The Day After

The day after the funeral is the hardest.

The people who gathered to say goodbye and pay their last respects go on with their lives. Relatives that you only get to see when someone dies disappear until the next time. Family acquaintances give you one final hug and tell you to stay strong.

There’s leftover food in your fridge that you have no desire to eat. The scent of the beautiful flowers from the people who cared about your mother but couldn’t be there in person remind you of the funeral home, triggering tears to form in your eyes.

But what doesn’t? Even the sound of the birds singing outside makes your heart ache, while silent tears run down your face.

There’s the first true realization that there won’t be another morning wake up call, her loving voice on the other end checking to see if you’re awake yet, if you made it safely through the night.

There’s a sense of loss so deep, it’s physically painful, like someone sucker punched you right in the gut. You struggle to take a breath, just like she did at the end.

You try to distract yourself by watching silly videos and reading, but what you really feel like doing is screaming up towards heaven that you’re not sure how you’re going to survive this, praying for signs that everything will somehow eventually be alright. You’re seeking anything to take this hollow feeling away, this desperate soullessness.

You contact all of your people until one of them answers. Then they let you ugly cry, snot running down your face and almost close enough to reach your cleavage, hysterical and struggling to find the right words to express how utterly devastated you are, that you now have to find a way to keep on living without your mother.

Without your superhero.

She was more than just my mother and my best friend. She was the glue that held my small family together. She was the comforter, the mediator, the strongest, most genuine person that I’ve ever known.

And I honestly don’t know if I possess that same strength, because right now I’m just so lost without her. I’m scared that I’ll scatter into a million pieces and blow away into the sky, closer to where she is now.

And only she would truly understand how I long for her embrace.


November Morn Surprise


A post that I wrote a few months ago was published this morning on The Mighty. This is the 2nd time that they’ve approved a submission of mine and since it was so long ago that I sent it to them, I was quite surprised when I saw the email while drinking my go-go juice.

If you’d like to see it, please click “ here. ”

I hope you all are doing well.



Today would’ve marked my 9th wedding anniversary.

As I sit here waiting for my chicken enchiladas from Trader Joe’s to cook in the oven (my boyfriend introduced me to the place), I find myself in awe of my own strength and endurance these past 13 months.

I really don’t give myself enough credit. It’s always been a bad habit of mine.

I could have chosen to continue to stay asleep, but I woke up.

I could have turned a blind eye to the truth, but instead I stared unblinkingly into it.

I started to rebuild my life while still sorting through the ashes, kicking at the smoldering ruins with my bare feet, relishing the sensation of my burning flesh.

There are times when tremendous emotional pain and overt betrayal can lead to renewal. It didn’t seem like it at the time, but it’s been occurring to me lately that my tenacity is starting to slowly pay off.

I deserve more, so much fucking more.

Oh. My dinner is ready. The oven timer won’t stop beeping until I get up and turn it off. (It’s rather annoying as hell, trust me.)

I’m planning to relish every bite in pure silence and wondrous peace.

Happy anniversary to ME.