My grandma called daily and, I sometimes sent her to voicemail — rationalizing that I was just too busy to pick up. In the wake of her death, I cherish those recordings.
Dying while doing what we love is how we’d all like to go out. But as I watched my friends risk everything for the thrill of the climb, I felt compelled to remind them of the difference between challenge and folly.
In a sold-out movie theater, watching the film based on Cheryl Strayed's bestseller, I saw my own experience with mother loss play out on the big screen.
To distract ourselves from Dad's fatal diagnosis, my brother and I planted ourselves in front of the TV — inhaling a steady diet of "The Jetsons" and "The Dating Game."
A few weeks before Thanksgiving, my 12-year-old son went out to play in the rain and never came home. That year, everything about the holiday just felt wrong.
I had just given birth to my third child and was training for a half-marathon when I had a heart attack. And as I lay in my hospital bed, I could hear the woman in the next room dying.
Don't tell me hard it was to get to work during "superstorm" Sandy, or how long you lived without power. The hurricane killed my father right before my eyes.
Suffering from terminal cancer, Brittany Maynard made plans to end her life. My friend Chris Doheny, after a transplant rejection, made a different choice. Both should be respected.
I didn't see my ailing godmother during the final years of her life — thanks to my difficult relationship with her husband. In the aftermath of her death, I was overwhelmed by guilt.