A good friend’s mother died recently. I felt an immediate pang of sorrow for her, but in the days following the pang grew and deepened, and the feelings awoken by my friend’s loss have taken me into unexpected places.
My mother, who never once ventured outside England, died a few years ago. I had not lived in England for over 30 years, but ten months before her death I left the U.S. and returned “home.” I had no clear idea why I was returning. Read more
“Didn’t you bring a different dad last year?”
My classmate Susie, trotting alongside me at the Linda Vista Elementary School Father-Daughter Day Picnic, had noticed. I was mortified—even though Bill, my surrogate dad, was young and buff, sitting straight in his saddle chatting with a real father.
Last year, I’d brought Curt; both he and Bill were firemen my mother had hired from the station across the street to accompany me to the annual event. My father wasn’t available; as usual, he was golfing. Read more
“On Men.” Quite a title, yes? I’ve spent way too much psychic energy “on men”, literally and figuratively. The darlings.
My father and mother divorced when I was six, my sister was four. When he left us, he promised he was just leaving mom, not us. He lied. He was so handsome, funny and charming; a musician, and we loved him wildly. I learned from him, that part of love was expecting a broken heart. He disappointed me one time too many and I didn’t speak to him for 15 years. Read more