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Perspective

Pursuing Perspective

January 26, 2017 /
When she stood at the altar with him and they recited their vows through smiles and tears, she did not imagine that a few years later he would be hiding alcohol bottles in the garage out of reach of their two year old and calling her fat and lazy. She did not anticipate that she would feel unsafe in the home that should have served as sanctuary. The more abusive and drunk he became, the more she tried to “obey” his rules.  She developed unrealistic standards of herself and her children.  She was a slave to her own rigidity born
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Picture Perspective

July 25, 2013 /
When your grown children live several states away from you, a visit from them is precious. My youngest and his girlfriend are here with me now. Both are studying for bar exams, so I delight in the chance to be the supportive mom to the studious. During one of their evening study breaks, the three of us found ourselves sitting next to one another on the sofa, flipping through pages of photo albums from the days when adoring parents slipped memories into plastic sleeves inside little floral covered books.  I noticed myself holding my breath to hear my child’s reflections
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The Rest of the Story

May 23, 2013 /
The outcome seemed so wrong. Sandy was a loving mom. Bright, creative. Her nature was to nurture. She made home cooked meals. She grew a garden in the back yard of her small but tidy house. She believed the home should be peaceful but joyful and child focused. How did she lose custody of her only child—ten year old Amanda? It’s not that George was a bad father. He was just a different type of parent. He lived in an apartment and made fast food a regular diet. He had changed roommates once again. While Amanda like to read books
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Lucky

March 14, 2013 /
It was in the late summer of 2011 when I traversed the magical landscapes of Ireland, complete with perfect rainy days, brilliant colorful flowers on every lamppost and windowsill, and quaint pubs filled to the brim with singing men.  I was in the middle of my divorce action when I was lucky enough to travel to the country of my ancestors and dreams. When I think about the timing of that trip converging with my need for space and healing I am brought to thoughts of divine intervention, or the oft quoted principle that “everything happens for a reason.”  But
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