Letting go of my dad was one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do.
Hi.
Welcome to my blog, a place where I document when life gets lifey.
Welcome to my blog, a place where I document when life gets lifey.
All in Friends and Family
Letting go of my dad was one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do.
Some of my favorite moments with my boys are spent on chairlifts.
Yesterday, I said it again: This is not how I pictured my life. It’s a phrase I have uttered far too many times over the past several years.
Dear Stizzle,
Last night you told me you didn’t want to live anymore. You have said it before, but this time I could feel the sheer desperation seeping out of your every pore and it scared me.
I write this as I sit in my ex-husband’s apartment. I brought the boys over to spend some time with him before we head to my brother’s house for our Thanksgiving meal.
It's quiet here in my parent's house. Too quiet. My dad is lying in his bed, struggling to find a comfortable position for his weak body that now holds tubes to drain his bladder and kidneys.
Carson is a senior at the high school where I work. Until last year most of our interactions were contained to passing one another in the hallways with a quick smile.
When I was handed my job contract as director of enrollment at a local high school, it should have come with a big, red WARNING stamped across each page.
