Archives

The fifth Mother’s Day without you

Some years, Mother’s Day feels like a speed bump. Others, it is Everest.

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There is a laundry list of important people my mom will never meet. My editor. My new PCP. My live-in boyfriend and love of my life. Our new cat. His family. My new favorite barista. And so on.

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On learning to love when you’ve lost, and how it’s only kind of like riding a bike

I’m scared of a lot of things. See: spiders, vest-less roller-coasters and falling out of cars mid-turn (to name a few). But, for some odd reason, I’ve never been scared of relationships, even when both history and bad television say I should be. I’ve never been afraid to give my all to another person — be […]

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My one New Year’s resolution

I often wonder if death is my shtick. My sweet spot. My comfort zone. My “thing,” if you will.

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My year in times I cried

What I choose to drink doesn’t change the fact that I’ve always been a crier. It’s written in my DNA. Always has been, always will be.

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Moms versus Justin Bieber

My mother hated few people. Justin Bieber was one of them.

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Thanks, spanx and cheesecake: An ode to November

Last November, 20 some-odd friends and I unfolded metal chairs around two beer pong tables, a snack tray and a music stand. We raised plastic cups of apple cider-sangria and cans of warm Rolling Rock while cheers-ing our inaugural Friendsgiving feast. Somewhere between (A) under-cooking the sweet potatoes with my best friend and her off-the-boat Irish mother, (B) ripping my […]

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Are you there, childhood? It’s me, Meaghan

One of the hardest parts about losing both parents has been losing the memories that went with them. The stories I would ask to hear over and over again at thirteen, but couldn’t care less about come high school because I was a hormonal dick-wad with a Myspace to manage.

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Out of the frying pan, into the fire: A life lessons listicle

A friend recently informed me that I’ve been living below the poverty line. Since blowing through my savings in a mere two-ish years on my own, I’ve had the nice, expensive Pursian rug pulled out from underneath me. The one that paved the way for lavish, week-long music festivals and all of the bar tabs I […]

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Me and Sarah and the movie about the dying girl

Sometime this summer, I made the conscious and sober — though somewhat hungover — decision to go see “Me and Earl and the Dying Girl” alone.

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