Debbie Wilkins Baisden

Standing on wobbly legs in that parking lot, I slowly scanned the horizon.  Black sky had surrendered to navy before arriving at a muted light blue.  I could only manage short, shallow breaths, for fear of blunting the ability to hear the snap of a twig.

I sensed A...

My son cannot cross the street without me.  

He is no toddler.  The kid is 13 years old.  Thirteen.  And he cannot cross the street alone.

It sounds ridiculous and yet this is my invented reality.  A reality that might make you laugh before realizing you are th...

I've done a lot of stupid things as a mother.  Far too many regrets in both word and deed (and thought) that I cannot take back.

If I'm being transparent, I've said words under my breath that if my children had dared utter, would've resulted in soap on their tongues. As...

I prayerfully hesitate writing this article.  I’ve put it off.  I’ve wondered how to put thoughts into sensible sentences.  Yet I feel led to write to you about grief.  My grief.  Not your grief.  Because I know the second I start trying to explain it, you may shake yo...

I am so weird.  When I get home from grocery shopping, I like to put up all the groceries myself.  My family is often sweet enough to start helping unload all the loot, but I think my OCD nature kicks into overdrive and I simply must know where every item lands.  Every...

"Mrs. Wilkins, I'm sorry to tell you that your husband is deceased."

Time froze that morning and I along with it.  There is no string of words to assemble that can convey that instant when life forever changed.

My husband is dead?  Aaron is dead?  

The man who daydre...

This is part 2 (see “I Shaved My Legs”)

Part of the guilt of grief is simply moving forward with life.

The more forceful aspect involves the other gender.

I had not looked twice at other men for twelve years out of respect for my husband.  I didn’t want to.  And yet here...

There is something I rarely discuss about grief.  It is a pretty horrible feeling that gnaws at all of us and tends to play on repeat in our mind.  We squirm and want to hide as we shoulder its shame.  I wish I hadn’t…..  Why did I….. I hope no one finds out…...

This morning I woke up at dark-thirty and tiptoed to my kitchen.  I filled my cup with beckoning java and stumbled my way back to our office.  I love my office, my sanctuary.  I have an oversized chair that I bought from a friend; it’s perfectly positioned next to a sh...