It’s true! My mother was once a nun. As a child, I gazed at the brittle black-and-white photo of her and a fellow novice in their stiff white habits – starched smiles and wimples – and wondered about her other life.
Sometimes, her other life came to visit… Continue reading
As we walk back out of the wide double-doors T berates me for my poor timekeeping and my mind goes back to the days when my father was supposed to be collecting my sister and I from school. I smile to myself at how lucky he is; I know all about waiting… Continue reading
All it takes is for one of the kids to wrap their fingers around my neck in play and I’m transported back in time to the day a man strangled his daughter on the stairs of their home while her mother and siblings watched…
Growing up on an isolated farm in rural Ireland, my childhood memories are largely happy ones. I spent most of my time playing outdoors. Comfortable in the realm of my imagination, safe in the brightness of the sunshine, things could have been idyllic but for the inexplicable holes and blanks in my child’s comprehension. Looking past the fresh air and freedom, all was not well in my world. Continue reading