I’m not sure if my mistake was in joining together reality and fantasy or if I simply was treading someplace where I didn’t belong.
By morning, there were no pauses left to count. The winter chill crept into the room as Dad lay lifeless.
Stories are my past. They bob along a lazy river waiting to be plucked up, cherished, and set back down to drift. But they are images, merely snapshots in free ...
After August 31, the good mornings and goodnights disappeared. In the push/pull of bipolar, as he muddled through the anhedonia, ambivalence, and anxiety, his c...
After hip surgery, my father’s memory is all over the map. As he recuperates in rehab, he tells us he’s been to Spain, England, Oakland and even Kabul, all in t...
If recovery means you are no longer sick, or even that you are simply functioning again, then perhaps I have recovered.
I was in the kind of love that puts a rock in your heart and stuffs your eyes with cotton, but you hold that rock and that cotton. Because that’s all you’ve got...
I think these people mean to say, that my mother with Alzheimer’s, behaves differently from the mother I knew without Alzheimer’s.
It wouldn’t be the last time I tried to cure a broken heart with recklessness.
