loss

Image Credit: Brett Jordan via Unsplash   One Sunday evening, I tucked myself into bed earlier than usual with the intention of getting a long night’s rest before the busy…

Paintings by Miriam Feldman   According to Wikipedia, a jumper (person), in police and media parlance, is a person who plans to fall or jump from a potentially deadly height, sometimes…

On the radio last week, I heard Frank Sinatra sing “It Was a Very Good Year.” Sinatra made this Ervin Drake song his own and made it famous, winning with…

In the months following Abbey’s overdose, I wrote about her endlessly. I made lists about things she loved (frozen yogurt, Pusheen, sunglasses), noted specific details I was afraid that I…

Tell me we’ll never get used to it. Richard Siken, 2005   The boy didn’t know what to do with sounds that entered his head and became something else. His…

Image: Author’s eldest child, Beatrice, three weeks before she died at 35 weeks in utero   James Dean died in his Porche Spyder 500, after a collision at the intersection of…

There are so many ways to tell a story about desperation, and I have considered them all. I keep coming back to the same dark room in an eighth-floor Chicago…

WOVEN is an Entropy series and dedicated safe space for essays by persons who engage with #MeToo, sexual assault and harassment, and #DomesticViolence, as well as their intersections with mental…

My best friend growing up was a boy named Seth who lived across the street from me. We were both in the same kindergarten class and hung out after school…

The woman was limping toward me, using a black and green umbrella as a cane. I was standing at the bus stop on Second and Washington in Hoboken on a…

WOVEN is an Entropy series and dedicated safe space for essays by persons who engage with #MeToo, sexual assault and harassment, and #DomesticViolence, as well as their intersections with mental…

It is not often that you stay to watch a vaulted coffin be lowered into the dark, freshly churned earth. You stare into the rectangular abyss and it stares back,…

In July of 1999, I sat on a bench atop the Palatine Hill in Rome, as alone and grief-stricken as I have ever been. I was twenty-one years old, and…