A morning in which I sob on my wife’s shoulder about injustices and my inability to fix them, and she reminds me of an important truth.Read more
I wrenched my back last week, and nine-year old Etta has been very concerned, seeing me wince in pain as I hobble around the house. Last night as I was stiffly and carefully tucking her into bed, she said, “Your spine is being bad! It’s hurting you!”Read more
a poem about childhood abuse, facing fear, and healingRead more
by Barbara Rose Waters The store happened because Marsha and I never stopped daydreaming. Every so often at school,Read more
I was browsing through recent journal entries when I was suddenly stopped short by a simple description of walking Etta to school. Wow, that’s right, we used to go to school!
In that moment grief hit me hard — for all we’ve been through and all we’ve lost and how quickly everything changed. This is the poem I wrote about it.