My plane leaves Canada in four hours and fifty minutes. I will have to say good-bye to Canadian flags, to the town I grew up in and to my mom. The hardest good-bye is saying good-bye to my mom. I love you mom. …
Memories of my mother
A mother’s touch on a hot forehead and looking for a throat suckie at three in the morning
She crawled into bed on my side at one this morning. "Mama, I don't feel good." I turned onto my side and pulled her in close to me, sharing my pillow with her. A few hours later, "Mama, my throat really hurts." She sat up in bed and I crawled out of the warm covers. "I'll get you something. Mama …
My father was a writer. I am a writer.
My father sat in his black leather armchair after supper and wrote in his notebook. The varnish on the wooden arms was worn off from him resting his arms on them when he wrote. No one else sat in his chair. Ever. His chair was beside the television set. The television was on. My …
