Life’s most tragic stories aren’t without beauty. That’s true of postpartum depression, suicide, and all forms of heartache and loss. Redemption lurks in the mire. I started this blog because of my battle with postpartum depression, when I was 34. At 15 I lost my mom to
Read more →In the three months since my brother took his life, I’ve heard a phrase repeated: “Suicide is cowardly. It’s a selfish act.” The words have come from my closest loved ones, others at church, and those who didn’t even know Jim. They argued that only a selfish
Read more →When I graduated from college, my brother flew in early to help me move. From early evening to very early morning, we trekked between Evanston, Ill. and Chicago, zipping up and down Lake Shore Drive, his rental car loaded with my furniture, clothes and books. Jim rented
Read more →I knew it was waiting for me. The day my children would ask me about death–and more specifically, why their maternal grandmother died. I didn’t think it would come quite so soon. But along came the questions, at bedtime a few weeks ago. “Mama, where’s your Mommy?”
Read more →A few weeks ago I told my 4-year-old son Noah I was returning to work full-time. He and my daughter Syma, who’s almost 2, were sparring and fussing, and I was spent. “Mommy will get a job in the city. I’ll be gone all day. Just home
Read more →Last weekend I walked my first marathon-and-half, as part of the 2013 Avon Walk for Breast Cancer. I trekked in, around and through Chicago. It was exhilarating. I was part of a $5.2 million fundraising effort, a small fish in a big sea of people sweeping the
Read more →Today was my son’s last day of preschool. Noah sang, clapped, marched across a bridge bedecked with balloons and ate Popsicles, all with his typical fervor. I’m sure there was a trace of melancholy somewhere. Maybe that trace was in my heart, but still. His loving cadre
Read more →The idea of inducing labor has terrorized me since the birth of my son. It’s synonymous with what I still consider my biggest failure—not allowing Noah to be born on his terms. Instead, I tried to schedule him into my life. I wish I could return to
Read more →On Sept. 11, 2001 I lived in Arlington, Va., a few miles from the Pentagon. When terrorists slammed a jetliner into the famed fortress, I was riding the subway to work, temporarily unaware that my city and my country were under attack. At work I huddled with
Read more →Amanda* is dying from breast cancer. In her early 40s with several young children, she recently told her husband that after she’s gone, she’d like him to remarry. Cancer drugs have sustained her life but stolen her hair. She takes them now to prevent her softening bones
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