It’s been a week since Mom came home, and I’m exhausted. Physically, mentally, emotionally.

It’s so hard to watch the woman that gave birth to you, the woman who raised you to be a badass, the woman who helped you muddle through your own unexpected motherhood….it’s hard to see her completely laid bare.

Every two hours, we turn and we clean. Even overnight. My back is sore. My heart is sore. My brain overloaded with so many emotions.

It’s different this time. It’s final this time.

I’m lucky to have a partner in this, my godsend of a husband. He…

Photo by Harrison Jones Photographer

Hey Dad,

It’s me again.

Today when I woke up, it was dark in my bedroom and dreary outside with the rain coming down pretty hard. It’s like the world was crying with me. It seemed to feel the sadness that consumes me today. One year later.

It’s been one year since I kissed your forehead, held your hands, brushed the hair out of your face, and made that horrible decision to let you go.

A year has passed since I said goodbye and walked out of your hospital room for the last time.

I didn’t want to get out…

Image by SeppH from Pixabay

The OB nurse found me on the bathroom floor of my hospital room, crying hysterically. I was doubled over with emotions, ranging from pain and fear mixed with a sense of relief. At 22, I could barely take care of myself and now they were giving me this tiny person to take care of? I kept thinking he’d be better off without me as his mom. With all the issues I had, how was I ever going to be a good mom for this wondrous creature? …

Photo by Roberto Nickson on Unsplash

The attendant guided me to a private room where a steaming, bubbly bath was waiting just for me. The whole room smelled like chocolate. The lights were dimmed. A glass of water and more chocolate laid on the side of the bath waiting for me to indulge.

I removed my flip flops and soft robe and slid into the bubbles. The warm water felt therapeutic against my skin.

I laid my head back on the pillow and sank into the chocolate paradise and closed my eyes. But, only for one minute.

“Oh no, my hair is getting wet. It’s going…

Photo from Pixabay

I have this pair of pants. They are like yoga pants, I guess. They are the most comfortable pants I’ve ever worn. I love them so much; I can even remember when and where I bought them. Don’t laugh. But, I bought them at Walmart. My son, then ten years old, was having major surgery at Johns Hopkins in Baltimore. I was never one to wear sweatpants or even jeans. My wardrobe consisted of dresses, skirts, and pants. But, as we had to be at the hospital on the morning of surgery at 6 am and would be sitting around…

Holding onto each moment.

Photo by Harrison Jones Photographer

Every morning, my dad would shuffle out into the kitchen and make a noise. He would either cough very loudly or bang the dishes as he unloaded them from the dishwasher; whatever he needed to do to let us know he was awake. He was waiting on his morning coffee, that my husband would make for him every morning.

Dan and I moved into my parents’ house about seven years ago, to help care for them as they age. My mom had just been diagnosed with Alzheimer’s and my dad was just slowing down. …

Photo by Harrison Jones (Harrison Jones Photographer)

A Letter to My Dad

Hey Dad,

It’s been six months today. 6 months. You taught me so many things, but never how to do this. Living without you is excruciating some days, and bearable on the rest.

To say this house is empty without you is an understatement. I always knew you brought laughter and joy into our lives, but I guess I never realized how much. The house is quiet. It just feels empty. I go into your closet a few times a week and look at your clothes hanging there, and every time I pass by your…

Life Without My Dad

Who would have ever thought that the sight of a pink artificial sweetener packet on my kitchen counter would cause me to break down? Literally send me sobbing to my bed, trying to find my next breath and my composure to carry on with my day. But, there I was. These paper packets were here at my house, and he wasn’t. He was never going to put them in his morning coffee again.

My father passed away on April 21 of this year after battling an eight-month illness. He went into the hospital on September 13…

Allison Saia

Owner and Founder of Your Truth Publishing and Your Truth Magazine. Former Poet Laureate of Hanover, PA. Writer. Corgi lover. Caregiver

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