The demise of a parent is especially hard…

Dorothy and her daughter Erika. Photo by Mary McGrath

The light is dimming over my mother’s wet and glassy eyes. Her hair, the color of dull pewter, frames her face with no purpose.

Gone the person I once knew, buoyant, with a laugh that exploded over a good food with gravy. Now she stares blankly into space. …

The true temptation of travel…


We board the boat,
Wave, and line the rails,
This is our time,
And we have to make the most of it.

As the ship pulls away from the port,
We rock back-and-forth
In the misty air,
The wind kissing our cheeks
As the gulls slowly
Disintegrate in the distance.

Mary McGrath

Mary currently writes from Naples, FL. Some of her credits include: Newsweek, Wall St. Journal, Good Housekeeping, and Chicken Soup for the Soul.

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