It’s not always sad. There is a deep joy when I remember you, when I think about your arms around me, the words we shared, the things we loved together – coffee, dessert, hairspray, Gilmore Girls, The Sound of Music.

I am not always afraid. When K told us she was pregnant last month and that this time the baby is healthy, my heart leapt with joy and I heard you say, This is possible; it will all be okay.

It isn’t always about loss. My heart is full with you – your affirmations, your laughter, your gentle words, even your tough love. You loved me for me, and maybe this is why I don’t hate my body : you taught me that life was too short to starve myself of it.

I am not always alone. When I talk with my hands or choose what to wear in the morning or glance at a passing reflection, it’s that same conversation we always had, only quieter.

It isn’t always past tense. We are more than memories, more than dust and bones and the dirt we return to. You are faith and hope and love present tense, a glimmer of joy in every living moment.

It’s true. I look at my life every day and think, I’m lucky. I am blessed. Our short lives – lived well – are better than the long lives we might have wasted in different circumstances. Fifty years of Grace is better than a hundred years of mere existence.

In honor of Mother’s Day this weekend, Prodigal Mag is hosting a series honoring our mothers. Today I contribute with ”When I Become a Mother,” reflecting on my close relationship to my mom and how my  desire to be a mom has changed since she passed away in January.

P.S. My Prodigal archives, and other posts remembering my mother.

Today I’m guest posting over on Lore Furgeson’s blog Sayable. Have you gotten to know Lore yet?  She’s a great writer, designer, and all around wonderful and generous soul. She’s doing a brave thing and taking the entire month of May as a vacation away from the internet. Could you, could any of us, go a whole month without it?! I think the only way I could follow through with that is if I were stranded in the middle of nowhere.

Anyway, in her absence she has enlisted a group of her favorite bloggers to share their writing to keep her blog alive, and I am honored to be counted among them. So here’s my brief story on grace, “When You Can’t Unbreak the Plate.”

P.S. My guest post archives, if you’re interested.

Here’s a fun and bookish project to try out : make poetry from book spines! I stumbled across the idea the other day, and knew I just had to go home and make my own attempt. The hardest part? Finding verbs to make it read more like a poem than a list of titles.

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Yesterday was the perfect kind of rain. The sky was split between sunshine and storm clouds, and while neighborhood children still played on bicycles and swing sets, those clouds broke open in a downpour and everyone got drenched and no one cared. They screamed with delight and I couldn’t help but stand on my porch and get drenched with them and watch the rain and sun collide and make everything glisten. It was a happy, warm rain, the kind that you can dance in, the kind that feels like a relieved exhale. And I exhaled with it.

Wishing you a wonderful weekend and happy reading :

“And I tilt my head and re-read my life.” The realism behind optimism.

“What’s in a year, you say? An eternity on one hand, and a single moment in another. That, and the worlds between.”

“What the fine art market shows us, though, is that real value isn’t created by this volatile fame. Consistently showing up on the radar of the right audience is more highly prized than reaching the masses, once then done. This works for every career, even if you’ve never touched a brush.” – Volatility and Value. See also : A talisman for our times.

The Dirty Secret of Language.

“But take solace in what unites us… all of which quietly collide one word at a time.” – Life of a Writer.

“Sometimes they ask how I continue, and I reply, glibly, ‘Because of contractual obligation.’” – The Agony of Writing.

A fascinating look at life alone.

Editing giggles.

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