essays by shé

Tag: loss

  • Closing

    When I learned the name of the buyer of my mother’s house, I knew everything would be okay, because Bianca (Kitty) was a very dear friend of mine. On closing day, while the human Bianca signed papers in New Orleans, I drove to Queen of Heaven Cemetery and found John’s grave. I cleaned the headstone…

  • La Bolsa Roja

    Cabo Pulmo is known as a primo snorkel spot, so early one morning I drove over and set out down the beach. I found a sandy spot to enter and donned my gear, putting land clothes in a brilliant red drawstring knapsack up on a dune. The bay was murky and cool. Every so often…

  • Shark

    Three feet below me, dark-skinned, about four feet long, swimming along the bottom of the sea, tail moving side to side: shark. I disagreed with, and eventually laughed at, my biological father today. I was trying to understand why he sent his bizarre attack email, but he refused to explain. He called me irrational, and…

  • Bat Signal

    I bought the ring after Emmett died. When you pressed the button on the side, the Bat Signal lit up. It was hugely satisfying. John and I used to tear around the house with towels around our necks, fighting crime. Nanananananananana – Batman! I’d snagged the window seat on a flight to Oakland. The plane…

  • Memory Problems

    My father seems to have memory problems. He forgets that his only daughter loves him and means him no harm. And so he writes venomous missives. The first time this happened, I’d just published “Free Love Ain’t” in a national anthology of essays by folks who’d survived so-called counterculture parents. Back then I read and…

  • Struggling with Wait

    I have been heavier. I have been lighter. It rarely has anything to do with calories. Mostly it has to do with happiness. When I set my needs and wants aside – for work, family, friends – I suffer. Self-loathing sets in, the mind attacks the body: you’re fat. You’re over-weight. But in fact I’m…

  • Words of Love

    “I’m not dead,” said John. I’m sitting on his grave in Queen of Heaven Cemetery. The headstone dates read: May 28, 1964 – September 30, 1967. Today is September 30, 2019. I’ve been here before, but I’ve never heard him quite so clearly. I believe him. And it is a huge relief. I have spent…

  • Essay #34: security

    I never thought it was necessary – security. I thought it was a mirage, an impossibility. Amused and bemused when others thought it possible with locks and alarms and stocks and bonds. I was wrong. Here are some definitions, courtesy of msWord: the state or feeling of being safe and protected freedom from worries of…

  • Essay #1: accent on E

    Today marks the 48th anniversary of my birth. To celebrate these years on the planet, I plan to post 48 personal essays here, one every Monday. Why? A few years ago, my best friend died. Again. The first time it happened, I was 4 and he was my brother John. The second time, I was…