My mother used to say, "All my favorite people have already died." She doesn't say it much anymore because she knows that it is a phrase that disturbe...
In a sense, Memorial Day weekend should usher this country into the griever's world: The every day reality of grief. Memorial Day should (or could) be a time when the whole nation bows its collective head to its collective heart, and says: Ow. Ow. OW. This hurts.
My father helped me with my third grade science project, carefully using Tonka Toys to adhere styrofoam "planets" when creating the solar system. He w...
The Internet can be intrusive, yes, but it can also be a voice of comfort -- and, in my case, a close friend leaning in to whisper, "You know how you thought your dad was the greatest guy in the world? You were right. Let me tell you why."
It would be wise for those with jobs that have few options for movement to develop scheduled programs of walking and more vigorous exercise during slow periods, before and after shifts, and on any days off.
Man, did my mother love me. She loved me in ways she could not love herself. And now I am faced with this daunting task to love myself the way my mother loved me.
Instead of thinking of it as her Papa leaving the earth, she urged her family to believe the idea that this wasn't his death, but rather the birthday of him becoming an angel.
These truths might not be popular, especially among people who like to stay busy and cyclists who like to travel in groups and draft behind one another. But they are insights that could only be gained by several days in a ditch, ER and hospital -- my own school of hard knocks.
What I'm left with now is not only all of Chrissy's things for the time being, but this drive to carry on without her. I refuse to acknowledge we lost, that I am defeated. She wouldn't want that. I try to appreciate beautiful days for both of us. I've caught myself wondering if I can accurately gauge what she would and wouldn't have loved. I think I can. No, wait -- I know I can.
I saw no silver lining in my mom's young death. She was 46 and I was 15. It ushered in my life, 2.0, a time when I came to view the world through catastrophe-colored lenses -- something with which I still struggle.
The movement toward "good" death - legalized medical aid in dying - has been growing for decades in the U.S., but has been gaining momentum and attention in recent months.
It is so profoundly difficult to move forward after our superhero dies, but it is possible to live life again. You'll always have a hole in your heart from your loss, but you'll make it -- you'll even be happy again.
I strongly believe everything happens for a reason. Had terminal cancer not happened to me, I would not have been able to inspire my closest friends and family to appreciate the beautiful gift of life a little more and live more appreciative and positive lives with my story.
"Mother's Intuition kicked in," Heather told me, "and I said we're going to the children's hospital and won't leave without answers. Something's going on."
Many dying patients cling to a zest for life and a sense of humor that endear them to hospice workers.
The bond we share is one of loss but it is also one of strength, courage, perseverance, and eventual, renewed living. I am certain -- given the choice -- each one of us would rather not have you walk amongst us, but since you are here, know that you have our spirit and example in which to hang onto throughout the entirety of your journey.