Covert Mom: Waterloo

My dad died last week, from a glioblastoma. Cancerous brain tumor. Death, like childbirth, has its own elastic timeline. At hospice, all parties are allowed their dignity. When the nurses offered me a shawl, a more comfortable chair, and plied me with chocolate cake, I… Read More

The Right Kind of Bees

By Mariah Mottley Tompkins Weekly   Scott Creary has 2,000 pounds of honey in his basement. When complimented on the clarity and richness of the honey’s flavor, Creary shrugs and says, “the bees do good work.” Creary owns and runs Entomos Apiaries, whose name comes… Read More

Covert Mom: Good Vibrations

The ongoing stressors of witnessing my father’s last weeks and of dismantling his worldly possessions have turned me into the worst, laziest version of myself. Burnout is real. My grief spirit animal, I have decided, is Anna Nicole Smith, the former stripper, reality television pioneer,… Read More

Covert Mom: My Girl

Mariah Mottley   This was the last Christmas I’ll ever spend with my Dad. Thanks to Hospicare, we’ve been having some really important talks. Life. Death. The songs he would like us to sing at his Memorial Service. Where his ashes should go. Whether he… Read More

The Firebird

Mariah Mottley   My dad is on the express train out of here, it turns out.   He’s been diagnosed with a primary malignant brain tumor, a stage 4 glioblastoma. He’s going to die. Shortly after the biopsy, he couldn’t walk. His next stop is… Read More

Covert Mom: Brown-Eyed Girl

By Mariah Mottley Billie, my middle daughter, came home with a trumpet. She’s learning to play. She’s been walking around the house, trying to get a seal on the mouthpiece with her lips, interrupting everyone’s personal activities from teeth brushing to movie watching. I can… Read More