Monthly Archives: March 2015

Don’t Be Like Me

“Don’t be like me.” This is something my mother has been saying to me all of my adult life. And she said it just the other day as I sat by her hospital bed, one hand, as always, clasping that … Continue reading

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What Color Are My Mother’s Blue Eyes?

My mother’s eyes. Blue. And I am anxious, as a writer, to describe that blue exactly: The complex sheen of a blue jay feather? The polychromatic blue of a dying match? The sharp blue of a crisp autumn sky? The … Continue reading

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My Mother’s Hands

My mother is never settled. She is always traveling. And she is tired of it. “I’m tired, tired, tired! I want to go home!” she can cry. “I’ve been here and there, moving too much and I need to go … Continue reading

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