HerStry publishes one Personal Essay every Wednesday. Weekly Personal Essays are a way for writers to tell the stories they want to tell. There are no rules. No themes. Nothing is off limits. For essay submissions check out our guidelines.
The dog is different now. He has developed a subtle yet more articulate language of long gazes and soft moans. Maybe not just expressions of pain but also the frustrating inability to fully express himself. These are of course, just my interpretations and perhaps too self-reflective. “What is it, buddy?” I ask him, “What is it?” It’s cancer and it is, as they say, aggressive.
Read MoreMay 27, 2020
“You need to understand, if something happens, if the worst happens, we cannot let you inside,” Dr. Waters says through her mask, looking up into my face. Her eyes are beautifully made up, achieving a doe-eye effect. I wonder, momentarily, if she is in love with someone in her office. Her gloved hand reaches towards my dog. “With COVID, no one but staff is allowed inside the clinic.”
Read MoreI am getting ready to travel again because my husband is living in Copenhagen for work. People describe our situation as “so cool.” I wish they would stop. There is nothing cool about a long distance marriage. And I’m certain the “so cool” people have never donelong-distance with a spouse working twelve hour days in a time zone nine hours ahead. These are people who have never spent a significant amount of time on a plane going back and forth. Our family planning has been suspended. My life has become a waiting room in perpetuity.
Read MoreThe term, she wears her heart on her sleeve is wasted on me. I wear my heart everywhere on my physical person. I am a crier. I always have been. My mother used to retell the story of when I was three and she found me sitting silently on the front porch with tears pouring down my red blotchy cheeks. She stroked by hair and a wiped each stray tear. She asked me what had moved me to tears on such a beautiful day. Moved me to tears? What moved me to cry?
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