Some people have lucky numbers. Others, unlucky ones. I have a sacred number: 11:11 in the morning, the hour and minute of my daughter Maya's birth. When 11:11 popped up on my iPhone screen this morning, I thought, "Aha, beloved girl. There you are, waking me up...
Today is Maya’s 43rd birthday. I was 43 years old when Maya died, and she was 19. So this year, a mysterious circle is forming. There are so many “I wonders” inside the circle of synchronicity, so many “What ifs?” What if Maya had lived to be middle aged? Who would...
Being a mother who outlives her child is mind blowing. It’s a lot of other things too, of course. But on this day, the 23rd anniversary of Maya’s death, it’s the mind-bending aspect that grabs me. Maya’s beautiful face, her fierce brown eyes that snapped with wit and...
Today, sitting outside at a cafe on Grand Avenue, I met a two-month old baby, Stella, her mother, and her grandmother. We chatted under the shade of a tree, while Stella followed her grandmother's words with her blue gray eyes, alert to every syllable. I couldn't...
I love memoirs that push the edge of the genre, using fictional techniques to tell a riveting true story. Authors like Alice Sebold (Lucky), Jenette Wells (The Glass Castle), Cheryl Strayed (Wild), and Ann Patchett (Truth and Beauty) spring readily to mind. But...
Maya's quirky little saying, "That's the way live lives," was meant to comfort me. Today, on the 22nd anniversary of her death, it still does. I have a beautiful bouquet of lilacs on my writing table in her honor. Her spunk, fierce intelligence, and beauty are with...
When the news of Philip Seymour Hoffman's death by heroin overdose broke, social networks were abuzz. People were understandably shocked, upset, and sad. Many were livid. I saw dozens of comments castigating Hoffman for leaving his family because of his...
Often, when tragedy strikes, we feel singled out. As if we are the only ones who are suffering. Our culture tends to create an exclusion zone around people who are grieving, or who have been horribly wounded in some way. This only adds to the wounding and makes grief...
“What are those cracks by your eyes, Mimi?” My four-year-old granddaughter was staring intently at my face. It took me a minute to compute. “Wrinkles,” I said. “Do I have wrinkles?” Lucia touched her own cheeks. “No honey, you’re too young for wrinkles,” I...
"As you approach the holidays, remember: grief is both a necessity and a privilege. It comes as a result of giving and receiving love. Don’t let anyone take your grief away. Love yourself. Be patient with yourself. And allow yourself to be surrounded by loving,...