Posts Tagged "grief"

Last month, I had the honor of read­ing in “The Mama Mono­logues” at Corte Madera Book Pas­sage, along with NY Times best-selling author Kelly Cor­ri­gan and many other tal­ented Writ­ing Mamas. Spe­cial thanks to Dawn Yun, founder of The Writ­ing Mamas, for mak­ing this laugh­ter and tear-filled event pos­si­ble. We raised over $5,000 for Abelina Mag­ana, a North­ern Cal­i­for­nia mother of three who was shot 15 times and lived to tell. If you would like to make a con­tri­bu­tion to Abelina and her chil­dren, all of whom are still very much in need of our help, please send a check to: Attn: The Mag­ana Fam­ily Fund, Bank of Marin, 1450 Grant Avenue, Novato, 94945. Please enjoy this video of my piece, “You Think You Know,”...

On Father’s Day, I hold the wristwatch—a stain­less steel Bell & Ross—and notice the delayed clicks of the white sec­ond hand. My thumb moves in cir­cu­lar motions across the water­proof glass. I’m sur­prised by its weight. Erik, my 29-year-old hus­band, pleaded with me for this expen­sive watch, but I said, “You know we can’t afford that right now.” We were sav­ing money to buy our first house in over-priced Marin County, California. “Hyla, he’s going to give it to me for one-third the cost.” Oh, Erik. “Why do I have to be the one who has to say no?” Erik put me in charge of our finances after he’d accepted that his impetu­ous spend­ing habits weren’t help­ing us save. We were newly preg­nant with our sec­ond...

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 on Easter ...

Tatiana clings to me, her legs wrapped beneath my 9-month preg­nant belly, while the other Marin Day School tod­dlers push balls, rakes, minia­ture vac­u­ums, and each other around in the out­door play area of the preschool. Pri­mary col­ored toys are scat­tered everywhere—many of which Erik had cleaned only two months before, when he donated his time to Tatiana’s school to make some “minor repairs.” Erik was sup­posed to fix a cou­ple of loose locks over a week­end, but the teach­ers returned to a new gar­den of pot­ted flow­ers, re-stained benches and sand­box, and a large rain­bow play-structure that had been flipped and scrubbed from bot­tom to top. When he walked through the metal gate to bring Tatiana there the next day, the...

I give Troy the bur­gundy vel­vet bag that con­tains Erik’s ashes. “Do you mind hold­ing them? I may need to run down to the beach by myself.” “I’ll put them in my back pack.” Troy rests the gray sack by his feet and slides the ashes in. He starts to zip up the back­pack, but pauses. “Jeanette, I might be able to fit yours in, too.” Jeanette hugs her pine box closer to her chest. “No, I want to hold him. Hayden’s fine right here.” My mother-in-law, Jeanette, has held on to her husband’s ashes for 17 years now. When we talked about scat­ter­ing Erik’s ashes, she said, “We’ll scat­ter them together. It’s never felt right to do it before, but it feels right now. Erik can be with his daddy. They can finally be ...