To reiterate an exhausted and lackluster explanation, 5 years ago (January 29th), my dad died. The anniversary slumbers in the back of my consciousness, ready at any moment to sabotage a perfectly normal conversation. “Hey Caitlin, what movie should I watch?” “Kill Bill” “How’d you decide so quickly?” “It was the last movie I watched
America has be riveted by the podcast called “Serial,” a spinoff of the popular NPR series “This American Life.” Serial’s Season 1 is an investigation into the 1999 Murder of Hae Min Lee, an 18-year-old student at Woodlawn High School in Baltimore, Maryland. She was last seen about 3 p.m. on January 13, 1999. Her corpse was discovered
I was going to call this “Grief is a Snowflake” until I discover there is an excellent book for grieving children called “Grief is Like a Snowflake” by Julia Cook and Anita DuFalla. I am convinced that grieving for a loved one is as unique as a snowflake. Two recent experiences I had reinforce this.
This poem arose from a conjunction of events—the recent death of my mother-in-law, the last surviving parent on either side of our family, and my driving for hours through a deep Canadian winter to offer a grief workshop in Brockville. The periodic bursts of long “O” sounds echoed for me the howling wind, and the
“I was so sorry to hear that your father died,” was probably one of the worst lines you could have said to me in 2010. I hated nothing more than other people’s pain in the months after my father passed. At best, it was an unpleasant reminder of what I was trying to put in