Love, Loss & Family

Stories from a marriage, a childhood, and the family in between — love and grief as they actually happen, not as they're supposed to.

Standing in a crowd with no one in particular, I started noticing the invisible lines we draw to stay connected.

I married someone I didn't choose, and it took me years to understand what came after that.

The stains in our old carpet turned out to be the only honest record of our family's history.

Something about this new relationship felt oddly familiar, and I still can't decide if that's comforting or a warning.

I ran into someone from my past in a hardware store parking lot, and it undid me more than I expected.

I watched the flames take my mother, and somehow, in that moment, I finally felt at peace.

My son calling out "Appa" stopped me cold and pulled my own father right back into the room.

I married in the '90s and had to learn, fast, what trust actually means.