Cats and Bunnies and Paralyzing Grief

July 13, 2026 in advocacy, art, beauty, family, nature, outdoors, outside, parenting, small house living, UUCA, writing | Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

They cut down all the rose bushes in the backyards. Our townhouse shares a long and narrow backyard with all the houses on our block, which backs up to a major road. A few weeks ago they boarded up all of our front doors and fenced off the front of our houses to do some major reconstruction, so we have to use the back door and walk around the block to get to our cars. They built scaffolding so the people in the houses upstairs from ours can climb in through their balconies. I moved all my pots of flowers and herbs to our back patio, so at least there’s a little beauty there. And until last week we had rosebushes lining the brick wall separating our yards from the sidewalk. But they chopped them all down. Maybe this was in an effort to make it easier to walk back there, especially when you are pulling a wagon full of groceries in or recycling out. I would rather enjoy the roses and have to squeeze around them, but no one asked me. 

In the seven weeks since Randy died I have had to inform numerous strangers about this so they can help me with various accounts and transactions. I’ve said it so many times to customer service representatives and the next agent available that sometimes it sounds like a flimsy excuse even to me. Of course, this situation is covered in their protocols, and they express their condolences and I have to say thank you. Transitioning and reconciling all of Randy’s subscriptions and accounts and the shared bills that he’s been paying for 22 years has been vastly more complicated than I ever would have anticipated. Even though we both knew the life expectancy with glioblastoma is not good, we thought we had more time. We thought sitting down too soon to share the passwords and add my name to everything would be acknowledging that he was about to die and it would somehow come sooner. This was clearly foolish on our part. 

We buried Randy, in a green cemetery, under shady trees and overlooking the Blue Ridge Mountains, 10 days after he died. Walking from the car to the burial plot and seeing the shroud containing his body was one of the few times I’ve cried in front of anyone else. I’ve done a lot of crying in my car. We wore his soccer jerseys and tossed flowers into the grave after we shared stories about him. 

The days between then and the celebration of life were a blur of processing, preparation, and people coming in and out. And we adopted a cat. A few days after Randy died, the kids and I were sitting around staring at each other, or into space, or maybe we were talking about something that I don’t remember. I asked, “should we get a cat?” The kids pounced on the idea. We spent several hours at the animal shelters near us, and now a friendly and feisty tuxedo we call Tina Fey lives in our house. I wish Randy were here to play with her. 

For some reason I thought that things would get easier after the service. The days that followed might have been quieter, but they were harder. The celebration of life was extraordinary. The church was packed. The music, which was immensely important to me because it was so important to Randy, was perfect. Everyone’s remarks were exactly what needed to be said about Randy’s life. At the reception I stood and talked with people for two or three hours straight. My friends took care of everything so I didn’t have to worry about it. People were so kind. I met friends of Randy’s for the first time. Friends of mine who I hadn’t seen in more than a decade came out. And every word that everyone said reminded me of exactly how much I had lost and all of those joyful, silly, and special moments I would never experience again. 

Grief never goes away, they say, it just gets more manageable, or maybe less overwhelming. I’ll have to report back to you on that in the next 20 or 30 or 40 years. One day recently I received two separate packages in the mail, both unexpected. One was from a friend of Randy’s who lost her first husband many years ago, soon after they were married. The other was from a friend’s mom, who lost her husband a couple years ago. Both packages contained small, thick paperback books, the exact same size and with covers in similar color palettes, offering 365 days of guidance, wisdom, and affirmations on grief and loss. So far I’ve read one page from one of the books, which was a quote by Mister Rogers, whose words are always gentle, thoughtful truths. Some day I will read more. The books will stay on my nightstand. 

I talked a lot with a counselor from the Smith Center for Healing and the Arts about anticipatory grief. The Smith Center is an excellent organization in DC that provides support and services for people living with cancer and their loved ones. Before I started meeting with the therapist there and joined the online group that she facilitated, I didn’t know there was such a specialty as psycho-oncology. Now that I’ve worked with her, I feel like everyone whose life is impacted by cancer should have a psycho-oncologist. It turns out, of course, that when you have cancer or you’re taking care of someone with cancer, there is such an enormous list of things you have to think about and figure out and deal with that you don’t even realize what else you need or understand how to find it. But if you find yourself in this situation, first, I’m sorry, and second, ask a friend to do some research for you into these kinds of services. 

Anyway, anticipatory grief. Knowing what’s coming even though you don’t want to think about it. Wondering (obsessively?) what exactly it’s all going to look like and how it’s going to happen even though there’s no way to know for certain. Trying to prepare for a worst-case scenario while hoping for something better and while everyone around you seems to be hoping for a miracle. Trying to figure out what your journey is and what your person’s journey is and where they differ and where they intersect. Trying to figure out who needs to know what and when, as if you can protect other people from their own grief. I always imagined that it would be easier for those left behind by someone who died after a long illness because they were expecting the death and it wasn’t a shock. I don’t know what gave me that idea, because it is stupid. There is no easier or harder–it’s all terrible. Maybe it’s less surprising or shocking in the moment, but that doesn’t make it feel any less sad. Part of that anticipation is also the day-to-day grief for the person you once knew–in my case the person I fell in love with 23 years ago–because that person has left the building, never to return. Some part of me kept thinking, as Randy got sicker and sicker and became less and less like himself as I knew him, that I had already mourned for him. Not so much. Feeling frustrated by the changes in his behavior and personality and feeling the anguish of watching him suffer didn’t reduce the sum total of my grief by knocking off some points in advance. Apparently it doesn’t work that way. 

