“So, what do you want to talk about today?” the thin Asian woman across from me asks. She asks this twice a week because I see her twice a week. Twice a week, I sit on a gray sofa with red accent pillows and talk for 50 minutes. She listens, often interjects and asks questions.
Full disclosure: I love Christmas. Like, in a frenetic, maniacal way.
Many in the black and Caribbean communities reeled over news of the recent apparent suicide of Lowell Hawthorne, founder and CEO of Golden Krust Bakery & Grill, with commentary ranging from the proverbial “Money cannot buy happiness” to true befuddlement: “Why would he do it?”
Theodora Marie is my mother. She is one-half of an identical twinship forged in Grandmother’s womb some 66 years ago. Teddie is a fiery Sagittarius, an old-school nationalist and my very first love.
The saying goes, “Healthy mind, healthy body.” But how often do we tend, acknowledge and nurture our mental health?