Recent Writing
THE NEW YORK TIMES・365
“I’ll be fine,” I told my father when he insisted on driving me to court. I was dreading hashing out the details of an unexpected divorce. For months he had felt helpless. Yet, during predawn heartbreak-sobs and panicked late night calls, he promised I’d be OK. Showing up has always been his superpower — for little things like my high school basketball games and big things like my daughter’s year in the hospital. Running late that morning, I spied my father under an umbrella outside, ready to protect me from the rain. But really, shielding me from life’s unexpected events.
NEWSWEEK・MY TURN
This moment is painful and gut-wrenching and awful. And yet, it's also the moment I prayed for from the pediatric oncology floor. It feels impossible at times, but this is what's supposed to happen.
On a Cape Cod beach last January, I braced for my daily cold water plunge. “Can I join you?” asked a stranger. I hesitated. But her red hair and wide smile reminded me of my younger self. “Sure,” I said. Ashley is 29. I’m 47. For seven minutes in frigid water, we shared our stories: her chronic illness and career change; my failed marriage and struggles raising a child with cancer. Every day since our first encounter, we’ve met to immerse ourselves in the ocean. We bond in a daily baptism. I now can’t imagine braving water, or life, without her.
HUFFINGTON POST ・PERSONAL
A decade ago, my mother announced we were no longer celebrating Christmas. “Does anyone else think this is kind of crazy?” my brother asked.
A friend gave my daughter Emily a magic fairy wand when she was diagnosed with high-risk neuroblastoma at age 5. The note attached said it belonged to a little girl with cancer and that it cured her. It promised to cure Emily, too.
