The Naked Truth
I’m naked!Can’t you see? Naked as a jaybird,exposed,unclothed,reporting for duty.Naked as I came.Naked as I will go. No! You’re wearing yourNavy pants and blue-striped shirt.Can’t you see? But it’s too late.Dementia’s in the house.chewed up,swallowed up,spit out whole,without warning,or trace of resemblance,to Harry and Adele’ssecond oldest daughter,bride of Jerome,the woman who climbeda mountain and back,with […]
My Mother, The Brisket, And The Rabbi: A Love Story
I am a pathological liar. I stand by my superior ability to fabricate the truth, to create a false narrative, to lie on command. And I would do it all again if I had to. When my Mother was approaching the final stage of her life, she was often inconsolable. Dementia has a way of robbing those it latches onto with assorted unspeakable atrocities. The confusion, the fear, the sheer frustration amid the utter sadness, often overtakes not only the afflicted, but those who are ultimately left behind. Until an adult child enters the frightening and chaotic world of caring for
Ellie’s Goodbye
Ellie breathes heavily as I cradle her, her lovely green eyes closed. We’re on a bench at the back of the large, crowded waiting room of the animal hospital. Technicians stand at the front and call animals’ names, inviting people and their pets into the exam rooms. For routine exams or emergencies or…for the reason we’ve come. After years of medications and fighting the odds, Ellie let me know that she’s had enough…that it’s time. If only we were here for just an exam—the place where Ellie has been a patient since I adopted her sixteen years ago. She’d been rescued
Lightkeeper, Preface
Editor’s Note: At Grief Dialogues, we believe art helps us carry what grief leaves behind. Photographer and author Stacy Bass shows us how images and words can preserve love, memory, and light. Her journey from Speak, Memory to her forthcoming memoir Lightkeeper reminds us that even in loss, creativity can sustain us and connect us to one another. Read my interview with Stacy Bass here. —Elizabeth Coplan Preface I’m afraid I am beginning to forget. I always thought I had a great memory. I remember lots of things with little meaning. Like my childhood home phone number: 226-6634. And the number
