Remembering Home

In time, home bleeds into all the things and people you love.

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The Angel Charm In My Rear View Mirror

When I opened the door to her, she handed me an angel charm. It was a charcoal grey with tiny wings and a key-chain loop at the end. “To watch over you,” she said in her soft spoken manner as she hugged me goodbye. She smelled like cinnamon and vanilla.

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An Open Letter to My (Not So Baby) Sister as She Heads Off to College

Did you know that the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do was say goodbye?

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Thank You For Being You: An Open Letter to My Mom & Dad

Last night I sat at a desk in the local library, my computer open to a spreadsheet titled “Budget” and tears streaming down my face. The true definition of adulting.

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Tuesday Night Hockey

I have always known two versions of my father: #1- Pleated pants belted just under the stomach scar from his motorcycle accident as a teenager, polo shirt tucked in, hair wet in an attempt to slick it back, glasses. #2 – Corona tank top, some form of cartoon character pants with an assortment of holes and/or paint splatters, white grass-stained Nikes, baseball cap.

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I Know Just What You Need

Rachael pressed her nose against the outside of the soft oak door and sighed. She could smell a dirty diaper from a mile away. Inside the room, Malorie was making a combination of cooing and crying sounds. ‘Self-soothing,’ Malorie’s mother had called it, but it made Rachael feel on edge.

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