Lately, I have been wondering about those patterns. I have been wondering if we inherit misfortune, the way we inherit eye color, hair color, left handedness. 1. My grandmother’s first child was born in August 1942. He died in January 1943. The word baby appears at the top his tombstone. The age 4 ½ months […]
For me, being silenced is worse than being yelled at or not being listened to. It’s a complete invalidation of my voice, of my right to speak on behalf of myself. Silencing says, You don’t matter. Your ideas don’t matter. Two weeks ago, I sat in my endocrinologist’s office and waited … and waited … and … […]
I want to see Gilmore Girls resist cultural taboos that tell women we need men in order to be affirmed or successful, or that a family absent of men is somehow less of a family than one composed solely of women. My mother died in April 2002, the same week cherry tree blossoms unfurled outside […]
Her death would shift my focus from her life to mine, and force me to hold my ambition and happiness more firmly than I’d ever known possible. After she died, I could not stop dreaming about my mother. She led me through forests and across streams. We walked down dusty halls and into abandoned houses […]
