The coronavirus pandemic has both increased the frequency of deaths and constrained our ability to accompany the dying.

Feeling restless because we cannot go out to eat or attend a concert hardly amounts to involuntary incarceration.

On the other side of the pandemic, we may see “corona babies” and “corona divorces.” May we also see the best in each other as we live our vows in the time of quarantine.

Most writers walk a fine line between stealing from life and exploiting life.

Just as I took care to exercise physically for the endurance of my heart, I needed to break a spiritual sweat for the good of my soul.

We women do not want to make waves; we do not want to upset people. But the moment for all of us to act is decidedly now.

I think of mentors and helpers, men and women of kindness and compassion, heroes who listen to their better angels, as triggers for good.

Do not ever let anyone say that sobriety is easy on a family: The return of a prodigal can spark consuming fires.

We do not anticipate young mothers dying at a moment devoted to birth, and yet we know it happens. We know about death, and yet we are caught unawares by it.

Since retiring from my job, my husband has found me irritating. We had a talk (after fighting), and he is right: I am mothering him. Smothering him. “I have a mother,” he said. “I want a wife, a partner, a best friend.”