Finding Home, Part One: Taking Back the Story

I am born.

 It is 12:55 am on a cold Canadian winter’s night. My mother has labored long, but I have gotten myself stuck in her birth canal, hesitant, I suppose, to come out and greet the world. She births me through a slit in her abdomen, just as her mother before birthed her, and I, thirty-two years later, will birth my own son. The women in my family give life through our stomachs, it Read the rest

i am. [a post about heritage]

my first name, elena, means light, or the bright one.
it appears my parents knew from my birth that i was made to shine in the dark places.


born to an italian father and a scottish mother, i was given two middle names, each to mark a distinct piece of my heritage.
teresa, from my father’s side; it means summer harvester.
ann, from my mother’s. ann means full of grace.


i am … Read the rest