I have very early memories of being a child in the back seat of my parents’ car on a chilly night close to Christmas. Each year, my father quite dependably drove us around the neighborhood streets to look at Christmas

            I watched Elizabeth Dole walk slowly down the aisle of the National Cathedral, her eyes full of sorrow and memory and the strength that human beings manage to call up in times of great loss. I thought of the day

I remember the smell of blood. Metallic, almost like rust. My friend sat on the toilet as blood streamed out of her; I was perched on the edge of the tub in her small bathroom. She and the guy she’d

In my new book, Floating in the Deep End, I write about the importance of finding gratitude even in the choppy, unfriendly tides of losing a loved one to Alzheimer’s. When I was running my support group, Beyond Alzheimer’s, if

In the end, we remember people in pieces – slivers of memory, images, bursts of sound and trails of whispers. When I remember my father, I think of his eyes. As a child, I searched for them, wanting feverishly for

I was among many people who rejoiced when Deb Haaland was appointed Secretary of the Interior. I expected that many of the egregious acts of the Trump administration would be swiftly reversed, most notably the removal of wolves from the

At this May’s Republican Convention in Utah, Mitt Romney stood in front of an audience of loud, heckling Trump cultists and said, “Aren’t you embarrassed?” Clearly the answer was no, since they continued screaming and booing and hurling insults. They

We didn’t know their names before tragedy and cruelty took their loved ones from them. George Floyd’s siblings – Philonise, Terrance, LaTonya, Bridgett. Daunte Wright’s mother, Katie, who stood in front of microphones and told the world about the last

In my novel The Earth Breaks in Colors, which I published in 2015, two eleven-year-old girls – one black, one white – start out with a clear, innocent view of their different skin tones. It’s just one of God’s many