My stepson started first grade today.  My nephew did too.  First grade.  A big deal!  They are on the brink of their long educational journey.

But for me, first grade has always felt like the end of an era.  When my oldest daughter went to first grade, I spent the entire day in tears.  My ‘baby’, who up until that point had spent her days with me, was now in a new environment in which I had less impact.  I felt diminished, replaced, ineffective, afraid. (more…)

My ex-husband recently took my three children on an amazing, once-in-a-lifetime trip to Africa – a wildlife safari in Tanzania.  (How come he never suggested a trip like that when I was married to him?  Oh well . . . I digress . . . ) My 16 year old kept an extremely detailed journal so that she would be able to record and remember every detail.   She allowed me to read it so that I could get a feel for her trip.  So I was sitting next to her, reading, commenting every few pages “Did you really see a baby giraffe with an umbilical cord still attached to its mother?”  “Did a wild zebra really come right up to your tent porch?” when she burst into tears.  “Stop reminding me . . . I miss it so much!” she sobbed.  “Oh honey,” I exclaimed, “You’ve got a case of the post-vacation blues.” (more…)

I remember once, many years ago, a middle-aged woman who came up to me after I gave a talk on grief at a local church.  I had been describing how painful it can be to lose someone you love, how disorienting and crushing — after the talk, she said, “Everything you just described is how I feel about my daughter growing from a sweet little girl into a teenager.  She’s still alive but I feel a loss.  My sweet girl is gone.”  At the time, I knew what she meant intellectually though I had not experienced it personally.  Why, my little girls were still adorable and adoring and I could never imagine that they would change.  HA!  (more…)

The first tree I fell in love with was a southern magnolia.  That tree, as I recall, was absolutely huge — with low lying branches where a little girl could sit, sheltered from the Texas heat.  In the spring it produced giant, fragrant blossoms — larger than my hands — that gave off the most heavenly scent imaginable.  My mother used to put the blooms in bowls of water around the house so that the rooms would fill with the smell of magnolia. (more…)