The Croc In My Lola’s House

Walking My Crocodile by John Drysdale He was six feet long and wrinkly when I first met him, and his name was Ay-Ay (short for buwaya). Spending time with him was the highlight of my summers in Cebu as a child. Ay-Ay lived under the stairs of my grandmother's house in Cebu. I met him…

My Father’s Eyes

I have nothing tangible that belonged to my father. They are all in my mother’s and brother’s possession. But when I look into the mirror each day, I see my father so clearly. I have his eyes, I have his nose. No one can ever take that away from me. My father died in 1981,…

Childhood Grief and the Harry Meghan Interview

I didn’t get to see the actual interview, but I’ve read the blow by blow accounts in The NY Times and here are my thoughts from the perspective of someone who knows childhood grief well. There was grief all over the page in this interview. Un-processed grief over the sudden, tragic and early death of…