Now I am watching my mom suffer. She turned 81 the day of Randy’s burial. I was supposed to join the rest of my family in celebrating her with dinner at the assisted living place where she and my dad have been for a few months. Not surprisingly, I had a migraine and I couldn’t go. Not long after that, she was admitted to the hospital with an infection. And weeks later, she is still hospitalized. She is not dying, but she is not living in any meaningful sense of the word. She’s had some good days and enjoyed visits from family and friends. She was especially happy when her brother and sister-in-law and nieces and nephews came up for Randy’s service and were able to spend many hours in her hospital room. But lately she has not been eating or drinking and she is confused and upset most of the time. When I went to visit her today, I stood in the hallway outside her room and heard her crying and yelling at the nurse because she wanted to get out of bed to use the bathroom, but she hasn’t been able to get out of bed since she’s been in the hospital. 

My mom has had so many and so many kinds of health challenges throughout her life that it’s kind of astounding that she’s survived all this time. The way that major illnesses and chronic conditions have impacted her ability to function and severely limited her independence and autonomy has been heartbreaking. Her world has shrunk and her anger has grown. In particular, since her stroke in summer 2024, she hasn’t been the same. I have tried so hard for so many years to do everything I can think of to support her and my dad. Things have been so rough for both of them in the past few years. Today after I stood in the hallway outside my mom’s room, I had to go out of the unit and into the waiting area and cry. I texted my dad that I didn’t know how he manages to sit with her every day. He told me that being with her is an act of love, even if she doesn’t or can’t recognize it. I finally went back to her room and sat with her and held her hand while she talked like someone talking in their sleep. She said words and phrases that I caught, but I couldn’t follow an overall thread. When she seemed upset I tried to comfort her, but I didn’t know quite what she was upset about. Often she would stop talking and close her eyes and her mouth would be open and her brow furrowed. Everything about her face looked tense and uncomfortable. I moistened one of the little foam swabs on a stick and put it on her lips and in her mouth so she could moisten them. I listened to her. I tried to make affirming noises or responses to her rambling. I was reminded of Randy’s final weeks when he would talk about things that made absolutely no sense or were completely out of context and I just said things like, “right, I understand, that makes sense. I get it” over and over again. 

You know how when you’re in the middle of a specific life experience, that circumstance suddenly seems to surround you? As in, every book I pick up or movie I watch now seems to involve someone who is very sick or dying or someone who is experiencing huge grief and loss. Even in the real world, I’ve heard so many stories from people who say it was such a privilege for them to be with their parent or spouse or best friend in that person’s final months or weeks or days or hours. How there were laughter and tears and wonderful stories shared and boundless love affirmed and angels and unicorns and rainbows. I guess I don’t hear or read as many stories of watching this person–who brought you into the world and loved you unconditionally and gave you everything she could–grow weaker and more fragile and lose the larger than life personality and warmth and wit she was known for. It doesn’t feel sacred to see her suffer. 

I should have known something was really wrong with my mom a few weeks ago when we told her we were getting a cat and she was excited for us, because she does not like cats. She has never liked cats. She is 100% a dog person. And truthfully, deep down I am not a dog or a cat person. I am a baby person. I make friends with every baby or toddler I encounter and I would love to have more babies and toddlers in my life in some other way than raising them myself. But I understand what animals can do for people, and Tina Fey has been therapeutic for the kids and me, even if she can be a little bitey at times. She must have intuited that I was writing about her because she literally just jumped on the bed and onto the keyboard and when I pushed her off she tried to eat my toes. Otherwise, she’s very soothing like I said. 

At the suggestion of a friend, I got a bird feeder for the backyard, so Tina Fey can look outside at the birds. My friend said it’s like cat TV. There is also a bunny that lives in the backyards that hasn’t been scared away by the construction. Niki took a picture of it yesterday. Maybe tomorrow I’ll buy some colored chalk and we’ll draw flowers or self-portraits on the bricks. If I knew how to knit I could yarn bomb the scaffolding. If I can make myself get out of bed tomorrow and create something, it might be a good day. 

More about Randy and his life

Randy’s obituary

Randy’s TED talk

Blog post about Randy by Tiffany Tagbo 

Order of service from the celebration of life

Randy’s celebration of life

Noise and Stillness

November 11, 2025 in anxiety, bedtime, cleaning, family, friends, house, mess, mice, nature, parenting, sleep, sleep deprivation, small house living, volunteering, writing | Tags: , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

All day the noise and smells from the roadwork behind my house assault my brain. Drilling, scraping, jackhammering, dumping, steamrolling, beeping. This has been going on for many months. They say it will be finished by the end of this year. Then the construction in our condo complex will make its way onto our block. The front porch of the house above ours is tilting downward. Sagging? Can concrete sag? To prevent the sudden collapse of the concrete onto our heads as we walk out of our front door, they installed two thick poles that frame our front door and theoretically hold up the dispirited concrete. Later, they added poles running diagonally from the front of our house to the cement stairs we walk down to reach our house. These poles prevented us from walking directly to our next door neighbor’s house. Instead we have to walk up our stairs and down theirs to get to the door that’s maybe six feet away from ours. More recently they installed large sheets of plywood next to our door and the neighbor’s door, and began to dig a hole through what was the walkway between them. I don’t know what the hole is for. It’s been there for months now.

At night the noise from within my head keeps me awake. Until the last couple years, falling asleep came easily to me, and I could do it under almost any circumstances. Now, the tiny blinking light from a digital device, the gurgle of the toilet running downstairs, the smell of my own sweat will keep me awake. As many nights as not I have to move to a different room because my husband is snoring. We’ve shared a bed for 21 years and I’m sure he didn’t just start snoring this year, but I’m no longer able to ignore it. He says I snore too, which may be true but he manages to sleep anyway.

