We are not ready. We are not ready to become almost totally dependent on one another, to be helped out of bed, to be helped to walk, to be helped to eat, to be helped to -- and perhaps in -- the shower, to be helped to -- and perhaps on -- the toilet.
In 1969, my father traveled to Japan on a business trip and brought back an elegant silk robe as a gift for my mother. They had been high school sweethearts. He was the gregarious student body president and she was the timid valedictorian. He wasn't one for giving gifts and she wasn't comfortable accepting them.
Is it okay to go days at a time and not think about him? Is it okay for me to be so happy in life? To dance and sing and love (and photograph)? How do I answer a stranger who asks how many children I have?
The inadequacy of words that console is exacerbated when a child takes his or her own life. It's a loss that adds the additional burdens of unbearable remorse and unanswered questions to already grieving parents; the general ambiguity heightens the pain and prolongs the grieving process.
What is happening to our species is we are becoming far more than just human. All around us incredible advances in technology are changing and improving us.
I think it's time to create a market for art that deepens the spirit, not makes it shallower, a market to encourage art that taps into wisdom and truth that has lasted for generations, eons, as long as memory has served humanity.
It's 8 a.m. on a Saturday, and I'm standing under a heavy sky in a muddy yard behind a three-story structure of hand-hewn limestone in the middle of nowhere. Everything feels wrong.
It's all too easy for us to say that we know with confidence, what we would do should we step into Brittany's shoes, but do we really?
I can't overstate the importance of updating your will during divorce. Since divorce can take years to process, your life feels like it's in a constant state of transition. Untying knots requires tying up loose ends. One of those is your will.
Across Rosario Strait, the streets are full of candles, flowers, teddy bears. I see these images and I see pain trying to find its way to love.
Recently someone close to my family passed away and it made me think about "things." It makes me think of the big questions in life, why were we created, where do we go from here, etc. But I think the thing I think about most is living life to its fullest.
Jewish tradition has a nuanced approach to this challenge. Thoughtful rabbis and scholars disagree. What is clear, however, is the various factors that matter in making the decision.
As a professor who studies attitudes toward death among a wide populace, I ask myself, "Are my Jewish friends in denial?" After all, if death really is our destination, then we cease to exist when we die.
One dear friend pointed out this morning how hard it is to reconcile the cemetery where she takes her very young child to visit her father's grave with the plastic headstones all over town, the scary way graveyards are depicted, not just at Halloween, but in many children's stories.
This ending is different, though, different than all the other years. My older daughter Ruby's 70-year-old mother-in-law Alice, a woman I consider a dear friend, was diagnosed with metastasized lung cancer a few short months ago.
We filed out the church doors to the memory garden where a small hole had been dug. The minister laid my parents' urn into the hole and invited family members to place a spadeful of dirt on it.