Every night I dream that my parents are alive. The dreams blend together and fade quickly once I’m awake. Sometimes there is a residue that sticks. It’s never pleasant. It never feels like they’re with me. Just like I’m working out my own psychological shit. I hope that I won’t have these

Twenty-two is a young age. It’s a young age to even be in love, and a young age to have been married. It’s certainly a young age to be a widow. Yet at the tender age of 22, I have been all three of the above. When people ask me about my life, I tell them that I can divide it into three ...Continue

“It’s going to be okay.”These are the first words I uttered to my best friend Hepburn, after coming home one ordinary Tuesday and finding her crumpled on my couch. Between the sobs and snot, she quickly told me what had happened on her first day of work: The only man she had ever loved in a

My mother was a literal genius, with an IQ of 145. My mother funneled that intelligence into interpersonal skills, excelling as a social worker, as people would flock to her, recognizing her empathy and understanding. My mother was an artist, from painting to interior design. My mother also

I gave birth to a premature baby and endured a three month stay in the newborn intensive care unit. Then my son died and I survived. I am a mother whose child died. It's a role I never imagined I'd play. The grief initially felt insurmountable. But with time and a lot of introspection, my loss