I bought a Golden Gate Bridge keychain last night after my flight got seriously delayed and I was stuck at San Francisco airport. I was extremely upset about it at the time, as I had been away for five days and really wanted to get home to my young daughter. What it did give me … Continue reading Bridges, continued.
I had a dream that I saved you.You were still a baby, no more than two, and were about to tumble off a steep ledge. I grabbed you as you fell, wrapped you in my arms in midair, and we flipped head first over the ledge.By some dream magic, I landed far below on my … Continue reading I had a dream that I saved you.
You are missing. You will always be missing. But in some places, there are traces of you. I feel them, and while it would be tempting to go looking for them, I actually don't. They find me: usually through almost inaudible whispers in my ear as I pass by somewhere. One example is that I … Continue reading Wisps of you.
When my brother was 10 and I was about to move to Berkeley for school, he painted me a picture of the Golden Gate Bridge for my birthday. I remembered being astounded by how long he must have spent on it, and listened patiently as he explained to me how he swirled the colors for … Continue reading The bridges.
I was a teenager in the nineties, so before we had cellphones, I had a pager. I loved my pager. It was light blue and I used some glittery nail polish to paint the clip that stuck out of my pocket so it would sparkle in the sun. (So embarrassing, I know!) We could do … Continue reading 143
A woman came in to shop our post-holiday sale (I work for lululemon), and was having trouble choosing between two pairs of pants that were discounted by about thirty percent. One, we both agreed, was a god-awful color; the other had a strap that inconveniently wrapped around the waist, which would have gotten in the … Continue reading Precious to each other.
Every day I feel the molten core of shock cooling, which brings about its own kind of despair. I don’t want to get used to this; I don’t want my brain to assimilate and contain the loss of you. I don’t want the live wire of grief to stop jolting my fingers, zapping its hot … Continue reading The familiarity of loss.