diagnosis before – when medical tests found the cause of our 13-year-old son’s massive headache. This time the diagnosis was for our dog. We named him Boomer, a nod to Oklahoma, the place we raised our kids. The kids had begged and lobbied for another dog after Sundance. We told them to write a proposal detailing how this…
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Preface
I read some of Jen Hatmaker’s words last summer. “Sometimes you can connect a few dots and discover a pretty clear path toward vibrancy and possibility.” I thought about the dots that connect for me. My shelves are full of books I read as a child. I keep a list of books I’ve read beginning in high school. Once near the end of a book — Wallace Stegner’s Crossing to Safety — I had a sense of deja vu. I checked my list and saw I had read the book 14 years earlier. As a young mom, I’d slip into a book during stolen moments, promising myself I’d go to…
