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©2016-2018 by Pat Durmon, Poet. Proudly created with Wix.com

September 24, 2018

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...

September 17, 2018

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...

September 10, 2018

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 pr...

September 2, 2018

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,...

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