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jezebel. correspondence for the vagabond heart.: "Eyelids of the morning"

http://jezebelstationery.blogspot.com/2011/04/eyelids-of-morning.html

Eyelids of the morning". Rise, Mother, rise! We are under April skies and I need our nighttimes back. It is lonely walking home without you. Subscribe to: Post Comments (Atom). View my complete profile. Jezebel, here, there, and everywhere. AnOther magazine - leigh batnick loves. Alice mary lynch - dollmaker. Chell - who writes uncannily like the way she speaks. Drew brody aka "the logic man". The great lakes goods. 2 or 3 things i know. An apple a day. So much to tell you. Vintage kids' book my kid loves.

jezebelstationery.blogspot.com

jezebel. correspondence for the vagabond heart.: Where I have been.

http://jezebelstationery.blogspot.com/2011/05/where-i-have-been.html

Where I have been. Cancer has fractured my mother's shoulder, it has put her in the hospital too many times, it has kept her from her granddaughter's birthday party for fear of infection. Cancer causes my teetotaler mother to live on cocktails of painkillers. But, cancer has not made my mother anyone other than the joyous, sage, impish, speed-loving mother who will remain my North Star for the rest of my days. Oh Leigh. Bittersweet tears on this end of Metropolitan. By land by air by sea. Every,every min...

jezebelstationery.blogspot.com

jezebel. correspondence for the vagabond heart.

http://jezebelstationery.blogspot.com/2012/05/yesterday-we-drove-rendezvous-home-for.html

Yesterday, we drove the Rendezvous home for the last time. The road, green and dappled, winds from Brooklyn to our house, a 32.5 mile stretch of life, a changing life, changing lives. I cried as I drove, and thought about our last car ride together. Not quite a year ago, when I held my mother's hand as she lay in the back of an ambulance. I took her home to die. We looked backwards out of the windows with our green eyes and we couldn't tell, on roads so familiar, where we were. We laid on the couch, we s...

jezebelstationery.blogspot.com

jezebel. correspondence for the vagabond heart.: The unexpected.

http://jezebelstationery.blogspot.com/2011/07/unexpected.html

I cried on Saturday night, in a church, as I listened to my husband play. It was the first time, almost, that I had cried since her funeral. I always thought that when she died I would instantly get sick. Nothing that I thought would happen has happened. I am rigid, I wait, still. Turns out, almost a month is not enough. And if you wonder if you ought to, if it is right, say something. The bereaved (provenance: bereafian. Subscribe to: Post Comments (Atom). View my complete profile. The great lakes goods.

jezebelstationery.blogspot.com

jezebel. correspondence for the vagabond heart.

http://jezebelstationery.blogspot.com/2012/03/sit-with-me-minute.html

Sit with me a minute. Pull up your chair, turn down your music. It's been so long since we've talked. I've needed these 2 months and 13 days of silence to live with the last 9 months and 6 days I have lived without my mother and with the 32 years we lived together. On May 6, we will lay the stone on my mother's grave. Blanche Batnick, April 9, 1954 - June 17, 2011. Beloved mother, wife, sister, aunt, grandmother and friend. Loved always. Let that Loved always. Having the blues is different from singing t...

jezebelstationery.blogspot.com

jezebel. correspondence for the vagabond heart.

http://jezebelstationery.blogspot.com/2012/05/love-is-infinitely-more-durable-than.html

Love is infinitely more durable than hate. My mother died 346 days ago. What has loss done to you, what do you see when you fall asleep at night? What does the world look like from behind your eyelids? We laughed at my wedding, we smiled, we loved. This photo was taken at the moment, the only moment, we cried. I held her diminishing body, that had tricked most (not me) with its beauty that day, in my arms, and I knew she would die soon. And so she did, 74 days later. Bela - juegos gratis. You are the best.

jezebelstationery.blogspot.com

jezebel. correspondence for the vagabond heart.

http://jezebelstationery.blogspot.com/2012/06/my-mother-died-one-year-ago-today.html

This place for the dead is alive and here for the living. This world hums, this world is electric. Cats prowl and mice dart behind footstones. When we leave, the earth is made all the richer. These are the days of miracle and wonder/ This is the long distance cry.". Please dont be sad. be happy for all of the moments you spent with her and how she has made you into who you are today. By land by air by sea. I hope you will make a book of your longing this year. It is instruction to the living.

jezebelstationery.blogspot.com

jezebel. correspondence for the vagabond heart.

http://jezebelstationery.blogspot.com/2012/05/dear-mom-on-sunday-we-lay-stone-on-your.html

On Sunday, we lay the stone on your grave. The cemetery has been there since 1917, there are small hills and oak trees, ocean air is near. Your grave has been there since June 19, 2011, and this Sunday, according to tradition, we, your family, will visit your grave for this first time since you died, in the shadow of the Strawberry Moon. And by that reckoning, we ought to eulogize those we love every morning we wake, together. Mom, there is no deus ex machina, no disco ball above the stage. Yours, always,.

jezebelstationery.blogspot.com

jezebel. correspondence for the vagabond heart.

http://jezebelstationery.blogspot.com/2011/12/june-rains-gave-way-to-july-stars.html

June rains gave way to July stars. I didn't see them, but I knew they were there. What was it like, those first mornings without her? On June 18th, we went on the boat. I resisted; I thought I shouldn't leave the house, she might die while I'm gone, and then came the first time of thousands of time that I had to tell myself, "But she is already dead.". Made it possible. I think she did. By land by air by sea. You are an amazing writer and do not let anyone. Tell you how to grieve. View my complete profile.

jezebelstationery.blogspot.com

jezebel. correspondence for the vagabond heart.: The big and the small.

http://jezebelstationery.blogspot.com/2012/04/big-and-small.html

The big and the small. Last night, on my way home from work, I thought about what we'd talk about if we could ( Rise, Mother, rise! We are under April skies and I need our nighttimes back. It is lonely walking home without you. I started writing these letters to you when death crept closer, when we were in the delicate waltz. Yes, I know, never mix ammonia with bleach. The girlfriend is just so tired. Let's go get a manicure, Mom. Journey through the grieving process. Your mother must have been beyon...