Memories live in the most unlikely places... in a scent, an old t-shirt, a teacup. In my case, it's my father's face. Not the one he was born with, but the one he wore on his wrist.
At 28 years old, she was certainly a senior citizen in a world of planned obsolescence, but I guess I had taken her for granted. And now that she's gone, I am left high and dry with a pile of dirty clothes.
I have lived the Holocaust my whole life. Early on, my consciousness was considerably wrought by my relationship with my survivor mother, her often intense and destructive interactions with her family and the different ways she and they coped with their past.
Your letter made me laugh and cringe. It also brought up a few important points. Some made me realize how naïve you were, and some made me realize how right you are now.
Dear Waldo, I'm seventy one, and I just got made a widow for the fourth time, and I am just so filled with regrets.
You know when you see yourself in a photo and think, "Gee I look horrible" and put it away only to find it years later and think, "Wow! I looked pretty good back then?" I had a moment like that a few days ago but it was while listening to the Metropolitan Opera Channel on Sirius.
This morning, it occurs to me as I type these words that this too, strangely enough, is a kind of ritual, a kind of filial impulse to reconcile Mother's world and my own. The solemnity of the act -- my fingers gliding on the keyboard, my mind on things ethereal -- is something akin, at last, to my mother's morning prayers.
Do you have the sense that life is speeding up the older you get? If so, you're not alone. Can there be a reason for this perception? I've discovered three scientific theories that shine a little light on this mysterious experience.
If I am like my mother, I am the person I always wanted to be. The greatest gift from my mother, the best mother in the world, was how to be a mother myself.
Your birthday and Mother's Day are fast approaching, and this summer will be the 10th anniversary of your death. A day hasn't gone by when I haven't thought of you. In fact, many of those days I have talked to you, and while I know you hear me, it would be really nice to hear your voice.
Note: I wrote the essay below almost two decades ago, at the beginning of my life as a writer. It is collected in my first book Perfume Dreams: Reflec...
Mẹ Việt Nam ơi, Chúng Con Vẫn Còn đây (Oh Mother Vietnam, We Are Still Here) The lyrics from this sentimental song come back to me once in...
This post is a part of our Girls in STEM mentorship program. Emilie Reas, a neuroscience Ph.D. student at the University of California San Diego's Human Memory Lab where studying memory retrieval with fMRI, teamed up with Vi Nguyen, a high school junior with a passion for science, to explore how the brain remembers past experiences. Their project aimed to understand real-life memories in the context of findings from Cognitive Neuroscience research.
I'm glad I've renewed my relationship with my generation's cousins, and look forward to meeting the next two generations at Grey's memorial service later this week. We just never know when we'll be saying either, 'I wish we had been closer when we could.'
For a native of Boston, a lifelong fan of the Red Sox, the Celtics and the Patriots, the bomb attack shattered decades of pleasant memories of Boston in a painful tragic moment.
My sons take their seats, the motor kicks on and the swings start turning to the right in a soft, careful circle. It is their spotlight. It is as wide as a slow dance and twice as wild. Their hearts beat accordingly. They pass me by again and again. The only thing that changes is the calendar.
By: Tia Ghose, LiveScience Staff Writer Published: 04/05/2013 02:18 PM EDT on LiveScience Long after a near-death experience, people recall the in...
I have been in three major car accidents in my life -- two of my own making and a passenger in the third. Having survived all three I have always felt that I am not going to die in one -- I just hope God doesn't take that as a challenge. This is the story of the first one.
It surprises me that what I really miss is just being able to call out the words, "MOM." It's one of the first words we learn, and one we often take for granted.
At one point or another, everyone can say they have experienced a few unforgettable memories in their lifetimes. You know those kinds of memories where you remember every single little detail even though years and years have gone by?
A skier in the water is supposed to hold up a ski, but I didn't have that option. I just couldn't let go of the rope. And when my father asked me why, I said, "Daddy, I had to try!"
I would not have 'known them anywhere.' Forty years is a long time, and we, all four of us, are now blurred and softened versions of the ones who'd spent nearly every day together long ago.
If we weren't having "hangibers" for dinner, our youngest might request "bazanya" (lasagna) or that old family favorite, "pisketti." At snack time we might have "bow wow pips" (bagel chips) or "Wheat Fings" (Wheat Thins), as our middle child used to say.
Jussi Hovenen sings songs that few people care to hear nowadays. He's the last rune singer in Finland -- the only living man who can still sing most of his ancestors' great ballads and epics from memory.
In her quiet, forceful, beautiful way, Julie Green is trying to end the death penalty in this country. She paints, on ceramic plates, portraits of death-row inmates' last meal requests
