Death is a regular part of my job, which makes small talk weird for me at parties.

My vet said, “She's telling you thank you for letting her go.”

Acknowledging that our dream was not happening didn't end the grief, but it did offer closure.

Memorial Day is not to be celebrated. It is to be observed, scrutinized, and witnessed on behalf of the true witnesses of our human failure to love our neighbor as ourselves.

Impermanence, mortality, ashes, dust: this is the truth of being human.

Before I birthed my baby, he was a possibility, a kick against my insides. With that first cry, first breath, he became a person in the world.

The crisis was an opportunity to learn to be fully me and love it, inner turmoil and all. I learned that strength comes from authenticity, never from perfection.

Sometimes grief sends notice ahead of time; sometimes, it shows up as an unwelcome, uninvited guest.

In my small-town congregation, our beloved dead seem to linger with us for a little while.

Remembering is the art of holding a memory and sharing it; it’s drawing upon that memory so it can help us to grow into people who live lives of meaning and service. As a practice, remembering connects us deeply to each other and to the love that sustains us.