Hope’s Day begins with a nightmare of separation and gradually becomes something smaller, quieter, and more hopeful: a mother reading a child a book, peanut butter on waffles, fabric above a damaged ceiling, a father holding his sons, and tiny lights returned to their places. Sometimes hope appears when life becomes small enough to touch again.
Tag Archives: Memory
This Belongs to Us
This morning, while Dad held four-year-old Jude, he found himself thinking about what was happening to us when we were Jude’s age—and about the difference between what happened to us and what truly belongs to us. Some things were never our purpose. Other things—the good memories, our home, our family, and even a slow cooker filled with Jude’s Stew—are ours to keep.
You Get to Be Seven
A seven-year-old goes quiet. Daddy realizes that love has accidentally become a burden. A day of memories, friendship, repair, and the unseen work of a plural family becomes a lesson in what it means to let a child be seven.
It Smells Like Home
What is it like when an adult and eight children share a body, mind, inner world, memories, relationships, trauma, and an ordinary life? Sometimes the questions are enormous. Sometimes being Dad means admitting you need help. And sometimes it means chopping an onion and making dinner.
But This Time, We Will All Be Known
In the summer of 1972, the world came apart. A summer later, it began to come back together. More than half a century later, Daniel took us back there—and helped us recognize an organizing story capable of holding memories we have carried all our lives. Perhaps our creation story is not about when we appeared, but how, through rupture after rupture, we remained. This time, we will all be known.
