A letter to my son — Dear Paul: One of your sisters asks, “What happens if I shake his box?” It is one thing to walk by the table with various keepsakes, notes, and photographs dedicated to the dead brother who came before her. …

A mother of a deceased son reflects on the death of Kobe Byrant — I don’t want to write about Kobe Bryant. I don’t want to write about Gianna Bryant. I don’t want to write about John, Keri, or Alyssa Altobelli. Not Sarah and Payton Chester. Not Christina Mauser. And not Ara Zobayan either. On Sunday morning, I was sitting on the couch and…

“I don’t want to scare you, but if there’s an earthquake or anything happens, there’s an open space under the stage. Get under there.” We’re at the Doug Fir lounge in Portland, Oregon. We are standing up front. M. Ward is about to play a sold out show to celebrate…

Dearest Paulie, A few weeks ago I came home and there was a yellow cake mix and chocolate icing sitting on the counter. I asked Papa about it. “Yeah Paul was on my mind. I had just been to the parish office to get the mass.” Every year around your…

Dearest Dr. Christine Blasey Ford, This nation owes you a world of debt. Of course, you will never be repaid in full. And undoubtedly there are additional costs to you and your family. There are the broad strokes; the major talking points about sexual assault, partisanship, politics, misogyny, midterms and…

Today is the day you would turn eighteen. Now I think I see your face everywhere. Groups of boys at the park across the street. Boys riding bikes. A couple of guys working on a car. I dreamt I was in your house. In your parent’s room, walking down the…

Dear Paul, I know you are 5 because June is 8. She’s our record keeper. You’re always in her roll call. She always counts you — even when, especially when we forget. I know you are 5 because Onion is 1. He showed up on our front steps right before…

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