It’s nearly midnight. I’m exhausted and hopeful sleep will come soon. I crawl into my mother’s bed where I had slept for several weeks. The sound of Dad’s rhythmic snoring in the next room reminds me of those same sounds I heard in my childhood. It evokes a peaceful feeling, knowing he’s OK.
Read MoreIt’s January. We are leaving our 1950’s red brick abode, complete with Retro pink
bathrooms, garden, tidal rivers and after school extraordinarily tasty vegan ice creams.
Read MoreBut, again, her daughter’s soul could not be confined to her mother’s desires.
Read MoreMy mom's reaction to my diagnoses are typical of her, she accepts them but refuses to believe that there isn't hope.
Read MoreI was taught to tense up my body and pretend to be invisible.
Read MoreMaybe it was the use of the word together that gave me the strength to take charge.
Read MoreI got my period at eleven, hid it from Mami and everyone else for over a year for all those reasons never spoken.
Read MoreWhen my mother texted to tell me that the doctors had found cancer in her lungs, I called and yelled at her.
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