Cathy Cash Spellman

New York Times & International Best Selling Author

The Philosopher’s Teacup


On the Death of a Child

Sunday, April 10th, 2011

Losing a child is a special kind of grief, irrevocably out of sync with nature.  We’re not supposed to bury our children — the mind and heart rebel and struggle to find a place to contain the unbearable and unthinkable. We give birth to infinite love when we give birth to our children.  Joy, hope, [ Read More ]

The Heart That Once Truly Loves Never Forgets

Sunday, April 10th, 2011

When my daughter died, I couldn’t find the strength to say the words aloud.  Passed away, I could manage, as if she still hovered somewhere just outside my reach.  Died was final and irrevocable and I simply could not say the word. The first few weeks after her death were a haze of grief.  A [ Read More ]

Prayer for Me

Friday, March 25th, 2011

Truth is I need to pray to a Mother God sometimes… not a Father God.  One who’ll understand without more explanation than I have the oomph to give.  Which is really odd, in my case, as my Mother never understood and my father always did, but still the mythos of being gently Mothered must live [ Read More ]

Chatting with Heaven

Friday, March 25th, 2011

I grew up talking to God… an Irish thing to do.  Walking down the street saying, Hi God, it’s me Cathy, how are You today?  That’s a great tree You made.  Thanks for the sunrise.  Please help me with my math test.  Please make it easier for my mother to breathe.  That kind of conversation.  [ Read More ]

Irish Childhoods are Different

Friday, March 11th, 2011

My mother could foretell death.  She’d inherited the family banshee, the Irish harbinger who shrieks her fatal message to one member of each generation to let them know that someone is about to die.  “What a pity about John,” she might say, “he’ll be gone by June 15th,” and close family members knew enough not [ Read More ]

Swimming in the Ancestral Gene Pool

Thursday, February 17th, 2011

Because she didn’t understand that love was meant to be soft and warm, but she intended to be loving, nonetheless, my mother gave from her brain, instead of her heart.  I believe her heart had been battered shut in childhood by a tyrannical father and ineffectual mother, but her mind was limitless and her teaching [ Read More ]

Traveling Companions

Sunday, January 30th, 2011

I had a vision, shortly after my daughter died, in which I saw her standing on a great plain of Light, through which a Golden Road traveled towards Infinity.  She stood solemnly, awaiting a command to move on – with Dakota and me standing like sentinels, one on either side.  She said we mustn’t set [ Read More ]

Some Things You Never Forget

Saturday, December 4th, 2010

Some things you never forget.  Like the comfort of your father’s hand in yours when you’re small and afraid, or the final ember of light in the eyes of your dying child. Other threads are inextricably woven into the softer fabric of soul. The sensuous, cold satin of summer’s first ice cream on your five [ Read More ]

Life… So far to go in a strange neighborhood

Saturday, December 4th, 2010

Here I sit, teacup in hand, much of the way through a life that was totally unlike my perfectly sensible expectations, hoping to write about what I’ve learned that might be valuable. I think I should tell you right off the bat that I’ve had an incident-prone life.  Events find me, sometimes ravage me, eventually, [ Read More ]

7 Steps to Perfect Happiness? I Don’t Think So…

Saturday, December 4th, 2010

I’m fascinated by the recent proliferation of books that tell you how easy life should be.  All it takes is The Secret 7 Steps to Success, or 12 Steps to Something or Other. We can cure all illness with the proper mindset, we can get rich with affirmations.  Joy is our birthright and all we [ Read More ]

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