Chris used to put almost empty milk cartons back in the fridge. And when I say “almost” I mean there was literally one gulp left. He’d eat almost all his dinner except two bites and put the almost empty plate uncovered in the fridge… On the off chance that one lonely bite of cold, congealed dinner would sound appetizing later.

“[There is a] universal truth that we are all are responsible for our lives — that we all suffer and we all need to find light in that darkness, strength in that weakness.” This quote from Chery Strayed is how I ended my last blog post. These words are still echoing in my head. I’m wondering what it would look

We’ve all heard the cliché saying, when one door closes another door opens. It’s optimism at its brightest, and when you’re in the depths of pain, these words almost always come from someone on the outside looking in. I’m not trying to be callous; I’m generally an optimistic person, and I appreciate these words of hope. But at the same

On Death and Diets

For Lent this year, I gave up diets. Yeah, I know. That sounds less like sacrifice and more like indulgence. But here’s the thing: I was secretly obsessed with diets, bouncing on and off various forms of them for at least the last decade. For weeks at a time, I would restrict whole food groups, all under the guise of

When the snow blankets my world, swallowing up the sound and reflecting all the light, I float between the bed sheets, eyes shut, lingering in those last few moments of half sleep. My fingers entwine with freckled, callused hands; hands that walked me back up the aisle after the “till death do us part,” hands that cradled the tiny head

“Grief, as I read somewhere once, is a lazy Susan. One day it is heavy and underwater, and the next day it spins and stops at loud and rageful, and the next day at wounded keening, and the next day numbness, silence.” ~from Traveling Mercies: Some Thoughts on Faith by Anne Lamott When I finally came to the realization that

I was utterly terrified to hit the publish button on my last post, The Day Death Ripped My World Apart. In fact, WordPress tells me I made 83 revisions to the post before making it public. Perhaps that’s a clue on just how anxious I was to share my words with the world. But almost 600 Facebook shares and a

There’s something deeply human about imagining worst case scenarios. We like to think we know how we’d react to hearing horrifying news. From Hollywood to the Hallmark Channel, we see movies of people screaming, fainting, punching walls, or wailing. But when three policemen knocked on my door on an October Friday morning and uttered the words that would ring in