When we think of being sick, we don’t often think rosy thoughts or the many benefits that come of it. Wait, being sick has benefits?
It would have been a complete disaster. Here’s why.
The story of the world’s fattest liver and white basset hound
Something kids of dead parents know is this: it gets better, but only when you accept the pain and look the suffering in the eye and ask, “What do you want me to know? What is it you want me…
In this episode of This Is Me Being Uncomfortable, I mumble about launching a podcast by accident; why I decided to return to writing Jeremiah’s story; and how human beings are connected by story to one another, globally.
Recently, I spoke with the executive director of the Southside Virginia Community College (SVCC) Foundation about relaunching the Jeremiah Hamlett Memorial Scholarship Fund. WHEN THE LIGHTS GO OUT AT 10:16, a memoir I began in July 2003, will be the vehicle which helps fund the scholarship in Jeremiah’s memory.
Getting this scholarship fund back off the ground is something I have had my heart set on for a while. Continuing our story of childhood and friendship is also something that has been on my mind for quite some time, and I’ve struggled mightily with how to share it with others but in a way that it is more than just a story—a way that gives it purpose. So, I decided to marry the two ideas in this initiative.
After all, it wasn’t until the summer of 2003, the night Jeremiah had his first seizure and subsequent diagnosis of brain cancer, that I ever began writing stories—WHEN THE LIGHTS GO OUT to be precise. Jeremiah’s diagnosis was also the reason I decided to return to college; and Southside, by way of a class assignment from Ms. Judy Lloyd, is where WHEN THE LIGHTS GO OUT really took off and went from a few random paragraphs in my green notebook to what it eventually became and is today.
Find out how you can help support this worthy cause by clicking the link below.
On a recent family vacation, my daughter wanted to listen to Taylor Swift. I wanted to listen to Bouncing Souls. She won.
If I’m not being creative, I’m not happy. It’s that simple.
But whatever I am has its source back there . . . from which I left . . . and to which I never returned to live.
Nothing’s going to happen. You’ll be fine.
HE WOULD DO this little shimmy waist down, inching closer unbeknownst to you what the hell he was setting you up for, and by the time you realized it, it was already too late. He’d anchor the weight of his lead foot and mash it down on your helpless toes, and you were stuck there like a bug in mud, unable to retreat, and he’d take that sharp knuckled middle finger of his and bend it in his fist and drive that sucker right into the hollow point of your bicep and he’d dig a little at the end, twisting it as if a key opening a door, as he locked and loaded another round in the chamber.
We used to lay there, on our backs, on a tin roof the color of a sardine can, peeled back at the eave, black tar sealant spread like mustard on bread.
He wasn’t much different than you and me before the accident.
The urine and fallen hair at the base of the toilet were reminders of where my dad once stood.
On January 29, 2010, eight months after my dad died from leukemia, my depression reached its peak and I attempted to quit my job. That morning in an email to my manager and director, I wrote…
Grief is a fire that burns slowly. There are no flames high as with anger. The coals are hot just below the surface, smoldering.
Shortly after my dad died, I began sleepwalking and experiencing night terrors. Then my dad appeared to me in a dream.
My sister recently gave birth. It was her second—this time a girl; small, beautiful, long fingered. Upon visiting her in the hospital, I was reminded of how delicate a newborn is. Also, in this post, I digress slightly on the topic of grocery shopping at Harris Teeter with my son Henry
Now more than ever, my hometown of Phenix, Virginia, carries with it ghosts. The ghosts of my childhood. Almost fourteen years ago, I wrote these very lines.
Happiness as a state of being in the present moment.