“Have you eaten?”
My grandma is dying. In truth, she’s been dying for years now, my months punctuated with hospital scares and
This is the fourth year since your son died
This is the fourth year since your son died.
You wonder where the time has gone, and wonder if it’d be cliche to say it sometimes still feels like yesterday.
Letters to the Forgotten Ones I Still Love
I suppose normally now would be the moment to place some epilogue of good feeling, of how I see the way God is working, how I’m sure it will all make sense one day, of the good that has come from it. But I do not, and I don’t know why, and in truth, no “why” could ever excuse or justify the pain.
Tracing Your Shadow through Shifting Leaves
“Your father is sick, so we must leave you sometimes,” Mommy says. Grandma cries below the stairs when she thinks I am asleep.
I clutch a photo of them when I miss them, and I pray God would spare him, that we might share in more, all the seasons of life together.
I didn't want to be an author
I write not just for the boy taken too early from this world, but for the little girl who grew up too scared to speak her truth.
I write because I now know stories can light up the Shadow and save a life—two lives.
But one is enough.
In the Absence of a Lost Love, Will an Echo Do?
In 2013, Black Mirror released an episode in which a widow utilises technology allowing her to communicate with an AI imitation of her late husband, called Be Right Back. Eleven years since then, we now face a very real possibility of this technology coming to fruition.
