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...

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....

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...

I prayerfully hesitate writing this article. I’ve put it off. I’ve wondered how to put thoughts into sensible sentences. Yet I feel...

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...

"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...

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...

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...

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...