Columns

Noah’s life work is to learn to be himself and find joy in the process. And it is both his task and mine to teach others not to judge and…

But I have decided, or at least I hope, that maybe the Hero Myth can have more than one script. Maybe the mere act of mothering—loving our children, trying to…

It was the beginning of a lifelong conversation about death with my children, one that requires vigilance of thought and word. I am my daughters’ guide through a forest of…

But beyond that, Russell, an anthropologist by training, imbued the story with themes that spoke directly to the swirling disquiet in my brain: the trepidation of embarking on an uncharted…

This was just one of three local chapters, and each likely only represented a fraction of people who had lost a child. The sad tribe of which we were now…

The best way to manage that whirling hurricane in Noah’s mind is to allow him to change.

At the end of this month, on February 27, Luke would have turned eight years old. We celebrated just one birthday together. Seven—and counting—without him. When Luke turned one, we…

Will he like his new appearance? Will he have regrets, feel alone, become depressed again?

The clack of my heels striking the sidewalk echoes round and hollow through the frigid night. Whorls of steam curl from my nose, and the cold air leaves an alkaline…

These passing moments of grace, probably long forgotten by those who offered them, were like lamps illuminating a darkened footpath during my son’s short life.

I sense the freedom he feels, and I too feel the freedom gained by silently imparting the heartfelt message, I love you as you are.