Tag: grief

All quiet

Author MatteaPosted on November 30, 2014June 12, 2018Categories Grief, Recovering from lossTags anniversary of loss, death anniversary, death of a father, grief, loss, loss of a dad, loss of a father

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The hotel gave you slippers
Let’s go to college
The voice is a liar
High in the Himalayas
Time Lapse: Your Relationship With Your Mother
Found in Cuba: the American Dream
The two-part art of cleaning the toilet
This is grief
The mildew-scented letters
Seven days in Mississippi
Killing someone else’s beloved
Postcard from a burial ground
Clearing
A lake in Maine; Syria; and how to care for each other
Untitled
Some who wander are lost
Success-o-meter
He could be a benevolent presence always
Holiday
The point is connection
It finally happened (or, Writing your way to happiness)
Pleasant buzzing white space
It wasn’t supposed to be like this!
In the basement room
The year of trying really really hard to take myself less seriously
That ugly shirt
Some words on rejection for writers and other human beings
Talking about writing about loss
Conferencing
Dad teaches me to drive. What could go wrong?
Something breaks through the grey
Letter from Spain
Salon: Curing the fear of death by ‘tripping out’
Why do you rush?
Nicely played, friend
How to worry about money
Ick, gross, let’s not talk about depression
Grandpa took his pants
The multi-dimensional vacuum that sucked up my life
The Year of Taking Myself Less Seriously
The super great thing I wanted to give you, and why you’re getting this crap instead
Cold December
The Christmas ham
The Great Party of 2004
All quiet
Hello Thanksgiving
Family dinner
Modern Loss: Closing my eyes, seeing my father
The erotica museum
Eviction and forgiveness
A coma and delinquency (and losing a sister)
Escape to Central America
Automobiles
Found
His closet was empty now
We can talk about it now, and that’s a good thing
Dad would approve, Kenya edition
Things were the same except substantially different
See, good things do happen
That sterile hospital smell
Anticipate every need
Maybe it’s my inherently petty character
It takes you by surprise
And so begins This Life After Loss

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