Contemplating Widowhood
Contemplating Widowhood A few months ago, my husband got sick. We don’t know with what, and although he was never tested, we suspect it was some strain of Covid. Three…
I-don’t-care-itis: Death of a small town
I-don’t-care-itis: Death of a small town. As part owner of an aging home in a small town, I’m interested in its upkeep as well as the surrounding neighborhood. On a…
The Space Between Us
Forty years of anniversaries that commemorate the last time we thought we knew what we were getting into.
How A Dermatologist Made Me Obsessed With My Face
Do the Face Gods hate me now?
I Have Not Come To Mourn. I Have Come To Say Goodbye.
She had been in a nursing home for several years, deteriorating at a snail’s pace. On my annual visits, my brother and I would question the wisdom of stockpiling old people in places like this.
So Long. I Love You, Babe. A Hospice Story.
From where he sits on the sofa, Vivaldi on the portable CD player next to him, he sees everything but can make sense of nothing. His home gleams. Not a spot of dust anywhere. His wife, with nothing else to do but care for him, has become obsessive. Dust she can control. A husband whose mind deteriorates a little more each day is beyond her.
About those Smoothies
Remember the juicing craze? Maybe it's still going on. I watched Fat, Sick and Nearly Dead on youTube after my brother mentioned it over a year ago. The dietary suggestions…