• The Sound of Silence

    Recently, I shared a picture on FB with these words: When someone you love is going through a storm, your silent presence is more powerful than a million empty words. And surprisingly, the message caused a little controversy. When I first read the words, all I thought about was how perfectly they captured my heart and touched me where I was—barely standing in the middle of a turbulent tornado. The year before, my son had relapsed with leukemia, moved home from college, and begun a frightening and aggressive twenty-four month treatment plan. His return changed our family dynamics, our priorities, our focus. We were not the same family. We were…

  • Conceding Christmas Part Two: The Response

    Conceding Christmas is the story I wrote about our Christmas in 2004, less than two months after Kyle was diagnosed with leukemia. This blog is one of my favorites. Here is Part Two.   Conceding Christmas I curl up in a ball. Think about that verse from Matthew 11. “Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy and my burden is light.” Do I believe it? Can I live it? Release him. Trust me. Every moment I don’t let go, fear eats away at me. I live in bondage to the terror that Kyle will…

  • Parking Lot Prayer

    Some miracles are hidden. And they don’t feel like miracles at all. At least not in the moment. Eight years ago today, I sat on a blue plastic chair, hands clasped in my lap, in a sterile examining room and struggled to process four words no parent ever wants to hear. Words that carried enough power to punch a hole in my world and rip up the foundation. My son’s doctor, an older man with glasses sliding off his nose and a brown-striped tie, balanced on a tiny round stool. He rested his arms on a laminate desk that extended from the wall and took in a breath, as if…

  • When Life Poops On You

    Last week, I had coffee with my friend, Gloria, before a lunch conference six miles away from her house. After an energetic conversation, I slid into my car pumped about my novel and excited about the 12:30 meeting. My clock read 12:02. Before I drove off, I realized I forgot her food processor, I’d been meaning to take it off her hands since before Christmas. I left my keys in the ignition, didn’t bother to shut my door, and dashed back into her house. When I returned, a large gray bird had taken up residence on my dash.

  • It’s Only Just A Dream

    The smooth scent of vanilla slides over me. A hand rests on my shoulder and I cover it with mine—trace the bumpy veins on loose, spongy skin. I open my eyes. Grandma kneels beside my chair, dressed in her favorite outfit—blue sweater, matching pumps, and pearl clip-on earrings. I bite my lip. She’s not supposed to be here.

  • Courting Catastrophe

    The gun was small and black. It looked plastic.  A party raged in the apartment next door—music blared, people laughed. Oblivious to the nightmare transpiring in my living room. My mind sprinted forward, sorting through the possibilities of how the next few minutes could play out, while my body melted into the couch, overloaded with the mental pictures my mind produced. I should yell. Run. Do something.