When I read a memoir by a person who is nearing the end of their life, I primarily feel thankful. Not necessarily that I'm alive (though that's there too), but that a person whose time is short has chosen to dedicate a large portion of that time to give us insight...

This is the second part in a short series on the end of my dad's life. For part one, click here.    Late January, 2004 My dad's room is dim. The light that diffuses in from the hallway mixes with the glow from the various machines that are connected to his...

December | 2003 The gravel crunches after I shift to drive and we slowly begin the descent down our driveway. The roles are reversed. Instead of my dad driving me to a sleepover while we listen to classical music or Fat Bottomed Girls, I am now his chauffeur. I don't choose any background...

  Earlier this summer I posted on Instagram  that it was my dad’s birthday. I honestly haven’t been thinking a lot about my dad - my head and heart are too wrapped up in the loss of my sister. Right now, I’m not a great model for managing multiple losses, as...