Of course it’s not just the external stimuli that keep me awake. It’s also the trickster commonly called perimenopause. If you’re a woman my age and you’re experiencing almost any vexing symptom, it’s likely perimenopause. And it feels impossible to extricate the anxiety from hormonal roller coaster. It’s all in there, swirling around like ratatouille or risotto in my head, convincing me that it requires vigilance and constant attention, lest something boil over or burn.

Meanwhile, in my husband’s brain, insidious and mean-spirited demons, also known as glioblastoma, are at work. He is battling them with daily chemo pills and 30 doses of radiation, which surprisingly feels like nothing. He is feeling fine so far, after weeks of worrying that treatment would knock him out. I am holding my breath, wondering when the other shoe will drop. He is not working, which is understandably confusing for him. He’s had to work for the past three decades. Instead, he is making new friends. Our people have shown up for us in beautiful and powerful ways. Friends signed up to drive him to the hospital every day for radiation. Friends are coming over to play cribbage with him. Friends are taking him to his favorite park. Some of these folks he already knew. Some of them I knew but he had never met. Some of them were, honestly, just acquaintances or friends of friends or people on Facebook who we met 20 years ago, but now they’re real friends, because they are showing up.

My husband is an introvert. He cares about people and he cultivates relationships with people he volunteers and works with, and he is incredibly kind. But he’s often struggled in social situations where he feels like he isn’t being heard, or that his presence isn’t valued. Now, everyone tells him frequently and explicitly that he matters, that he is valued, and that they want the best for him and want to spend time with him and want to be of help. If only it didn’t take a life-threatening diagnosis to make this happen. In ordinary circumstances, it would likely be perceived (by many people, if not all) as awkward or odd to post on social media that you’re looking for good people to do fun things with your husband. But in this situation, it’s all good. He has often wondered (and worried) about what his legacy is, and if he’s made a difference in the world. Now he’s gotten hundreds and hundreds of affirmations and confirmations that his existence and his actions and simply his compassion and kindness have been known and felt and will have ripple effects far into the future.

While he was in the hospital, I embarked on some kind of fever pitch Marie Kondo quest to get rid of stuff from our house. We’ve always had a lot of clutter and I have always—constantly—steadily tried to purge things whenever possible. But this time around I was possessed by this fervor. Friends and family came over and helped me make decisions, organize, and physically remove junk from my house so I didn’t have to worry about it. Bags and boxes went to Goodwill. Bags and boxes were posted on Buy Nothing. I delivered donations to people I thought could use them. I cleaned, I consolidated, I threw away so much crap. Almost all of those piles of “we’ll figure this out later” are gone now. Not that our house is spotless or minimalist now, but I do feel a sense of relief that our existence is less crowded. It’s possible I thought that getting rid of all the unneeded physical stuff would also empty my mind of unnecessary garbage. And maybe in some way it did. Because something had to go to make room for the currently consuming thoughts of scheduling appointments and seeking support and following medication regimens, on top of the regularly scheduled concerns about parenting, paying bills, and that oft-mentioned and elusive “self-care” that I hear so much about. I went to the dentist today and learned that one of my teeth that already had a filling now has a cavity on its side so I will need a crown (or possibly a root canal!) and we’ve maxed out our dental insurance benefit. Does this count as self-care? Technically, I’m caring for myself, but it wasn’t terribly fun. I’ll keep working on that. Oh—I’m going to see live music tonight with friends. Much more pleasant than a root canal.

Between the time I started writing this and now, the noise has stopped. The construction workers have gone home for the day. The wind that’s been blowing leaves around has stilled. I’ll try to follow suit and allow my brain to quiet down as well. At least for a little while.

Made lists

September 28, 2025 in anxiety, bedtime, cleaning, family, mice, reading, sleep, sleep deprivation, writing | Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Made lists

Cleaned bathrooms for no good reason even the toilets

Threw away old stuff

Poured more Drano down the shower drain

Checked pantry for mouse poop

Washed hands many times

Started laundry and sprinkled in essential oils to combat stink

Washed all the clothes I wore in the hospital and thought of Avett Brothers lyric

Ate a brownie

Finished the milk

Went through the accumulated mail

Found another speed camera ticket

Answered 12-year-old’s question “what happens if you can’t afford to pay a ticket?” by explaining they just keep doubling the fine until you can’t afford it even more and there’s nothing you can do about it

Perused the library books I checked out

Put several in the pile to return

Read a chapter or two of several others, mostly about British witches

Had hot flashes

Changed pajamas

Had hot flashes

Changed pajamas

Ate saltines

Tried to plug in 12-year-old’s phone but couldn’t find the charger

Dust-busted some lint in a corner

Looked online for used loft beds and chairs

Wondered why people use strange names for chairs

Thought about measuring space where chair would go but didn’t, again

Wondered why resale economics is so confusing

Put stuff in Amazon cart for when money appears in bank account

Felt guilty about using Amazon but not enough to stop

Rearranged apps on phone screen to reflect current realities and also make pretty patterns

Checked location of daughter out late at college and remembered it’s ok to go out late at college

Checked location of daughter to make sure she was no longer out

Piled up trash by the front door

Scowled at heap of recycling that has not broken itself down or taken itself out

Checked all social media platforms for anything important, found nothing

Couldn’t stop thinking even for a second during all this activity about the fact that there’s a tumor in a lab somewhere that was recently in my husband’s brain and how that clump of cells has changed all of our lives and we don’t even know how yet

When to Snuggle and When to Let Go

August 27, 2025 in anxiety, baby, bedtime, family, friends, parenting, school, sleep, writing | Tags: , , , , | Leave a comment

The night before we drove to Georgia to take my daughter to college, we stayed with my cousin and his family, which includes a clever and adorable toddler. While Zoe had never met the little guy until that night, coming off her summer as a camp counselor and years of babysitting gigs, they became fast friends. Around 4am, I heard Mr. Toddler crying and wanted to give his parents a break and tend to him. He was happy to have a new diaper and I tried to get him back to sleep, but he was not having it. He raced into the living room and I assumed he was heading for his parents’ bedroom. Instead, he veered toward the air mattress where Zoe was sleeping. I tried a few times to scoop him up and redirect him back to his room or just onto the couch with me, but he was insistent on being with Zoe. He snuggled up with her, she curled her arm around him, and they both fell back asleep.

