A Bittersweet Mother’s Day

May 6, 2011 by

Guest Post Complements of  Sybil F. Stershic It’s been four years since I lost my beloved mother, and my life hasn’t been the same since. I think of her and miss her every day. While she’s in my heart, what I wouldn’t give to have her physically here in my life (without the cancer that took her away). Losing a mother is so profound, especially when you’re blessed – like I was – to have come from such a loving, giving woman. There’s the absence of that very special bond with the one person who grew me, knew me, and loved me. There’s also the reality expressed in this poignant passage from one of the many beautiful compositions in Silhouettes of Woman, a booklet written by psychologist Phyliss Shanken in 1976: “Many of us...

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Giving My Mother Her Due

May 6, 2011 by

For years, when people asked if I were close to my mom, I’d demure. It’s not that I have a vitriolic relationship with my mom, we’ve never had a huge fight, rarely had harsh words. Never called each other names. She’s not mean. If I ask for help, even at age 85, she bats 800. If the request is to pick up an item at Target or Mall of America, she’s on it in a flash. If it’s to have my dog stay with her when I go out of town with the promise that I will hire a dog walker to take care of all the walks, not so much. She’s always seems happy to see or hear from me and has never told me how to lead my life. As a child,...

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Hiding in Plain Sight

May 6, 2011 by

When I brought a tool box with me to my first post-college apartment, my roommates were amused. Hammers, screwdrivers, a hand saw, vise-grip pliers and wrenches were, to say the least, not a typical sight in apartments occupied by artsy, bohemian twenty-something women such as ourselves. This strange contribution to our new home was vindicated a few months later when the kitchen sink drain clogged. One of my roommates called the property manager, who told her that since it was a weekend it would be a couple of days before a plumber could come by. So I hauled out my trusty pipe wrench, put the dish pan under the drain trap, and twisted off the clean-out plug. After a cascade of fetid grunge-water poured into the dish pan, I reached in and pulled out...

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