My younger brother Ben and I sit shoulder to shoulder on the worn leather couch in our family room. “I promise you both Dad is going to fight this,” my mother quietly says. Her eyes meet mine, and I see… Continue Reading
My old man’s dad died just a month before I was born. I always wished I’d met him. He was, by all accounts, a real character I’d have enjoyed talking to. Ma’s dad was still with us, so to differentiate… Continue Reading
There’s a dirty brown puddle at the bottom of West Street where the snow has melted and turned to sludge. Not that many years ago she would have dived in with both feet, splashing till her socks and trousers were… Continue Reading
Her father was still there. She watched as the wrinkled white sheets slowly rose with each breath — a movement so slight it seemed not to justify the word. Sometimes, she would place her head on his chest just to… Continue Reading
The first knife my dad throws at me lands within a couple inches of my right ear. It comes as quite a shock. Not the ‘my dad’s trying to kill me’ part. That’s what he paid fifty dollars to do… Continue Reading
On my drive home last night, the flakes danced in and out of my car’s headlights, and a dusting of snow moved in low eddies over the pavement. The sounds of Pachelbel’s Canon in D echoed the snow’s dance. The… Continue Reading
My father has told me my mother’s name. He’s told me she had long black hair, like me, and that she died in an accident. Her car skidded across an ice patch and bit into a telephone pole. He’s even… Continue Reading
This is the part of my job I love the most, waking up before dawn to conduct routine maintenance on the flags that fly on top of the Auckland Harbour Bridge. This morning the skyline is like a picture my… Continue Reading
It happened so suddenly. We were completely unprepared and left with no instructions. Three weeks ago, she broke her ankle. Then, in the night, she couldn’t breathe. At the hospital, they told us our mother suffered a pulmonary embolism and… Continue Reading
Ma dies. You know it’s gonna happen before it actually does, in the bedroom, her breathing gone sticky and slow. Robbie calls 911 even though you tell him not to, snot sliding down his face. (In her everywhere, inoperable, nothing… Continue Reading