Some old people, including me, are a lot like little kids. We like to brag about how old we are. Read more.
People Don’t Die Anymore — They Pass
People don’t die anymore — they “pass.” Otherwise sophisticated, hard-headed people are resorting to euphemisms when the subject is death. Read more.
I’ve Been Widowed Two Years. Now What?
I’ve been widowed two years. What’s next? Anything? My future feels as blank and inscrutable as it did those first months after Jon’s death. Read more.
My Husband’s Name or Mine? I Need Them Both
My husband’s name or mine? I need them both — the name I was born with and the one I took the day I married. Read more.
Widowed: John Donne, Meet Leonard Cohen — And Send Us a Song, Please, From the Mystery Beyond
I’ve spent evenings with songwriter Leonard Cohen and gone to bed with poet John Donne. I want to say, ‘John Donne, meet Leonard Cohen.’ Read more.
‘It’s Not My Jam’ — Is Not My Jam. Of Course, It Isn’t. I’m 81 Years Old, for Heaven’s Sake
People in the know were saying, ‘It’s not my jam.’ A product of the 20th century, I was sticking to, ‘It’s not my cup of tea.’ Read more.
What to Do With My Late Husband’s Winter Coat?
I wanted to keep my late husband’s winter coat. It let me feel close to him. But the weather was turning cold. Someone needed that coat. Read more.