A grand mal seizure reveals something more dire: anaplastic oligodendroglioma.
Cast a rod into the pond; fish swim forth and stay.
Dancing as they moved along, as if plucked from the scene of some musical set on a college campus. They promenaded merrily on the campus of the University of Virginia: from the steps leading down to Bryan Hall, past the…
Updates with respect to the book I am writing, When the Lights Go Out at 10:16, a memoir of childhood and friendship in the face of cancer
The urine and fallen hair at the base of the toilet were reminders of where my dad once stood.
Grief is a fire that burns slowly. There are no flames high as with anger. The coals are hot just below the surface, smoldering.
Shortly after my dad died, I began sleepwalking and experiencing night terrors. Then my dad appeared to me in a dream.
I close my eyes and there you are. I’m listening to the music now. It’s dark now. No one knows I cry myself to sleep at night sometimes.
May 21 is a rather significant date on the calendar for me. It represents two things. #1: It was the last day I saw my dad alive It was the day I received a phone call at 2:00 in the…
Six years ago, I sat in my apartment with my dad and watched the 2009 NCAA Men’s Basketball Championship. It was the last time we would ever be alone together.
May 21 is my dog’s birthday, not the day my dad died. That’s how I like to think of this day every year.
Happy birthday to my dad
June 2009 Not in the least do I find a tinge of coincidence that my first full day as a husband, as the head of a household and of my own new family, is the same day as Father’s Day,…