The (Hand)written Word

I have vivid memories of sitting at the dining room table of my parents' house, note cards and address book spread before me, squirming and complaining to my mother, "I don't know what to write!" The scene unfolded annually in the week following Christmas and my birthday, which are lumped together in a way that …

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Changing Notions

Tonight I threw away the sewing kit my mother gave me. It was a Christmas gift from around the time when I was first living on my own. The kit - more of a fancy box, really - was stocked with basic notions: pins, needles, a few spools of thread. It had flowers on the …

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How to Comfort

The text message arrived late on a Saturday night: our patient had died. It was the on-call fellow letting the rest of the team know that her passing had been peaceful and beautiful. The news was expected; the only question had been on which of a handful of days it would occur. The message flashed …

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