A remembrance and a haiku for the intrepid little lady we lost, Ruth Violet Hiatt Holt.
A poem dedicated to my brother, a victim of suicide, who suffered in silence. Call the suicide prevention hotline at 800-273-8255.
I’m not on the recommended pace to write a poem each day this month to participate in National Poetry Month, but this one happened in about 30 seconds. There will never be another muse like my Dad. He was a remarkable, wonderful, loving, accepting, listening […]
My dad was born 80 years ago today in West Texas as the Great Depression was coming to an end in the shadow of another Great War in Europe, a time before regular Americans realized we’d be involved in that war. With that backdrop and […]
For people like me, there’s a sense of loss from the abrupt ending of Anthony Bourdain’s huge contribution to the canons of travel, food and cultural understanding, and a reluctant but absolutely unavoidable comparison to our own unwelcome experiences with the savage, raw, rollercoaster aftermath of suicide.
Thanksgiving weekend, eight of us family members spanning three generations packed into my Honda Pilot and headed down to the Bolivar Peninsula where I grew up. We were on a mission to visit Dad’s favorite restaurant down there, and remember him. It was a perfect […]
I have never said this in a public forum: my brother’s untimely death four years ago was a suicide. Hear my plea: if you’re hurting, please tell someone.