Naturally, I took this as a sign. Here was my baby girl–preparing to make her own way in the world–and instead of seeking comfort, she was providing it to someone else much younger and more vulnerable than she is. Of course, it’s not quite that simple, but it made for a nice metaphor and a sweet photograph.

It’s been two weeks now since we moved Zoe into her freshman dorm. I have reminded myself 1,000 times that Zoe’s experience in college will be different from mine. Our personalities and ways of being in the world are distinct. No one had smartphones or even email or the internet when I started college. Her college–which I think is exactly right for her–emphasizes different values and opportunities than mine did (at least at the time). And, humans are still human and the mix of emotions and desires and fears and aspirations remain the same. I’m so excited to be on my own and I’m terrified to be on my own. I can’t wait to meet new people and make new friends but the ones I have already are so good why do I need others and what if people don’t like me and what if they do and who do I want to be in this place? What if I don’t know what to do? What if I make a mistake? Am I ready for this? This is all so different from what I’m used to and there’s so much to take in–when will I be able to relax and feel like this is home? But I already have a home 600 miles away. Big sigh.

I’m pretty sure all these questions have been swirling around in Zoe’s mind, even though she’s only articulated some of them to me. And while I am absolutely confident that Zoe has what she needs to thrive in college, I have all the correlating parent concerns. Zoe is great at making friends and has demonstrated that in particular throughout the years she’s been a camper and camp counselor. She proved at camp that she can learn new skills and excel at new responsibilities. She’s overcome homesickness and learned from mistakes. She’s planned and taken trips with friends, she knows how to cook, and she’s handled more than her share of car breakdowns. So there is no doubt in my mind that she can do this. It’s more about the how and when. How will she find her people and how long will it take ? Thankfully, she already has a fantastic roommate who she met on Instagram over the summer (which apparently is how many college kids match with roommates these days). Having a great roommate is an ideal foundation, but you can’t put all your social eggs in one person’s basket. Will she take advantage of the opportunities offered to her? Will she go after things that might be outside her comfort zone without me there to encourage her? Will she ask for help when she needs it instead of struggling in silence? Specifically, will she ask for help from people who aren’t me?

This was the primary focus of the day-long family orientation we participated in the day after moving Zoe into her dorm and taking her on what seemed like the 77th Target run of the week. While the students engaged in their own orientation activities, Randy and I heard from deans and department heads and staff and students about all the ways the college works to educate our kids, enable them to become leaders, and teach them to become global citizens (all while providing emotional, social, and physical support and care). Just as life for students is different than it was 30 years ago, so is life for parents. I’ve heard from friends who are college professors and admissions staff the absurd lengths that some parents go to once their children are enrolled to make sure their needs are met–unwilling or unable to let or make their kids figure things out for themselves. (“My child is sick, can someone please bring them some chicken soup?” “I see that it’s raining there, can someone at the school give my child an umbrella?”) So the orientation was provided so anxious parents would know what’s what and how things work, so when our kids inevitably ask us for help or tell us they don’t know what’s going on or how to do what they’re supposed to do, we can tell them with certainty that there’s someone or some office that they can visit. This was a common refrain throughout the orientation sessions, “If you student says they don’t/can’t/haven’t/are confused about something, your job is not to try to fix the problem, or to call us. Your job is to tell your student, ‘Ask your advisor/RA/professor/dean/any of the people at the college whose job is to help you.'”

Two of the deans who we heard from were especially kind and reassuring in their words to us. It was clear they weren’t chastising us for wanting to help our kids. It’s our Mama (or Papa or Auntie or Grandma or Grandpa, etc) Bear instinct. We never want to see our kids struggling or in pain, so we want to make whatever is troubling them go away as fast as possible. Turns out that college is a lot like preschool in some ways. It takes longer and a lot of patience to get your kids to learn to find and put on their own shoes and coat than when you do it for them, but if you do it for them, what incentive do they have to learn to do it themselves? Some kids might decide they want the autonomy, and some kids won’t. I suspect that college will be like preschool sometimes in that I won’t always be able to stop myself from trying to solve a problem instead of encouraging Zoe to solve it herself, but I promise I’m going to try.

The Dean of the College shared in her remarks that she is the mother of a college student herself, and that last year her daughter was a freshman at a college far away from home. Her daughter called to say she was sick–congested, coughing, and generally feeling awful. Often when you feel like that, you just want your mom. And the dean was ready to get on a plane. She said she even had the flight selected on the computer when she called her friend –the other dean–and asked if she should go take care of her daughter. The answer, unsurprisingly, was no. The daughter was not in grave danger–she had a yucky virus. The Mama Dean took some deep breaths and closed her laptop. And it turned out her daughter’s roommates were happy to go to the store to get her some medicine, chicken soup, and gatorade. Her daughter’s professors understood why she missed a couple classes and she was able to make up her assignments. And most importantly, both daughter and mom knew that daughter had made it through being sick far away from home and felt better knowing it. When the dean was telling this story, I started to tear up. I really hadn’t cried the day before–there was so much to be done and so much adrenaline and I didn’t have to say goodbye to Zoe yet–but right then, hearing from Mama Dean, my emotion started to leak out. After that session I went up to Mama Dean to thank her for sharing that story and she said she saw me there in the second row tearing up and that she knew exactly what I was feeling. That was one of the many moments during those two days when I knew that Zoe would be well looked after.

