My young children are fortunate enough to have never experienced the harsh realities of life and death. The closest they have come is an imaginary spider dying.
In preparation for one of our high school reunion many years after graduation, the chairperson of our reunion suggested that each of us write about the best time of our lives. I gave this careful thought and simply wrote: "The present is the best time of my life."
I avoided reading Charlotte Kitley's blog post for the reason many of us avoid many things: because I knew it would make me feel something hard, that it would affect me, that it would probably rattle me to the core. It has.
Sensitivity be damned. Offending people may not work for everyone, but Urban Outfitters obviously feels it works for them -- surely they'll find more ways to offend. It's going to be hard to top a bloody Kent State sweatshirt, however.
I bicycled 1,200 miles of this coast in the fall of 2009. My 6-year-old son died that summer, and I was alone for the first time in my life. Not the alone that you find in a quiet moment with a cup of tea and a book. I mean the alone that follows you into crowded rooms and pushes everyone away.
Facebook, Google and Twitter all have different policies dealing with your digital afterlife. State laws are emerging in the social media afterlife world. That being said, here are 3 ways to plan your digital afterlife now.
Once in a while someone enters our world that makes us feel especially loved. Everyone feels blessed by their presence and their love provides the glue that makes families and friends unite, colleagues gather and whole communities rally around common goals. Such a one is my sister-in-law, Sophie.
Resist the tide. Leave law school not as an attorney, but rather as a human being who happens to be an attorney.
I assumed that it would be loud, dramatic and chaotic. I thought that my body would collapse under the weight of the grief, that I would be so beside myself with sadness that I would be unable to function.
The worst part of losing her wasn't finding her body; It wasn't even having to break the news to her mother (my grandmother) later that day. It was the moment I returned to my job and realized that I was expected to simply blend back into society as if I wasn't permanently damaged.
I'd never experienced seasickness before. I'd been on ocean trawlers, cruisers, catamarans, and pontoons and never had a queasy moment. I was suddenly alone in space, shivering and sick inside my foul weather gear.
My ground rules were simple - I would talk to anyone whose face, not their crotch, appeared in the frame. With my heart rate raised, I moseyed on over to Chatroulette.com and hit "Start."
Perspective is a funny, fleeting thing, and the lens in which we view our world is ever changing. Often we stumble upon a perspective we like -- a perspective of playfulness, appreciation, or positivity -- and it transforms our whole world for a few moments.
Nothing seems to shock us more than a diagnosis of cancer. I suspect it's terrifying because, deep inside, each of us knows it could happen to us. We pause when a friend or family member is stricken, our frightened minds turning to mush. Oh, no, we think. Am I next?
Dad had a fall. The resulting injuries are horrific. The top of his femur smashed through his pelvis, shattering it. Picture a plate dropped onto a tile floor. That is my dad's pelvis. I've seen the images from the CAT scan, and they made me sick to my stomach. Doctors can do nothing to fix it.
September 11 is now a National Day of Service when Americans come together like citizens did after the attacks. It is also a day to honor those like the first responders, and service members in the following years, who gave so much. Spending the day volunteering helps create something good out of the tragedy of 9/11.