Why do I feel the need to justify the depth of my sorrow? Why do we ascribe so little meaning to miscarriages, late miscarriages, and stillbirths?
It’s surprising how much close scrutiny is required for a simple trip to the grocery or pharmacy
I wait a beat for my friend to concede her error, to say the words, “You were right.” I will not gloat, I tell myself sternly
Before every Yom Tov — hey, even before Shabbos, which comes every week, so I really should know better — I have these romantic visions of a family sitting around discussing the mitzvos hayom. We’re all cozy and serene; everyone is sharing their ideas without interrupting or doing their best to oust their sibling from the coveted
There lay the most wonderful gift I could ever have imagined, far better than any nosh or stickers or even a lolly
The braid is immortalized behind the glass protecting the mounds of articles left behind by oh, so, so many. Way too many