I didn’t realize how soon after hearing these wise words from the college staff that I would have to challenge myself to follow their instructions.

“I got an email from the professor of the class I was on the waitlist for. I didn’t really understand what she was asking us to do and it seems hard and I don’t know what to do should I just drop the class? “

“Why don’t you email the professor and ask her your questions directly?”

“I shouldn’t just drop the class?”

“Well, you could, but I think it would be better if you asked the professor your questions in case you want to take the class or another class from her in the future, so you can get a better understanding of what she’s doing.”

Zoe did email the professor, got more information, and decided she would like to take the class in the future but didn’t feel ready for it yet, which she told the professor. Other questions, “What should I do this weekend? I don’t know anything that’s going on and I don’t know what anyone is doing.” were trickier to answer. I admit I offered some combination of “ask around, look around, what about x or y?” but was met with some resistance. Eventually Zoe said some friends were going thrifting after seeing a movie, and she wanted to go thrifting but not see the movie, and she didn’t know how to accomplish that. At the moment I was tired and I texted, “I trust that you will figure it out.” And lo and behold, she did. She has skipped a few of the activities where I thought she might meet people, but she swore she would attend the student engagement fair tomorrow. I asked her to promise me that she would talk with people at at least four tables and sign up for at least two things. She said she would. I am optimistic.

Meanwhile, she’s been doing her homework. She is excited about her professors and the readings. All her classes are subjects she is genuinely curious about and interested in. I am trying not to ask her too many questions about what she’s doing in class, but am always happy to engage when she brings it up. I learned long ago that I tend to ask more questions than most teenagers (or at least Zoe) are interested in answering. I’m a work in progress. Zoe’s called several times. I’ve learned that if I’m in the middle of something I can text her back to ask if it’s urgent. Usually it’s not and she says I can call her back later. I did pick up right away when she called to tell me about Taylor Swift’s and Travis Kelce’s engagement. Some news just can’t wait.

Even though she was away most of the summer working at camp, this feels different–because it is. I know she’s coming home for a weekend in October, and then for Thanksgiving and winter break. But knowing just how far away she is and everything she’s working to figure out–and how much energy that requires–it’s hard to be the Mama Bear right now. She’s been right here with me for 18 years and suddenly she’s not. My heart hurts.

Some people are more private about their emotions and their family life, which I respect. I tend to share (some might say overshare, but oh well) because I need the solidarity and affirmation and encouragement that my community provides. A couple days ago I posted on Facebook about overwhelming feelings of anxiety brought on by a variety of things, including Zoe’s absence. The responses I received were reassuring and comforting. In particular, a friend of mine from church who has two grown daughters of her own, said this: “Remember that you are with Zoe – as cells created in your body, as a lifetime of wise actions you modeled, and as loving words that will follow her the rest of her days. And she resides in your heart.” Rereading it now makes the tears come again.

Zoe gives me long, emphatic hugs. When we said goodbye the night before we left Georgia, I thought she might hold on forever. I was a little teary then, but I was proud of myself for keeping the sobs in until we were far away from her dorm. As she continues on her college adventure, I’ll be here to listen to–and try not to solve-her problems. And I’ll look forward to that hug when she comes home.

Unreliable

August 6, 2025 in Uncategorized | Leave a comment

The truth is

You don’t know my life

And I can only speculate on yours

I was created to share compassion

To offer empathy

To bear witness 

My nature is to 

observe every detail

Record every word

Speak every truth

But now I come up empty. 

I’ve given it all away. 

Hedwig and the Origin of Love

June 22, 2025 in advocacy, beauty, family, gender, hair, music, parenting, writing | Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 1 comment

Hedwig in all her glory. Picture from Signature Theatre’s website
© Christopher Mueller

Here’s a short story of love and liberation for your Sunday enjoyment.

Chapter 1) For Christmas, my sister and her family gave us tickets to Hedwig and the Angry Inch at Signature Theatre (Arlington’s answer to Broadway). Hedwig is about gender identity and exploration, and liberation, and relationships, and figuring out how to love who you are and encourage that freedom in others. It’s funny and aggressive and profane and tender. It blew us all away.

Chapter 2) Hedwig is a two-person show with the energy of a rock concert (the kickass band is on stage and integrated into the production) combined with the pathos of a tragedy. The stars have to be on and radiant 100%. Hedwig, played by Sawyer Smith (they/she), in particular, does most of the talking, teasing the audience, singing (think diva with spectacular range), and dancing, all while wearing fabulously creative costumes and gravity-defying wigs. Yitzhak, played by V Sterling (they/she/he), is Hedwig’s partner/assistant/foil depending on the moment, and also sings like an angel or a demon, depending on the scene.

Chapter 3) Anyway, this is not actually a theater review. The important bit about this show is that it affected Niki in a way that I have never before seen them react to or connect with a piece of theater. They were profoundly moved by seeing Hedwig. It meant a lot to them. That night after the show we waited around for a while to see if we could meet Sawyer and V, but eventually we had to go home before they appeared.

Chapter 4) I knew the Hedwig was closing tonight and I had hoped to take Niki to see it again, but tickets were almost all sold out and quite expensive, as the show was extremely popular. Apparently it was a record-breaking run, but I’m not sure what record it broke. Last week I stopped by the theater, sat in the lobby, and wrote a letter to Sawyer and V. I told the actors about Niki and our experience at the show and how we hoped to come again, or, if we couldn’t get tickets, to at least meet Sawyer and V. I gave them my email address and phone number. I asked the people at the box office for an envelope and to please deliver the letter. They promised to leave it in the dressing room.

