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The Shape of a Life
This picture draws me in. Like I am in the canoe gliding through turquoise water. I see the woman sitting in the bow. The way she holds the paddle and turns her head. What is she thinking? Is she picturing her life when the honeymoon is over? Does she wonder how she’ll feel when she leaves Idaho for the Great Lakes? Does she still feel sad her mom never met her new husband? Did she know the years ahead would not be graphed as a single rising line. Did she expect, like most of us, her life would ascend without dips or stops or fallbacks? She couldn’t foresee she would…
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Loss Creates Space
My brother and I stand at the dresser I used as a child. It is covered with sewing notions. Things our mom used to patch levis, stitch quilts, and add badges to scout shirts. Things that were useful when she was around. My brother said: “It’s just a Chex tin, but I remember it from 40 years ago.” I look at the other tin, full of spools of thread and pins and buttons. It takes me to my mom. Actually everything in the house holds a memory of my mom, my dad or my childhood. Our dad’s death evokes our mom, who has been gone almost 13 years. I pick…
