Category Archives: grief
Recently, some words from ‘Charlotte’s Web‘ surfaced from my unconscious. (If you’ve never read Charlotte’s Web, I don’t know what you’re doing here. We are probably from different planets.) When Wilbur sees Charlotte’s egg sac, he asks if it’s … Continue reading
Once you are traumatized, you are vulnerable to triggers. And triggers are everywhere. Jane Birkin’s daughter, Kate Barry, jumped from her fourth story window last week. I couldn’t stop thinking about her despair, and how fame and talent don’t … Continue reading
When I saw a few moments of the Cancer Dance video on the evening news, I was dismayed. The news people smiled and exchanged platitudes about courage and healing. Wouldn’t it be wonderful, they mused, if people everywhere were … Continue reading
My memory of hearing the Velvet Underground for the first time is indelible in every detail. I had just moved to London and I was sixteen and up for anything. I was smoking hash with some guys I’d just met, … Continue reading
Before today, I have felt offended by images of prosthetic limbs that seemed to fetishize amputees. Even though it’s none of my business what people fetishize, I will always remember the doctor who told Max to consider having his … Continue reading
It has been a heartbreaking weekend. God bless Amanda Palmer for cheering us up. ** If you don’t see a picture, go here.
Last night, I stayed up until dawn after taking in too much suffering. I am trying to learn tonglen, a method of breathing in suffering and breathing out compassion, but I forgot. I forgot, and found myself dwelling on … Continue reading
On Thursday it will be three years. I never expected to still be around. Time doesn’t heal all wounds but it changes your emotional terrain. A couple of weeks ago, I considered living for the first time. I was … Continue reading
It hurt my heart to learn that Matthew Warren, the son of Pastor Rick Warren, ended his life at age 27. I didn’t even need to read the story to assume that Matthew’s death was caused by lifelong depression. … Continue reading
Max is 37 today, somewhere out in the cosmos where I will find him when the time comes. Lighting a candle and waiting it out.