The pictures on our bedroom wall each contain at least one memory—a captured spirit or ghost, if you will.
Category: Family
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One Hundred and Twenty Hours
One hundred and twenty hours after my mother took her last breath, we gathered around a deep hole and covered her casket in roses.
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Women in Black
The water shimmers baby blue beneath a blushing pink sky and it seems Bob and I are the only people on earth.
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The Morning After
Sometimes you just have to reach for that box of shiny new colors.
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You, Me, The Atlantic
Now, more than ever, I needed to go home to Mother.