Like my mother before me, I have always been a good speller.

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

I am the indoctrinated child of two lapsed Irish Catholics. Which is to say: I am not religious.

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.

If the condition of grief is nearly universal, its transactions are exquisitely personal.

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

Sometimes you don't even know what you want until you find out you can't have it.