Life Beyond The Chair

After my parents moved from Eagan to Mendota Heights, my dad began to travel frequently. This travel was not only for work, and there were many times that my mom had no idea where he was. My mom's family still lived in her childhood home in Winona. She was the first to marry and have children, so her sisters were anxious to have us visit often. My earliest memory of that time is me being in a playpen with a blanket draped over the top. My mom was reading, and the blanket was meant to block the light, and not wake me. I have recalled this memory repeatedly over the years. It was the only time I remember feeling safe and cared for by my mother. I felt warm, secure, and loved. This memory of my mom was what made it possible to feel anything for her in the following years. Life in Winona was a mix of dealing with Hazel, my mom's mother, and John Willis, my beloved grandfather. Hazel was a first-generation immigrant. Her parents brought her to America, then passed soo

I was born in Edina, Minnesota, on Tuesday, February 24, 1970. It was a bitter, cold day, and my mom and dad barely made it to the hospital due to icy roads. Waiting at home with the sitter was Tommy Q, my older brother by just 14 months.  People referred to us as the Italian Twins, a term used to describe babies born less than two years apart. For most of our childhood, we were like twins, and we did everything together. My mom was twenty-two, and my dad was twenty-five. They had met New Year's Eve, 1965 at a party in Cedar Rapids, Iowa, my dad's hometown. My dad had been back in the states for a few months, following two tours to Vietnam with the Navy. My mom was born in Winona, MN, and was attending Mount Mercy University as a library science major. Like everything my parents would do later in their lives together, their meeting and subsequent dating were dysfunctional and chaotic. What started on the eve of a new year, set events into motion my young parents could

                                                                   This series is part of the annual writing challenge, 31 Days of Five Minute Free Writes.  Every October, writers like me, commit to sitting down at the computer for at least 5 minutes a day. The idea is to write,  no overthinking and no editing.  It's a brave thing for a writer to bare their unedited art. For me, it's a little like exposing my soul, and although I will write for more than 5 minutes this year, I'm committed to being brave enough to sit down and see what happens. I will do the impossible, which is to silence the inner critic monkey that roars to life the minute I sit down with a pen and paper. This year, I've chosen the theme of Unraveling EmilyAnn. In a way, it seems self-indulgent, and I struggle with the memoir genre in writing. I'm a Midwest girl, brought knowing it is rude to talk about yourself. However, I've reached a point where I'm feeling the need to p

Today would be my mother’s 70th birthday, I lost her in 2003, when she was just 55. She never met my 2 youngest children.  The call came at 5:06am on a crisp October morning. It was a call I knew was coming. Things with my mom’s health had taken a turn the previous Monday and it was now Friday morning. “It happened last night,” the nurse said, “we found her holding the picture of you and the kids.”  Those were the words that crossed the miles from Minnesota to San Diego, the words that ended any possibility of having a normal relationship with my mom. I always hoped we would get the chance to try yet once again, to get it right.😞 My mom was a HUGELY complicated woman, drug and alcohol addiction plagued her life from a young age. Addiction combined with an unplanned pregnancy, marriage of necessity, another baby 14 months after the first, and finally my younger brother 5 years later in an attempt to “save” the marriage  created a world she needed to constantly escape. Slowly and

I couldn't believe it, I was walking through the doors to our home with my daughter! My girlfriends were waiting for me with explosions of pink and floral onesies, booties, hats, and receiving blankets. My friends had been annoyed by my refusal to find out the sex of my baby, they were now clamoring around me and planning a baby shower. As the afternoon wore on and the visitors started leaving, Stephen's sister Beth stopped by to visit and bring supper. however, Beth and I had been pregnant together, she had delivered her son a few months earlier. My relationship with Stephen's family had never been close over the years, however, we supported one another and shared in the joys and sorrows that we all endure. Beth had 2 boys and I knew with her 2ND pregnancy, she had hoped for a girl. I felt a bit uneasy during the visit because the gifts and boxes of hand-me-downs were all over the living room. I didn't want it to appear that I was gloating. I tried to find the word

I found out I was pregnant with Makaela when Max was 7 months old. My first thought as I watched that "plus" sign appear was: "Please God, let this baby be a girl." It was a thought I kept to myself, almost cherished. It was as though this baby knew my deepest desire and had agreed to be a girl. We chose not to find out the sex of our baby, so I was asked a lot about my desire for a girl or boy. I would always answer with: " It doesn't matter, as long as the baby is healthy." or "These babies will be so close in age, Max would love a brother." With each response, I cringed a little inside as these lies would roll off my lips. When I was 6 months pregnant, I had the most vivid dream. The face of a baby girl appeared, about a year old, her beautiful face framed in soft black curls. Her face was floating there smiling, and a voice whispered: "Malaela". I didn't tell anyone about this dream, it seemed silly and maybe even s