What else did I lose to assimilate?
In the emergency room waiting for a potential diagnosis, I soothe myself with loops of pudgy toddlers tripping into the antics of babyhood over and over again.
What might have happened if we had stayed?
Yes, this system is imperfect. It took years—and the privilege of professional help—before I’d learn to articulate my grief in words.
Comforting each other is more natural when we’re physically present, which is what the pandemic made it impossible for my not-husband to be.
The invisible fence that divides highbrow and lowbrow is largely imposed by money, those we admire, and our own social conditioning.
If you’re looking at something, you don’t know where it’s going; if you know where it’s going, you don’t know where it is.
The grief of the pandemic era is ongoing. What happens if everyone is sitting shiva at once?
My parents were old. It was time to take seriously the last years we had left. That is not, of course, how they saw things.
After her arrest, I started to understand. All the racist slights and foolish men my mother had endured. More reasons to be angry than I could count.