Veteran journalist Barbara Falconer Newhall riffs on life as she knows it.
Jon died unexpectedly at the age of 79. I thought we'd have many more years together. We won't.
Now and then I come across a photo that brings my husband back to life, and for one sweet moment, Jon is there in all his ineffable Jon-ness. Read more.
The memorial tree planted in my husband’s honor is thriving — both of them. Madrones are fussy, so we planted two to be on the safe side. Read more.
Tending a long and deep friendship — we’ve done it by setting a hiking date once a month, without fail, so that I’m on her calendar and she’s on mine. Read more.
I’ve been widowed three years. My husband has missed out on a lot in that time, including a parade of images from the Webb Space Telescope. Read more.
Widowed, I think often of my marriage mistakes. Did I leave too many tender words unsaid? Too many small kindnesses undone? Should I have mated his socks for him after I took them out of the dryer? Read more.
Jon and I were two people — and the marriage we’d created over the years. Read more.
