Those Who Say They Would

It's Very Weird To Succeed At Thirty-nine Years Old And Realize That In The Midst Of Your Failure, You Were Slowly Building The Life That You Wanted Anyway.

His Love For My Mother Wasn't About Looking Back And Loving Something That Would Never Change. It Was About Loving My Mother For Everything -- For Her Brokenness And Her Fleeing, For Her Being There Right Then In That Moment Before The Sun Rose And The Hospital Staff Came In. It Was About Touching That Hair With The Side Of His Fingertip, And Knowing Yet Plumbing Fearlessly The Depths Of Her Ocean Eyes.

Out Loud I Said I Had Two Children. Silently I Said Three. I Always Felt Like Apologizing To Her For That.

Last Night It Had Been My Father Who Had Finally Said It: "she’s Never Coming Home." A Clear And Easy Piece Of Truth That Everyone Who Had Ever Known Me Had Accepted. But He Needed To Say It, And She Needed To Hear Him Say It.

The Stains Could Be Seen Only In The Sunlight, So Ruth Was Never Really Aware Of Them Until Later, When She Would Stop At An Outdoor Cafe For A Cup Of Coffee, And Look Down At Her Skirt And See The Dark Traces Of Spilled Vodka Or Whiskey. The Alcohol Had The Effect Of Making The Black Cloth Blacker. This Amused Her; She Had Noted In Her Journal: 'booze Affects Material As It Does People'.