On death and loss, a personal and political reflection — Life is perilous. I write this on the morning of my father’s death, what would have been his 80th birthday. Is his birthday? Was his birthday? I’m not sure what tense to use here. I’d had plans to write about the overwhelm of being an American these past few weeks…

I will be sucking life’s marrow ’til the very end — The last few weeks have been hellish in this country. We’ve seen the worst of human nature on display, not only in the shooters, but in many of the people responding to the shootings. We’ve seen a government paralyzed, incapable of taking action despite so many people hurting. This is…

Writing a eulogy is an act of loving someone a lot and letting them go a little — I wish you didn’t need this. You shouldn’t need this. But if you do, I am placing this here for you as a small offering of love. You are not alone. If you are called to write a remembrance for your child, I am with you. You can do this. …

When there’s more than one — “I don’t want them to go. Seriously. I love them to death. But once they are gone, won’t it be kind of nice to have fewer complications, fewer interruptions?” These are the things you say before they go, before they’re gone. Up until the second it happens, their leaving is…

Too many people die alone, leaving families to grieve remotely — One year ago this week, my 85-year-old father knew he’d die soon. Swiftly advancing cancer had left his body failing rapidly. There was nothing left to do but take pain medication and wait. But he was among the lucky, in one respect, and so was his family. Dad’s brain remained…

On accidents, adolescence, and the art of self-discovery — In the startling, disembodied moments after impact I remember thinking, well, that wasn’t so bad. The next thing I remember was hitting the pavement. As I would woozily realize while people began appearing over me, asking one another whether I was okay, my body had been thrown into the air…

I wonder who will write my obituary? — I just found out my mom’s second husband died eight years ago. It was a brief marriage — their whole relationship spanned less than two years — and an unhappy one almost from the start. Mom never liked talking about the man; she wished she could erase that entire experience…