Chapter 5) Last night I got a text from Sawyer, saying they thought the show was sold out but they’d definitely be happy to meet us after today’s matinee. I looked on Signature’s website and discovered two seats left for the matinee. They were pretty pricy, however, so I figured I would buy them in person so I could try to get the student price ($25) for one of the tickets. When I got the message, Niki and Randy and I were in the middle of watching an especially intense episode of Andor, so I waited until it ended and I ran out of the house, yelling behind me that I had to run an errand immediately (and unintentionally freaking Niki out). I sped to the theater only to discover the box office was already closed. I explained the situation to another employee, who suggested I email the box office right away with my request and call them as soon as they opened this morning. I had wanted to keep my errand a secret so that if it didn’t work out to see the show, Niki wouldn’t be disappointed. But after I got home we went out for ice cream and I had to explain to them what I had been doing because they were alarmed at my sudden, unexplained departure. They promised that even if we couldn’t get tickets, they appreciated me making the effort.

V Sterling as Yitzhak and Sawyer Smith as Hedwig, with bassist Joanna Smith. Picture from Signature Theatre’s website
© Christopher Mueller

Chapter 6) I called the box office this morning at 10 (from church, as I was helping lead today’s service) and left a message. I called again at 11, when my part of the service was over, and left a message. Shortly thereafter I got an email from the box office saying that unfortunately those tickets had been sold, but that we could come for the rush period before the show in case someone turned in their tickets or didn’t come. The matinee was at 2, and the rush period starts at 12:30, so the email suggested we bring things to do.

Chapter 7) With water bottles, books, playing cards, my laptop, and a phone charger all in my backpack, we arrived at Signature at 12:30, identified ourselves, and settled into a pair of purple armchairs to wait. Niki read a novel. I wrote an article. We watched people walk through the lobby doors. At 1:45, one of the box office staff came over to where we were sitting. I felt certain she was going to say that everyone had shown up with their tickets and we would have to go home. Instead she said, you’re in luck, there are two tickets in the front row center that opened up. Niki and I leapt out of our seats, our hearts racing. We followed her to the counter to pay, and even more fortunately, the tickets cost only $30 each because that’s the rush price. I hadn’t even known that was a thing at Signature. Everyone at the box office seemed genuinely happy for us.

Chapter 8) We took our seats. If you’ve never been to Signature Theatre, you should know that there’s no bad seat in the house—actually there are two theaters there and they’re both pretty intimate and the way the stage and seats are arranged, you can always see what’s happening. But when you’re in the front row (which we’ve been privileged to be for Into the Woods and In the Heights), you can see everything, like every expression and teardrop and bead of sweat on the actors’ faces and every stitch and sequin in the costumes, and every clever detail of the set. So in the front row for Hedwig, we were approximately a foot or two away from the actors at any given time. We were close enough that Sawyer took Niki’s hat and placed it on top of their voluminous blond wig for a moment. We were close enough that Sawyer made eye contact with Niki and winked during another song. We were close enough that Sawyer reached out and clasped the hands of everyone in the front row, and for an instant held Niki’s face in their hands. The whole performance was even more phenomenal the second time, and left Niki in a puddle once again.

Chapter 9) Afterward we made our way to the lobby, still feeling the emotional aftershocks of the show. A little while later, once most of the audience had left, Sawyer and V (and Marika Countouris (she/her), the awesome keyboard player in the band and the show’s musical director) emerged through the stage doors. Sawyer and V came out with arms wide open to give us hugs. They were so kind and sweet and posed for pictures and signed Niki’s program. Sawyer told Niki to keep being themselves and called them angel. Then they gave us more hugs.

Chapter 10) Niki gave ME a lot of hugs in gratitude for making all that happen. I couldn’t have made it happen without the pro tips from the box office staff and the generosity of the actors, who were willing to connect with Niki, during and after the performance, and show them some love. Niki is 12 and I don’t know what’s going on in their head a lot of the time, but I know they take in a lot of what’s going on in the world. Right now, there’s a lot of hate and cruelty swirling around in the atmosphere. As much as we tell Niki we love them and we have their back and we’ll do whatever it takes to support and protect them, I suspect they know there may be battles ahead they will have to fight on their own. In the first song in the musical, Hedwig sings

Enemies and adversaries
they try and tear me down
You want me, baby, I dare you
Try and tear me down

Niki won’t forget seeing Hedwig sing that just for them.

This is the picture I took from our seats in the front row, before the show started.

At Least We Still Have Books

June 20, 2025 in advocacy, family, gender, parenting, reading, writing | Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

It’s been a rough week to be the parent of a trans kid and an advocate for the queer community. I told a friend that it feels like you’ve just recovered from a gut punch, caught your breath, and stood back up, when another punch comes straight at you. Of course, this is what it feels like to be just about anyone in the US since January, unless you’re a rich and powerful white cis straight man. If your demographic or your job or your ethnic group or religion hasn’t already been attacked, just wait a few minutes.

I’m trying not to feel like I’m being dragged under the waves, but it’s hard. Thank goodness there are always books! Helping people feel connected with other humans since the invention of the printing press!

To celebrate Pride month, I’m writing about 30 of my favorite LGBTQIA+ authors and books that center queer characters. I’ve been posting on LinkedIn and Facebook, and I shared the first 10 titles here. Now here’s the second installment of 10 more books.

No. 11) Sir Callie and the Knights of Helston by Esme Syses-Smith

https://esymessmith.com/

I was not expecting to feel so seen by this book. While 12-year-old nonbinary Callie is the main character here, the author does an outstanding job conveying the struggles of Callie’s dad to protect and advocate for his kid (and other queer or outsider kids he encounters) in an exceedingly traditional (read: hostile) environment. Yes, this is a middle grade book, but in many ways I felt like it was written for me.


