When my mother was sick, I found myself needing to put down in my journals all sorts of things - to try to understand them, and, I think, to try to remember them.

A mother is a story with no beginning. That is what defines her.

Our minds are mysterious; our conscious brain is like a ship on a sea that is obscure to us.

Faith does help mourners survive their loss, some studies suggest; but I imagine one still struggles.

Funerals cost so much money, and are likely to be an additional source of stress in this recession - it's sad that we don't have a more humane, less commercialized way to approach burial.

My whole life, I had been taught to read and study, to seek understanding in knowledge of history, of cultures.

Many Americans don't mourn in public anymore - we don't wear black, we don't beat our chests and wail.