Charlene, my old-lady Ojibwe friend, changed my life. I also changed hers. Through Charlene, I grew familiar with issues I had never faced before in my small, sheltered world. In trying to help her, I learned from her. In a series of blog posts over the next several weeks, I want to explore, through the […]
Introducing a Blog Series on Helping a Friend through Difficult Issues Read More »
Since we lost our small one (you can read that post here), I have been thinking a lot more about Charlene, my darling little old lady friend who died. I like to picture the two of them together somewhere in a place I can’t quite get my mind around–but that doesn’t matter as much as
I cried one day—one day in a progression of many—and he cupped his hands under my teardrops, whispered the most beautiful words anyone had ever said to me. “Here,” he said, “let me hold your tears.”
He’s not angel. Not demon. Just flesh. I thought I would come to know someone different: a hero perhaps. In my mad moments, someone inferior: dumber, meaner, more annoyed. Turns out he’s made of the same substance I am. Wrong sometimes. Right sometimes. Always best when he’s not aware of it. In
I have a headache. I am in my pajamas. My hair is uncombed. TMI? Let me just add that I don’t plan to comb or dress at all today if I don’t have to—not until 9:30 p.m. when I will put on a clean scrub and wash my face and arrive to work as a
Grumpy. And Other Random Events of Life. Read More »
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