'Hamlet' is the best description of grief I've read because it dramatizes grief rather than merely describing it.

I believe in the importance of individuality, but in the midst of grief I also find myself wanting connection - wanting to be reminded that the sadness I feel is not just mine but ours.

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

This is part of the complexity of grief: A piece of you recognizes it is an extreme state, an altered state, yet a large part of you is entirely subject to its demands.

The truth is, I need to experience my mother's presence in the world around me and not just in my head.

My mother never liked Mother's Day. She thought it was a fake holiday dreamed up by Hallmark to commodify deep sentiments that couldn't be expressed with a card.

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