For those who believe meditating is about clearing your mind and silencing your thoughts, I offer this personal observation: Ha! Not my experience at all!
[PHOTO ABOVE: From left to right: Celenia (author), Claudia (sister), Carmen (mother), Camelia (sister), circa 1980] I woke up yesterday morning feeling like, “Ugh. This day.”
Another birthday has passed. Another year of life. Another rotation around the sun. I’m grateful for the folks who send cards and emails, and birthday
This is not a story about someone who knows who she is from the get-go. This is a story of a woman who’s worn many
I love photographing parts of things: details, corners, edges. The result is sometimes abstract, and the viewer might have to guess what the thing is.
At the time, my life was a train wreck. I was in the throes of wrestling with the grief of my son’s suicide, questioning my
I’d been in search of an opportunity to dip my inexperienced toes into the world of studio portrait photography.
It was a gray-ish day. I’d only ever driven through the town of Pinole. There didn’t seem to be much to attract outsiders: a few
[PHOTO ABOVE: Contact sheet of photos taken by author at Lake Winnepesaukee, New Hampshire, circa 1978] The moment I printed my first photograph, I was
I remember the call from my son’s therapist. Julian had recently turned 19, and had been in residential psychiatric treatment for a month. His therapist
PART I Say you chose another mother, Say the stars did not align, Say the sperm missed that damn egg, And the miracle never happened.
Recently, someone asked me how grieving my son is different now (four and a half years later) than it was during the first year he