Alan lived with a rare genetic disorder that made him unpredictable, child-like and full of wonder. When he died at age 43, his memorial service was unique as he was.
I promised myself I wouldn’t, but then I opened up to a writer I’ve long admired about the most surreal, unbelievable thing that has ever happened to me.
Ten months after my sister’s death, I can laugh and smile. I can sometimes care about other people’s problems. I can’t listen to voicemails or write thank you notes or stop waiting for the other shoe to drop.