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When my mother became homeless and moved into my one-bedroom apartment.

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A piece I wrote a week after my mother passed. Also, forgive me for being late the past couple weeks… I’ve had something weird going on with my throat.

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My mother gives me a pep talk when I felt depressed after taking Sudafed, at the same time as an intoxicated man attempts to cross the street.

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A conversation about our one unadulterated drop of god.

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On the phone with my mother when my son was a toddler.

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A story about breaking cycles of dysfunction.

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When my ceiling fan almost catches on fire, I receive guidance from my mother.

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This piece chronicles a difficult event that took place years ago when I was trying to support my mother who had no other means of support for her mental health than to self-medicate. The piece is also about how our mental health system isn’t always equipped to be there for people who need more support than to be kept alive and medicated, and how in our society, many times, support for oneself has to come from within.

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An Old Conversation with my mother when I was pregnant and she didn't know how to retrieve a text message.

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A pep talk with my mother when I was feeling hurt from not getting approval from someone.

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Part One of a piece that tells the story of growing up with my mother during my formative years, and the circumstances, both internal and societal, that led to her falling through the cracks and becoming dysfunctional.

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(Click here if you’d like to listen to Two Sizes Too Small.)

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A piece that documents one of my mother's stays in a behavioral health center.

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The time a man got upset with my mother and spat on her car window.

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A poem of sorts about being in such pain, and praying, and then listening so hard for an answer, that I hear someone else praying, and we share our prayers with each other.

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A piece about the starkness of grief.

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