Sandy Jorgenson

Griping about adulting is a fun thing that we like to do, I know.

When a bereaved mother is left alone, how deep into the recesses of her mind does she wander? Does she surface for air? Does she want to come out at all?

You'll have to excuse me while I sit myself down for one stern-ass pep talk about the importance of trusting my gut, having the courage of my convictions, and marching bodly ahead in my resove to absorb every last minute I get with my growing girl, knowing that never again will these days be upon me.

...[O]ur very responsibility is to equip them with everything they need before we shove them out of the nest and watch their wings spread far and wide... But what, then, is left for us?

Based on my experience, I can tell you with confidence that there exists a list of perfectly reasonable ways to cope with that endless stream of bullshit that your kids are pumping out on the regular. None of this stuff is going to bring you the blessed satisfaction that comes with screaming out all your favorite swear words while you tear off your clothing in a fit of rage and flush yourself down the toilet, but until such a time arises, this list will at least provide some healthy alternatives to deep-diving through your city’s sewer system when you need relief most.

You’d have a hell of a time if you ever dared to crawl through the recesses of a first-time mother’s brain.

This article is the second in a two-part series.

Death, we know because it’s drilled into us from an early age, is a natural part of life.

But what can be said for the day upon which I am no longer enough? I dread that day.

The tumult that’s been rippling through our country has me begging the question: what do we do when we feel the defeat of a woman and the rise of a monster bearing down on us?