After Dad died, my body felt numb, but my breasts soldiered on.

No matter how intense my feelings, my car always comes to the rescue, with available music, clean tissues, and much-needed privacy.

I used to resent the endless sorting, washing and folding. Then my daughter got sick — and everything changed.

Depression killed my innately joyful sister. When people ask how she died, this is how I respond.

After my husband died, an old friend asked me what he could offer me, beyond words. I thought of something that our young sons could treasure.

My dad and the rock star Prince had everything and nothing in common. This is the time of year I feel their absence most acutely.

My students were witness to my very public loss.