Posts Tagged "death of a parent"

Embracing Children’s Psychotherapy

»Posted on May 31, 2010 in BLOG, DROP DEAD LIFE, Parenting & Loss | 0 comments

  Keira, my five-year-old daughter, whined, “I don’t want to talk to anyone,” from under her purple, fuzzy blanket. She did not want start going to therapy. She had recently returned from school one too many times, saying “nobody likes me,” or “I’m not smart,” or “nobody wants to be my friend.” But that was as far as the conversation ever went. She really didn’t want to talk to anyone. Not even me. I pulled the covers back, exposing her angry, brown eyes. “That’s just it, honey. It isn’t good if you don’t talk about your feelings.” She wrapped her front teeth around the base of her thumb’s cuticle and chewed on the skin. “I don’t have any feelings.” “Honey,...

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Grieving Daddy’s Death

»Posted on Apr 20, 2010 in BLOG, DROP DEAD LIFE, Parenting & Loss | 0 comments

Tatiana, my eight-year-old daughter, begins to cry. “Mom-my! I’m not talking to you. You are making me so sad.” Her curly blonde hair flies everywhere, as if being blown by a fan. She stomps into the bathroom, slams the door, and locks herself in. All morning, Tatiana has not been listening, and I’m fed up with having to repeat my words six times just to be heard. Deep breath, I tell myself. I call through the bathroom door, “Honey, come out here.” To my surprise, she twists the knob right away, but her sobs continue rising like a helicopter. “Come sit here.” Tatiana curls in my lap, making her lanky body compact. She blows her nose on her orange sunflower dress. “I know we’ve all had colds and that you’ve been...

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God Inflicts Anger

»Posted on Nov 25, 2009 in BLOG, Coping With Loss, Death Of Spouse, DROP DEAD LIFE, Sudden Death | 0 comments

I walk out of the closet, my arms full of Erik’s shirts, all still on hangers. My 8-month-pregnant belly acts as a shelf, enabling me to carry more. “I hope you’re alright with this,” I say to my brother, Troy. “That you don’t think it’s weird I’m giving you Erik’s stuff.” I pile the shirts on top of my bed, the white plastic hangers clinking together like falling dominoes. “No, I don’t think it’s weird, as long as you’re fine, as long as you feel ready,” Troy holds up a navy blue button-down. “This one will definitely fit.” “Erik would be really happy you had these, I’m sure of it.” It hasn’t even been three weeks since the blood trickled down the side of my husband’s mouth...

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11-Year-Old Boy Tries to Save his Father

»Posted on Oct 12, 2009 in BLOG, DROP DEAD LIFE, Parenting & Loss, Sudden Death | 0 comments

Erik told me about his dad, Hayden, when we first started dating. We were both 20, both students at Florida State University. Erik majored in computer science while I studied creative writing. Within days of knowing one another, it was obvious that Erik’s rational, organized side would compliment the artist in me. Erik spoke slowly, with quiet intensity. “We were on vacation.” I sat cross-legged, on Erik’s bedroom floor, soaking in the masculine whisper of his words. My attention was focused entirely on him. He stretched out on his back and put his head in my lap, his eyes directed at the circulating ceiling fan. “We were on vacation, at the beach . . . I was eleven. It was just me, my mom, and my dad. My dad had brought me out...

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Birth of a Fatherless Child

»Posted on Sep 17, 2009 in BLOG, Death Of Spouse, DROP DEAD LIFE, Parenting & Loss | 0 comments

My body is as still as a corpse while my obstetrician shaves the rest of my pubic hair, so that she can neatly slice my womb open. I stare at my right hand, into the dark eyes of the black and white photograph I am holding of my husband, Erik. I study his black hair, his defined jaw, his young 29-year-old skin, probing his face for answers, but the picture has no reply. He should be here. How can he not be here for Keira’s birth? Instead, my mom positions herself to the right of the steel operating table, a piece of her curly black hair straying from her cap. Mom speaks in a whisper. “I am going to be next to you the whole time.” She lightly intertwines her fingers with mine, leaving enough space for Erik’s photograph. I strain my neck...

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