No. 12) Pink, Blue, and You! Questions for Kids about Gender Stereotypes by Elise Gravel – français

https://elisegravel.com/en/

Elise Gravel is one of our favorite authors. She is imaginative, compassionate, and funny, and she explores all kinds of topics in her books. Pink, Blue, and You! examines some of the myths our culture perpetuates about gender and invites readers to decide for themselves what they think about what kind of activities and attributes are appropriate for different kinds of humans.

No. 13) The Magnus Chase trilogy by Rick Riordan 

https://rickriordan.com/…/magnus-chase-and-the-gods-of…/

God bless Rick Riordan. He’s most famous for the Percy Jackson universe, but he’s written a lot of other books as well. Riordan does a terrific job featuring characters who are diverse in race, ethnicity, socioeconomic status, religion, gender, and other ways without tokenizing these differences. He’s also helped publish a variety of authors whose fantasy series are rooted in lore from around the world.

But right now I’m talking about the Magnus Chase and the Gods of Asgard trilogy, set in the world of Norse mythology. This series includes genderfluid and pansexual characters, and reading the books with my then-eight-year-old helped them find the words to come out as nonbinary.

No. 14) Augusten Burroughs

https://www.augusten.com/about.html

I am in the middle of listening to Augusten Burroughs’ Lust and Wonder, which apparently came out in 2016 but just came to my attention recently. If you haven’t heard of him, I recommend starting with Running with Scissors. Most of his books are memoirs, but his life has been so unusual you might think they’re fiction. I love his honesty and insights and he’s funny as hell.

No. 15) The Heartstopper series

https://aliceoseman.com/heartstopper

Heartstopper started as a web comic that quickly amassed a huge following, the became a series of graphic novels, and then was picked up by Netflix for several wonderful seasons, which are expected to culminate in a feature film this year. The stories are about these teenagers who are so normal and so unique in the way all teenagers are. They have challenges with their parents, or bullies, or self-image, or anxiety, AND they have each other AND they are all figuring out their sexuality and gender identities. The books and the show are incredibly sweet and true and heartbreaking and joyful. I would recommend these to folks who don’t necessarily have LGBTQIA+ kids (that you know of), but would like to (or should) learn more about what it’s like to be a queer kid.

No. 16) Spin with Me by Ami Polonski

https://www.amipolonsky.com

A question that isn’t always explored in books about queer identity is what it means when a person who thought they were straight develops romantic feelings for someone who is gender expansive. That’s a central theme in Spin with Me, a beautifully written story featuring a girl who temporarily moves to a new town with her dad and makes a new set of friends. Fun fact, after we finished this book, Niki wrote a message to the author through the author’s website and got a response right away!

No. 17) Brandi Carlile‘s Broken Horses

https://brokenhorsesbook.com/index.html

Brandi Carlile is one of my favorite artists and someone I think is just a beautiful, brilliant, badass human. She is one of the few musicians who my husband and teenagers and I all equally love. We’ve seen her in concert several times. So if you don’t know her music, listen to it now. Then read her memoir. Better yet, listen to her memoir because she sings throughout it, songs you won’t hear on any album, but that influenced her or meant something important to her at some point in her life. She’s not only a songwriter, but she’s an insightful and talented memoirist as well.

No. 18) Dear Mothman by Robin Gow

https://robingow.com/

My kid recommended this to me a while ago and I just remembered to read it. Dear Mothman pierced my heart in the best possible way. It’s about being a trans kid who feels very alone, then finally seen, and suddenly alone again and the lengths they go to to find acceptance and love. And it’s a novel written in verse, which is always cool. And Robin Gow is a trans author who I’ve just discovered has written several other books which I plan to read immediately.

No. 19) Seven Husbands of Evelyn Hugo by Taylor Jenkins Reid

https://taylorjenkinsreid.com/books/the-seven-husbands-of-evelyn-hugo/

While LGBQTIA+ people today certainly don’t have it easy, given the political climate fomenting homophobia and transphobia, coming out as a queer person in 2025 is definitely not as seemingly impossible and dangerous as it once was. This book explores the lengths to which gay people in show business went to keep their private lives secret, and the effect that had on the people they loved. 

20) Over the Top by Jonathan Van Ness

https://jonathanvanness.com/books/

I am such a Queer Eye fan that I have the lego set on my desk–a little lego version of JVN is styling the hair of the lego version of their former high school music teacher. I love Jonathan because he always makes people feel good about themselves no matter what, because he’s spent a lifetime learning to feel good about their own identity in the face of negative messages from all fronts. Over the Top is JVN’s first memoir, but he’s also written other books–fiction and nonfiction–for kids and adults about loving yourself just as you are.

I Dissent

June 18, 2025 in advocacy, gender, reading | Tags: , , , , , | Leave a comment

You know why I post about all these queer books and authors? Because reading builds EMPATHY and UNDERSTANDING. Reading helps us understand the thoughts and ideas and experiences of all kinds of people. Reading fiction achieves this as much or more than reading nonfiction, because it’s more accessible to many readers.

Anyone who questions why they would read about queer people if they’re not queer needs to examine this logic. Humans have been reading about people who are not like them as long as there have been books because humanity is made up of a million flavors of people and it’s a blessing and a gift to be able to learn about and explore the things we have in common and what makes us unique. We gain insights and new perspectives by reading about people from different periods in history, different places, different cultures, different religions…why wouldn’t we read about people with different gender identities and sexualities? The world is populated by billions of extraordinary ordinary people whose lives have meaning and value.

Ideally, we all have the opportunity to get to know lots of kinds of people in real life. But when that’s not possible, there are always books. I urge you, even if you’re not queer or don’t have queer loved ones (that you know of) or don’t have queer kids, read some of the books I’ve recommended. And if you DO know or love kids or adults who are lgbtqia+ please read some books I’ve recommended. Or other books by or about lgbtqia+ people. If you work with children or young people in any capacity, read some of these books. There are a ton of great book lists.

