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It happened in New York, April 10th, nineteen years ago. Even my hand balks at the date. I had to push to write it down, just to keep the pen moving o...more

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When we are sad—at least I am like this—it can be comforting to cling to familiar objects, to the things that don't change.

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When we are sad...it can be comforting to cling to familiar objects, to things that don't change.

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But sometimes, unexpectedly, grief pounded over me in waves that left me gasping; and when the waves washed back, I found myself looking out over a br...more

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I was deluded, and I knew it. Worse: my love for Pippa was muddied-up below the waterline with my mother, with my mother's death, with losing my mothe...more

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...with a grief no less sharp for not being intimate with its object.