I went to bed one night and my sister was alive, and I woke up and she was braindead. Though it’s been more than two years, in the timeline of my life it’s like no time has passed at all. 

The other day I realized that over the course of the past month I had barely posted to our Instagram account.... I often fantasize about deleting my Instagram account. My self-control is paltry. In fact, I don't even allow myself to keep the app on my phone. I redownload it every...

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...

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...

When I visualize my grief underbelly it’s on the set of a film noir —preferably with a light mist or drizzle. Photo Credit: Movie Still from Third Man There is a grief underbelly: a dark and damp place swirling with thoughts that many grievers have but are too ashamed to...