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Showing posts from July, 2012


Roger and I spent the weekend in Boone, NC.  It was a refreshing, albeit short, weekend away from home.  We got to see a few old friends, do a little PR for the book with a signing, and get a little R&R in as well.  It was good to go home. Even the view from the car puts me at ease.  I know.  I’m not from Boone.  As most of you know, I’m from Florida.  The thing is, Boone feels like home.  It was our home from June 1999-May 2001 when I was enrolled in graduate school at Appalachian State.  Between the friendships fostered during those years, the vibe of the college town that encompasses ASU, and the beauty of the Blue Ridge Mountains, Boone feels more like home to me than just about any other place I’ve ever lived.  Other than my mother’s house, it’s the only place from which I’ve ever felt homesick.  Since I graduated, we’ve been back about half a dozen times. Each visit has been short but sweet, usually in passing to or from another destination.  Every time I start

Does the Pain Ever Lessen? Questions for a Grieving Parent-Part 1

About a month ago, I invited readers of my blog to submit questions they had for a grieving parent .  I wondered if there were questions that people had always wanted to ask but never quite had the courage to verbalize.  I received some intriguing suggestions.  In forthcoming blog posts, I am going to attempt to answer each question.  It seemed most appropriate to begin this post on Charlotte's 7th birthday.  The pain associated with grief takes many forms.  As I mentioned recently, I often feel the pain ebb and flow like waves on a beach .  There are times in my life, such as near holidays or anniversaries, where the waves seem tsunami sized.  The pain is sharper. I am more sensitive to some of the things that "trigger" my sadness. I'm probably more grumpy and easier to anger as well (apologies to anyone that gets caught in the wake). Sometimes I feel like I might drown.  Once the tsunami subsides, though, life resumes to this place that I call normal . Two