Tag Archives: hard stuff


“Why is that flag only halfway up?” I glanced in the rearview mirror and saw my seven-year-old son tapping on the glass and pointing at a flag pole outside the retirement community near our house. “That’s called ‘half-staff,’” I said. “They do that when something sad has happened.” He stayed quiet for a few beats, leaving me thinking that maybe

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Home sweet home…soon, I hope

A week ago Saturday, my husband, son, and I came home to something no family ever wants to see: The window to our backdoor smashed in. Couch cushions tossed around the living room. Bags dumped out on the floor. Every cabinet, drawer, and closet open and ransacked. While we were at a baseball game that evening, someone–three someones, we came

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