What happens if we are all grieving?

Image by Stocksnap from Pixabay

“Don’t cry because it’s over. Smile because it happened.” ~ Dr. Seuss

The quote from Dr. Seuss appeared, cut out in an adorable cloud shape and taped to my mother’s monitor, a few months before she died. I didn’t appreciate the print-out until afterwards, and my husband and I joked about stealing the quote. My step-father ended up attaching it to a picture frame of my mother in the living room. We missed our chance. It’s morbidly funny how the paper with the quote ended up being one of the first items I snatched after my step-father’s death two months…


And more blessed.

Girl playing a Yamaha piano
Girl playing a Yamaha piano
Photo by Jordan Whitfield on Unsplash

Last night I realized I’m just like Taylor Swift, but maybe an obese, way less wealthy version of her.

If I haven’t already lost you, I’ll tell you why.

On top of both of us loving cats, I also wrote a song in elementary school. My best friend and I composed an extremely moving piece about a child whose dad did something horrible and went to prison. I don’t remember the full lyrics, but I can still hear the chorus in my head.

We didn’t complete the masterpiece. I understand we’re still waiting for my friend to finish the piano music to accompany the part we already produced. I’m sure she’ll get back to me once she’s done.

Let’s…


When Facebook reminders hurt.

Photo by Priscilla Du Preez on Unsplash

Today would have been my mother’s 71st birthday.

A few days ago, I briefly thought about how the day was coming up. I was pleased that I wasn’t feeling emotional about it. My mother always made a huge deal about her birthday. After my father died when I was a baby, she had to make her own celebrations special because no one else was doing it for her. This progressed to her throwing herself week-long birthday parties by the time I was an adult. …


The story that shadowed my life

Photo by vic dav on Unsplash

February 14, 1978 was a lousy Valentine’s Day

I was four months old when a drunk driver hit my father while he was riding his motorcycle home from work. They stored his motorcycle all winter, and Spring peeked her head out from her slumber for the first time on Valentine’s Day. My dad, itching to ride his bike, told my mother he was going to take it instead of the truck. She felt concerned because of the slight chill in the air, but it was 1978 and she wasn’t the type of woman to put her foot down and demand he take the truck.

Besides, he’d only have…


A love letter to two men

Photo by Zdeněk Macháček on Unsplash

For the two men who I have loved

I have kissed two men in my life and married both of them. A favorite joke with my second husband is that I failed to mention that kissing me meant marriage. He doubtless would have rushed screaming for the hills if I sprung that on him when we first met.

My very first kiss wasn’t a “real” kiss.

The first husband and I staged a fake wedding the summer of junior year in high school to play a practical joke on a friend summering in Colorado.

We hadn’t started dating yet, and the faux wedding included a first-kiss photo. The…


A guide to living your worst life.

Man wearing hoodie that says anti social social club, standing in front of a car
Man wearing hoodie that says anti social social club, standing in front of a car
Photo by Jonathan Cooper on Unsplash

Over the last week, I’ve grown tired of seeing so many dang self-help posts. I stopped clicking on them. I don’t need another 5 tips to find financial freedom (hint; the person posting the blog isn’t financially free and is hoping you will click so they get 1 penny closer).

I started writing blogs less than a month ago. Every advice article I read said to get the most clicks you need to give the reader something, because people are a-holes who only care for themselves. I mean, I’m down with the concept.

Whenever I read a well-written rambling post…


Legend in my own mind.

Photo by Dayne Topkin on Unsplash

The other day I wrote a blog about obesity-related issues and got a smidgen of attention on Twitter. We’re talking 2 re-tweets and an organization asking to post part of a paragraph on their website. So in the grand scheme of things, this is small potatoes. But for a new writer, it’s pretty thrilling. Anyone wanting to read my stuff is awesome.

So while I’m riding high on my 2 retweets and savoring my success, I get a message on Twitter. Some random dude saying hello to me. I confused him for someone else and replied to him. …


Laughing with Grief.

Photo by Hal Gatewood on Unsplash

A good laugh heals a lot of hurts. ~ Madeleine L’Engle

My last act of charity towards my mother was turning her into a junkie. She grew up straight-laced; didn’t smoke, drank little, didn’t do drugs. My ex and I got her drunk one night at happy hour at the local Red Robin burger joint, but to her dying day she didn’t remember and claimed she’d never been drunk. When she got her original cancer diagnosis, she started experimenting with edibles and THC tinctures. She turned into a hippy-ish bald gal wearing tie-dye t-shirts and singing Janis Joplin. …


Using the envelope method

Photo by Ryul Davidson on Unsplash

In November 2020, my husband and I sat down for a frank conversation about our finances. He’s an accountant at a local bank, and we both have a Bachelor of Science in Accounting. There is absolutely no reason our bank account should hemorrhage money, but every month our savings account got smaller and smaller.

I could give you many explanations: We bought a house built in the 1940s last year and junk keeps breaking; the pandemic messed up my work schedule; my parents died, and probate fell on my shoulders; we ate out too much because we deserved it! …


The circle of grief and dealing with a foggy brain.

Photo by Zach Vessels on Unsplash

Yesterday my brain turned into a foggy marshland, reminiscent of the extreme brain fog I endured after my mom’s death. I wasn’t expecting this. It’s been 13 months since my mom died from breast cancer, but my mother-in-law died three weeks ago from COVID.

My husband’s car acquired a flat tire, so he needed mine for work. Instead of letting him take my car, I drove him back to work after his lunch break to run an errand. My mind seemed preoccupied, but it became quite apparent that I should not be driving. …

April Callaway

Writer/Reader/Cat lover. I live in the US Pacific Northwest. Currently editing my first YA romance.

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