That she was irreplaceable became a bittersweet loyalty: Her death was what I had now instead of her.

The belief that life was hard and often its worst battles were fought in private, that it was possible to walk through fear and come out scorched but still breathing.

memory is both the curse of grief and the eventual talisman against it; what at first seems unbearable becomes the succor that can outlast pain.

Old dogs can be a regal sight. Their exuberance settles over the years into a seasoned nobility, their routines become as locked into yours as the quietest and kindest of marriages.

My idea of a productive day, as both a child and an adult, was reading for hours and staring out the window.

I'd confused need with love and love with sacrifice.

Scratch a fantasy and you'll find a nightmare.