But there is a discomfort that surrounds grief. It makes even the most well-intentioned people unsure of what to say. And so many of the freshly bereaved end up feeling even more alone.

I'm not much like my mother; that role falls to my brothers, who have more of her blithe and freewheeling spirit.

There is always tension in women's gymnastics between athleticism, grace, performance, and eros.

My mother died of metastatic colorectal cancer shortly before three P.M. on Christmas Day of 2008. I don't know the exact time of her death, because none of us thought to look at a clock for a while after she stopped breathing.

One of the grubby truths about a loss is that you don't just mourn the dead person, you mourn the person you got to be when the lost one was alive. This loss might even be what affects you the most.

What's endlessly complicated in thinking about women's gymnastics is the way that vulnerability and power are threaded through the sport.

One of the ideas I've clung to most of my life is that if I just try hard enough it will work out.