Acknowledging Grief

I’m petrified of losing people, and that fear manifests in unexpected ways.

I remember thinking at age 12 that I only saw my family at funerals. Of course, there were Christmases and Thanksgivings, but there’s a different level of intimacy shared when you’ve kneeled in front of your third coffin in four years.

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Lauren Landry Comments
Why 'Shit' Isn't a Swear

At least once a day, my mother could be found meandering around our house naked.

She was the same mother who, at the age of 10, assured me “shit” was not a swear, which I, of course, took full advantage of as we sped down Route 1 on our way home from Boothbay Harbor, Maine. I called every three cars we passed that day “a piece of shit” — BMWs included. 

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Lauren Landry Comments
The Blue Goose

Every time I go home to Lewiston, Maine, whether it be for holidays, birthdays, or my own sanity, I stop in at The Blue Goose. Whenever driving by as a teenager, I’d gawk at the goose flying high on the bar’s wooden sign in all of its navy blue-and-white feathered glory. Like so many of the state’s residents, it always appeared to be migrating south, and that’s all I had dreamed of doing. I wanted nothing more than to escape from the state where outsiders think every road leads to nowhere, none of the homes have electricity and everyone’s shacking up with his or her relatives.

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Daddy's Little Larry

My father gave me the sex talk during a Celtics halftime show when I was 20. After watching a commercial in which a fellow father fumbled through his own birds and the bees speech, mine sat up from his recliner and asked, “Well, are you ready?”

“For what? The second half? Yes! Halftime always takes too long.”

“No. The talk.”

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Lauren LandryComment