All Posts

<p>Day 123 Today is Daddy’s birthday. If he had lived, he would have turned 72. Six months ago I would have bet money that he would have lived to see his mid to late 70s. But God said no. I didn’t always see Dad on his birthday. Summers, especially in my twenties and early thirties, [&hellip;]</p>

<p>Daddy died three months ago. This morning on Facebook a memory from two years ago popped up. We were out at the Cherry Place for dinner to celebrate Dad’s birthday and my son was on Dad’s back, his arms around him, hugging him. They were both smiling.  The children’s librarian in the Mattituck-Laurel Library asked [&hellip;]</p>

<p>Dad died 90 days ago. Ninety days of misery. Ninety days of missing him.&nbsp; My son finished the New Jersey puzzle this morning. It is 1000 pieces and it took him three days to finish. He immediately started another 1000 piece puzzle that he found in Mom’s closet. Every summer, since my son could read, [&hellip;]</p>

<p>This morning was hard. I woke up early and couldn’t fall back to sleep. I had been dreaming, but I don’t remember anything specific about my dream. Only that when my eyes first opened, I thought I heard footsteps, Dad’s footsteps pounding through the house. My eyes popped open and I actually waited a few [&hellip;]</p>

<p>The churches have opened in New York City for a limited capacity. Mom has started going to church every morning. I don’t know if it really helps, but it gives her something to do. It gives her a destination, something to fill an hour of her time. Just an hour. The rest of the day [&hellip;]</p>

<p>The Write Life published my essay, “Treasure Beach.” It was a difficult essay to write, but one I felt compelled to get down. Many of you have read bits and pieces of it since I have spoken of the Treasure Beach here. It has been part of my ramblings but in segments. I wanted to [&hellip;]</p>

<p>Twenty-two years ago today — on July 9, 1998 — my best friend died in a car accident. I still think of Libby often. Sometimes, I even catch myself wondering what she would think about a particular event or person. I still miss her. And if I still miss her after all this time, I [&hellip;]</p>

<p>When my son was three he really wanted a scooter. We couldn’t afford the one he wanted, but Dad could. As soon as he heard my son asking for it, he ordered it online. When it arrived at his house, my son was there and he was ecstatic. I’ve rarely seen him that excited. For [&hellip;]</p>

<p>Daddy never liked talking or thinking about death, especially his own. In his house the topic was taboo. As a result, many things that should have been discussed never were. But I guess Dad thought he had time, as did Mom. And he should have had time, but the virus hit him out nowhere, and [&hellip;]</p>

<p>Hamilton was fabulous! I’ve been wanting to see it since it first opened, but Broadway tickets are beyond what we can afford. Everyone I knew who had see it, loved it. I admit I’m not generally a huge fan of plays. It’s a liability of having a short attention span. I usually have trouble sitting [&hellip;]</p>

<p>I am at a loss. This pandemic is destroying my son. He is a different child than he was four months ago. I know, you have children, and you have recognized a change also. Kids need friends. They need to interact with others. Being with peers is a major part of their social development. But [&hellip;]</p>

<p>Today was supposed to be a happy day. It’s the day we had been looking forward to back in February, back before the pandemic struck and my world spiraled out of control. This morning, we were supposed to wake up before dawn, scramble into a taxi, and catch a flight down to Orlando. Today, was [&hellip;]</p>

<p>About a month or so ago, a friend of mine, the one whose dad also died from Covid-19, told me about a documentary film editor who was voluntarily making memorial videos for victims of the coronavirus. He sent me the link and I contacted the editor inquiring about a video for Dad. I’ve written about [&hellip;]</p>

<p>You know my son, you know how he is when it comes to fashion. He is by far the best dressed ten-year-old I know. Which translates into very long shopping excursions when we are trying to buy him clothes. He will spend ages looking at shirts, holding them up to pants, and trying to find [&hellip;]</p>

<p>I’m back in New Jersey. I’m sitting in the same place I sat when I started this blog. Mom and Dad were on their way home, I was getting reading to hunker down for long spell of distance learning, no taekwondo, no writing group. Simple isolation in Long Island with the people who meant the [&hellip;]</p>

<p>I was young, somewhere in elementary school, when Daddy decided he really wanted a cross to wear around his neck. Because I was little, I couldn’t stay home alone, and so my parents dragged me to jewelry stores with them for Dad to find the just the right cross and gold chain. His excitement was [&hellip;]</p>

<p>The night before Father’s Day Dad always asked with a shy smile, “Are you making me waffles tomorrow?” And when I said yes, he took out the waffle iron, the mixing bowl, and a measuring cup so that when I got up everything was ready for me to start cooking. This morning, the counter was [&hellip;]</p>

<p>The first dozen times or so that I got something published and I told Dad, he responded, “Very nice. Did you get paid?” Time and again, I explained writing is a labor of love. You write and publish in online and print journals in hopes that someday someone will notice you and want to publish [&hellip;]</p>

<p>A chapter from one of my novels-in-progress (the working title is Coming Home) has been published in Newtown Literary, another print journal. The chapter was published as a short story titled, “The Treehouse.” It is about an alcoholic mother who get’s banished from her home. Her spouse worries that if she doesn’t stop drinking, she [&hellip;]</p>

<p>Around one o’clock in the morning on Wednesday, my brother texted my mom to say that he’d be leaving Nashville early on Thursday morning, which meant he’d be arriving late Thursday night. Mom saw the text when she woke up. He gave us only a day’s notice that Mom would have to leave Long Island [&hellip;]</p>