cultivating the beautiful ordinary by sharing our tales and our tables
One day, when I was three or four years old, Mom and I went to visit Dad during his lunch break. As we sat with him on the steps outside, his colleague offered me a piece of cheese. I took the cheese, put it in my mouth, and told Mom that I had to go…
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As the “local daughter,” once Mom’s diagnosis of metastatic pancreatic cancer was confirmed, I toggled between showing up and removing myself from the space as much as possible so that her other children could get what they wanted and needed from her dying process. Out-of-town siblings and their families visited often. Mom’s sisters and brother…
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“There will be a procedure. They are checking out what is going on in his lungs,” she mentions one rainy April evening. My shoe heels click as we walk down the sterile, grey halls of the big city hospital. Someone makes a joke to try to ease the tension we feel in our bodies. My…
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In honor of the tenth anniversary of Red Tent Living, we are featuring a monthly legacy post written by one of our regular contributors from the past decade. Becky Allender is one of the original Red Tent writers; she’s been with us since 2013. Her voice has offered the blessing of a matriarch and been…
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“I’m going to get off the phone now.” “Mom, tell me you love me.” “I love you honey.” “OK mom, I’ll talk to you tomorrow.” “OK, goodbye.”
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A small stream of light struggles to break through a crack between the window blinds in the darkened room. The persistent beep from the nearby machine hums. It is annoying, as it reminds me I am in the ICU.
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Our use of the word “always” in today’s society is ambivalent. Always can go both ways.
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