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
Browsing the "death" Tag
“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
BABY REMEMBER HIS NAME: Katherine Thome on Birth and Grief
April 13th, 2016 | by Katherine Thome
“And you shall call his name John.” Luke 1:13 “Well, should we call him John? Jack for short? Or
WHERE IT ALL CHANGES: Lacunae, an Elegy for My Mother, Part II — by Lisa Wilde
April 7th, 2016 | by Lisa Wilde
To be continued… Sometimes we tell stories about our lives in order to understand more about who we are. After
THE GOOD LIFE: Lacunae, an Elegy for My Mother, Part I — by LISA WILDE
March 31st, 2016 | by Lisa Wilde
They fuck you up, your mum and dad. They may not mean to, but they do. Excerpt from Philip Larkin’s