An Ode to my Irish North Star

My papa is a bit like an Irish Tom Cruise; he doesn’t age. He’s strong, more in shape than I am, with a wise-cracking mouth I grew up emulating. Happy birthday!

Drowning in Memory: the Quest for Self-Knowledge

Mary Karr says you’re bound to drown a bit writing a memoir. She’s right. My once placid understanding of my history, of who I am and was, is constantly being dismantled. Imagine your core memories, the ones that shaped you, potentially being misremembered. Yeah, that could drown a bitch.

Something’s Bothering Me

I’ve been anxious forever, but it got worse after Dad died. Knowing I’ll never fix things with him makes me feel perpetually Bothered. That’s hard to swallow.

Giving Dad Away, Piece by Piece

I know Dad is gone now, and he has no use for these material things, but it still feels like I’m giving him away, piece by piece.

The Search for Enlightenment

For a brief period, I was a social drinker no more. I peered into the inky abyss that consumed my dad, expecting to see his mismatched eyes looking back at me.