Jimmy, my husband, actually posed this question in the truck. I laughed and changed the topic. I could not deal with it at the time. Later, I wrote this letter. (I kept it private and did not share it with him for three weeks.) Dear husband, If I died first, what would I want you to do? After you grieve a few months—maybe even a year—then you need to pull it together and get on with the program. If you wish, give some of my things away, things I loved in this world but no lon

I’ve written two blogs this week. Actually, I’ve been trying to not write this one. But it kept tugging at me like a little kid, wanting a mother’s attention. I’m in Arkansas, three states away from Raleigh, North Carolina, where my son and grandgirl live. I’m living my life, marking things off the calendar, feeding dogs, going to the grocery store, checking the mail, and tending to whatever else comes my way. Hurricane Florence has been an undercurrent all week. I’ve been wa

Hard to label it. People are leaving. A friend’s son died, a friend’s husband died, a friend is moving away. It is the normal cycle, but it brings up strange feelings. I try to hold people loosely. It gives me better perspective when I can do that. (As a counselor, it proved very helpful.) When it comes to family or close ones, it is right there in my throat anyway. Every time. Hard to hold loosely. Always, I feel the pain, theirs and mine. My boys are all grown up and living

What space does Labor Day occupy with you? My family has always been heavy with blue collar workers. Have I always been grateful for who they are and what they did? No. When I thought “Labor Day,” a late summer holiday is what first came to mind. I remembered notebooks, pencils, and school buses. It was just that time of year. But it’s far more than that. On Labor Day, I still think hot dogs and chips. What comes later is remembering I am honoring the workers of America. Work