If you want to be an ally, learn more about the people you say you support. That’s a place to start.

Seven Miles of Rising Up

June 14, 2025 in advocacy, anti-racism | Tags: , , , , , | 1 comment

While Trump was pouting at the lack of public enthusiasm about his tank parade, I drove down Langston Boulevard from where it begins in Arlington just across the Potomac from the District of Columbia, all the way through the City of Falls Church into the Falls Church part of Fairfax County. The peaceful protestors lined the streets for more than seven miles.

Here’s my quickly assembled video–the soundtrack provided by my “music for the rebellion” Spotify playlist.

My Personal Reading Rainbow: Queer-Centric Books to Celebrate Pride Month

June 10, 2025 in advocacy, art, gender, parenting, writing | Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 1 comment

To celebrate Pride 2025, I’m writing about 30 of my favorite LGBTQIA+ authors and books that center queer characters. Reading builds empathy. Our world could use more.

Here are the first 10 of my 30 recommendations.

No. 1) TJ Klune https://www.tjklunebooks.com/
TJ Klune possesses a marvelous talent for creating characters–whether they are human or in any number of other fantastical forms–who immediately take up residence in your heart. His books are achingly good and I want to live inside them. I haven’t read all of them (yet) but I especially loved The House in the Cerulean Sea (and its companion) and the Wolfsong series. 

No. 2) Becky Albertalli https://www.beckyalbertalli.com/
In a bookstore, you’d find Becky Albertalli’s books in the YA section, but I find that to be a meaningless way to categorize books. Certainly, many young adults like to read about other young adults, but we also encourage kids to read books about fighters in the French Revolution, and enslaved people, and old men in any number of settings. So I think books that happen to feature young adult characters can still appeal to and be relevant to readers of any age. Anyway, I love Becky Albertalli. I’ve read almost all her books (except the two that I just discovered on her website) and they are all compassionate and funny and sweet and teach me something about how to be a good and authentic human in a world that doesn’t always reward those traits. 

No. 3) Laurie Frankel https://www.lauriefrankel.net/this-is-how-it-always-is.html

When I read this lovely book about a family whose youngest child expresses at age five that they are  transgender, it was a couple years before my own child came out as nonbinary. I was inspired to read it because of other trans kids we knew, and the book proved to be sweet, heartbreaking, thought-provoking, and useful. Of course every individual’s story is unique, but unfortunately many of the challenges that gender-expansive kids face are common. I recommend this to anyone who has a child or was a child.

No. 4) Casey McQuiston https://www.caseymcquiston.com/

My daughter and I had the pleasure of seeing Casey McQuiston interviewed on their One Last Stop book tour by their best friend Sasha Peyton Smith and we’ve been smitten ever since. Casey’s books are smart, hilarious, and steamy and I would love to be friends with Casey in real life. 

No. 5) Steven Rowley https://www.stevenrowley.com/about

Steven Rowley narrates his own audiobooks in such an engaging and witty way that I expect him to call me on the phone to invite me to brunch at any minute. I adore his writing and his narration and I love how he talks about being gay in the context of family and all kinds of relationships, especially about what it’s like to be a “guncle.”

No. 6) The Civil War of Amos Abernathy https://michaelleali.com

I read this with my nonbinary kid and we both learned a lot. I love books where the kids are smart and are willing to dig deep to show the less open-minded adults in the world what’s really true. Amos Abernathy is an openly gay middle-school-aged historical reenactor whose best friend–also a volunteer there–is a young Black woman. They love history but they also want to shine a light on people whose stories aren’t usually told. 

No. 7) Freya Marske https://freyamarske.com

I devoured Marske’s Last Binding trilogy, interestingly recommended to me by my Unitarian Universalist minister. I’ll let Alix Harrow explain why: “Mystery! Magic! Murder! Long looks full of yearning! This book is a confection, both marvelous and light.” —Alix E. Harrow, author of The Once and Future Witches

No. 8) Becky Chambers https://www.otherscribbles.com/about

If you asked me to describe my vision for how the world should work, my hope for how all beings would treat each other, and my philosophy about how I want to live my life, I would hand you a stack of Becky Chambers’ books. Start with A Prayer for the Crown-Shy, which you can read in one sitting, but ideally will reread several times. My Unitarian Universalist minister and I created a whole Sunday service about this book and its companion, A Psalm for the Wild-Built. Just thinking again about Chambers’ characters makes me sigh with contentment.

No. 9) Disco Witches of Fire Island

Several years ago I happened to pick up The Sign for Home, a marvelous, fascinating novel about a college student who is DeafBlind and a Jehovah’s Witness, neither of which comes up a lot in books I’ve read. I’d never heard of Blair Fell before or since, until Disco Witches of Fire Island suddenly appeared. It’s the kind of book that you stay up until 2am to finish, which is what I did last night. The disco witches in question are a delightful group of compassionate, intuitive, and colorful friends who’ve made it their mission to protect unsuspecting young gay men from harm, while also caring for each other through the AIDS crisis and beyond. And of course they do it in spectacular style to a pumping soundtrack.   

No. 10) The Miseducation of Cameron Post https://www.emilymdanforth.com/mcp

This book is a beautiful affirmation of identity and the struggle to remain authentic in the face of homophobia and hate. While the book was published 13 years ago, unfortunately the battle rages on between people who support and embrace all gender identities and sexualities and believe that each individual knows themself best and should live their truth vs. the small but virulent faction that fears difference and promotes bigotry, discrimination, and intolerance (and joy and the freedom to love).  

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