Mother’s Gifts

The greatest gift my mother gave me didn’t come on Christmas day. It wasn’t the latest game console, or the the shoes I wore on prom night. It wasn’t intricately wrapped with a ribbon tied around it. There was no bow on top.

My mother gave me life twice. The first time was on the maternity floor. Breathing heavily, she pushed me, unaware, into this world. I was born hungry, wailing loudly. I can’t say much has changed.

There wasn’t a specific time marked by any inky footprint when she gave me life again. No. It occurred day-by-day over the course of two years at a different hospital, nearby. Children aren’t born there. A nurse would take blood or an oncologist would insert a hollowed needle into my spine. But it was always her, eyes wide, looking deeply into equally bugging eyes. Deeply, into one another’s pupils. It was always her, grasping my hand with all her might, as if letting go would allow her to lose me. Continue reading

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The Man I’m Marrying Isn’t My Type

Seems to be a pretty scary thing to have a hold on, with the clock ticking down to when you will (soon!) make a lifetime commitment. After having this rock on my Digitus Annula’ris (That’s medical terminology for ring finger. Sometimes I like to Google random crap.) for over eleven months, you think I would’ve already realized this. Well, I did. And I knew it from the get-go. Continue reading