The small cross stood on a windy rise inches outside the cemetery fence. No baptism; no Christian burial. Just exclusion. My heart ached.
Spring rains softened rocky soil. The post gave way, nails twisted, boards slid.
I hammered the post in its new spot. Relief unfurled: my baby could rest.
Tawnia is an elementary teacher in Ontario who started writing a few years ago. You can find her on Twitter at @TawniaCourage. This story was written in memory of her grandmother.
Doubt pulls me into a chasm of dread. Spiraling in darkness. Out of control.
Stop!
Hope glimmers briefly—but the bonds of anxiety choke it.
No!
Let go. Breathe deep.
Resilience sparks… grows. I grasp a flicker, encourage and feed it.
The glow swells… black shadows recede.
I’ve got this.
Tawnia is an elementary teacher in Ontario who started writing a few years ago. You can find her on Twitter @TawniaCourage.
Mom shuffles to the car, back stooped, frustrating tremors slowing her progress.
Walker, bed rail, shower seat, suitcase, and a box rattling with pills are packed for her visit.
She struggles to fasten her seatbelt, so I help.
“Thanks… Getting old isn’t for wimps, you know.”
I smile, feeling blessed.
Tawnia is an elementary teacher in Ontario who started writing a few years ago. You can find her on Twitter @TawniaCourage.
My son has a plot—his own little piece of real estate. The grass is sparse, so I tend it: raking topsoil, spreading seed, pouring water. New sprouts emerge, filling the aching gaps.
I remove the weeds, pretending he’s on vacation.
But my heart screams his name and I cry.
Tawnia is an elementary teacher in Ontario who recently started writing. She is revising her first novel, a YA sci-fi, and hopes to start querying agents soon. She recently told a Red Chair story via Zoom for the Graham Norton Show. You can find her on Twitter @TawniaCourage.