Shoes, Dreams and Writing

I dreamed about shoes recently, twice. According to on-line dream interpreters, I may have some rethinking to do about my writing career.

Jesus, the Caregiver

Denial, anger, bargaining, depression, acceptance: all the classic stages of grief. As a caregiver, I’d add another stage: burnout. My mom’s memory started to fail about 15 years ago, and my role as her caregiver started with an occasional offer of assistance, “Here, Mom, let me help you with that,” and progressed to a cry of despair, “I can’t do this anymore.”

My Son, the Holy Heretic

My son, Christian Piatt, is a writer. His brand on his website is Author, Speaker, Antagonist, God Nerd. He writes in a variety of genres including memoir, social/political commentary and satire, and in his own words, general smartassedness, but mostly he writes about faith and spirituality. He recently started a column on Patheos call Father, Son, and Holy Heretic. Quite a departure from his Baptist roots, but then he’s always been an independent thinker.

What Will the Neighbors Think?

I cut David’s hair yesterday. He tried several times during the week to get it cut, but there was always a line, and he doesn’t like to wait. While we were brushing our teeth, I took a look at his curling locks and made him an offer.

Why Do Old People Smell Bad?

My 7-year-old grandson Mattias frequently makes comments or asks questions that get him published in his dad’s writings or at least posted on Facebook. This is the most recent one.

“Dad, how come, when people get older, they smell a little bit worse?”

Just a Dream

I dreamed about Mom and Dad last night. I do that quite a bit lately. I guess it’s my subconscious working through the grief of Dad’s death and the nagging guilt that caregivers feel about this decision or that situation that could have been resolved differently or handled better. When I woke up at 4:30, the dream was clear, and I mentally composed a brilliant blog post around it. I should have gotten up and written it then or at least

Death Is Not a Simple Business

Dad died on May 13. His death was fairly simple. He had a massive stroke, and a few days later he stopped breathing. The business of death, however, is another story. Over three months later my brother and I are still dealing with paperwork.

There was a time when a loved one died, was laid out on the dining room table for the wake, and was buried under an oak tree in the back forty.