There Will Be An After
February 15th, 2019 | by Adina Giannelli
Eight years ago, you were in a Target proscenium holding up a baby who had stopped breathing, blood pooling outward
Browsing the "death" Tag
Time, Travel: Personal Apocalypses and What Comes After
October 16th, 2018 | by Cheryl Klein
Two-thousand twelve was an apocalyptic year for me, as if the Mayans had been thinking of a thirty-something white lady
Ragged: A Stillbirth Story
May 12th, 2017 | by Gabriella Belfiglio
Scattering Here bone and here skin— no teeth in these ashes—you didn’t have time to grow that sharp bite
DIAGNOSIS: On Sickness and Our Country
March 7th, 2017 | by Tara Dorabji
My mom was diagnosed with cancer the same week that Trump was elected president. On the morning after the election
“Inescapable Truth”: An interview with Gina Frangello about EVERY KIND OF WANTING
January 11th, 2017 | by Meg Lemke
Every Kind of Wanting captures how I wake up some days; certainly the state of babies; and as a title, evokes the
Radical Empathy: DEATH IS STUPID, an Interview with Anastasia Higginbotham
July 25th, 2016 | by Katherine Thome
Grieving children and children of divorce learn way too early that adults are emotional children. Children of tragedy experience a
Jenna Fox Took SELFIES FOR THE FUNERAL
June 9th, 2016 | by Jenna Fox
My grandma was wrinkled elbows, open-faced cheese sandwiches on plastic plates from the ’70s, and white orthopedic New Balance sneakers.
LIFE’S LONGING FOR ITSELF: Lacunae, an Elegy for My Mother, Part V — by Lisa Wilde
April 28th, 2016 | by Lisa Wilde
It has not been easy for me to call myself an artist (and I still feel that some will say
TAKE ME TO THE RIVER: Lacunae, an Elegy for My Mother, Part IV — by Lisa Wilde
April 21st, 2016 | by Lisa Wilde
Probably the most liberating part of leaving home was that it gave space to my unconscious. It was my unconscious—rambunctious,
MOTHER LOAD: Lacunae, an Elegy for My Mother, Part III — by Lisa Wilde
April 14th, 2016 | by Lisa Wilde
To be continued… I think the hardest part of my teenage years was the silence. As you can see
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