The stories we tell matter.
I work part-time in a bookstore, and was captivated by both the title and cover of Kate Bolick’s new book, Spinster: Making a Life of One’s Own on our shelves. A woman, presumably Bolick, sits smiling on an antique sofa in… Read moreREVIEW: Spinster: Making a Life of One’s Own
A woman walks down a path, burdened by luggage. Someone else comes along carrying a much lighter load. They take half of the woman’s load despite her protests to the contrary, and both continue along the way at a much… Read morePlay a Day: Share the Load
Lying awake with my head on the chest of a sleeping person gently cupping my wrist, and feeling their chest rise and fall, and feeling their body so totally relaxed, makes me realize why puppies and kittens sleep better with… Read morePlay a Day: Thub-Dub
Spotlight up on a woman jogging on a treadmill. Lights down. Spotlight up on two women, laughing over frozen yogurt with sprinkles and marshmallows. Lights down. Spotlight up on a woman answering the doorbell for the pizza delivery man. Lights… Read morePlay a Day: Love Yourself
Several female friends snuggled up together under blankets on a bed, chatting until they fall asleep.
An individual in coveralls and a straw hat sits on a bench, head in their hands. A watering can sits unattended beside them. Another individual wearing a flower costume enters stage left. The flower attempts to get the notice of… Read morePlay a Day: Flower or Gardener?
A woman sits at her desk, working on the computer. A cat lies on the adjacent couch, napping. The woman looks up from her work momentarily and sees the cat. She sighs, thinking how lucky it is, and returns to… Read morePlay a Day: Why Pet Owners Live Longer
A waiting room. A man and a woman sit on a bench, holding hands. A box of tissues are on the windowsill beside them. Quiet instrumental music plays. The man grabs a tissue and sobs for a moment before calming… Read morePlay a Day: Good-bye, Dear Friend
I know I cannot speak for everyone; perhaps some who attempt or complete suicide don’t care. All that follows is based on my own experience. But I feel it is important to break the silence in this instance, to come out against the myth that suicide equals not caring for one reason: I know I did. I wish I could express how deeply and profoundly it’s possible to care. I wish I had words for the guilt compounding already unbearable pain and desperation.
For those who are grieving over the loss of a loved one to suicide, I want to say I feel sure they loved you very much. I am sure the thought of you kept them going for many days, weeks, or months longer than they would have otherwise. They also knew you loved them, and there is nothing you could have said or done to stop them. But love isn’t always enough.