I remember the moment when she stopped being my mother. I realized that even as a grown adult that I could not count on her for my most basic needs. It was 2003. I had been on vacation and couldn’t reach my mom by phone when I came back. When my boyfriend and I went … Continue reading When She Stopped Being My Mother
My mother is reading “The Handmaid’s Tale.”
One of the things I monitor with my mother is her feet. Feet are one of the things that can suffer greatly when someone is homeless, and my mother is no exception. She only wears one pair of shoes and wears them all the time, even sleeping. She sleeps sitting up and that lack of … Continue reading This is Huge
She pulled out of her bag a print-out of the missing person poster I created when she disappeared this last time. It was printed from the blog I started and had the date I posted it — three years ago. Three years of wondering, worrying, being held in suspense came flooding back. “I’m not missing,” she said … Continue reading The Thing That Breaks My Heart Today
I spotted her from the car by her rolling suitcase rather than by the scarf she always wears. The scarf, it turns out, is layered underneath the wool cape she has over her head. I call her name as she breathes in and out, a human covered in formless clothing. There is a blanket in … Continue reading At Her Sleeping Spot
Dooley is my family nickname from childhood. It seems most appropriate as a pen name because I will be writing about my family, my mother, her mental illness, and homelessness particularly. I would love to tell you I am embracing anonymity to protect my mother’s privacy. That is part of it, of course. The fact … Continue reading Hi, I’m Dooley.