You Mattered

In this essay, hospice worker Sheila Barnes recounts her journey with James, an AIDS patient, during his final days of life, and all she does to convey that even in illness, his life is honored.

My “Breakthrough” Journey with COVID

Seventy-year-old Richard Rossner was fully vaccinated when he went to a Los Angeles club to hear his son’s band play. He was careful to social distance and didn’t think he was vulnerable. That was Tuesday night; by Saturday morning, he couldn’t get out of bed. It was Covid. Then his wife, who was also vaccinated, got it. Now that they no longer test positive, they are grateful, but the after-effects leave Richard tired and cautious.

Chasing the Dragon

Richard Collins traveled to the Brecon Beacons, a mountain range in South Wales not far from where he grew up. Despite spending his childhood there, he’d never felt Welsh until he left Wales. But living in different countries had inspired a retroactive yearning to connect with his heritage. So he returned, determined to chase that dragon. It didn’t go easy.


Finding the Perfect Light

When Cliff Simon’s cherished vintage lamp is damaged, his distress leads him to the Japanese art of Kintsugi and the point of view that something can break and still be beautiful, and that, once repaired, it is stronger at the broken places.

Breathe in, Breathe Out — An Expat Adapts

Acquisition and release are a necessary part of moving. For Elyn Aviva, who, together with her husband Gary, has relocated from Iowa to Colorado. Colorado to New Mexico. New Mexico to Spain. Spain to Arizona. and now from Arizona to Portugal, the process of adaption has become an exercise akin to breathing: Breathe in, expand, acquire. Breathe out, contract, detach, release.

Rosebud is Not Just a Sled    

In the film Citizen Kane, the viewer learns that the murmured word on his deathbed: “Rosebud” relates to Kane’s last moments of childhood innocence and happiness. Inspired by this flashback effect of memory, in this essay, Cliff Simon investigates the memories he might recall at the very end of his life. What will be that most important thing, moment, person, event of his life?

What is Your Heart Made Of?

Regular hikes in nature are an essential component of Nancy King’s well-being. Being in nature helps her to connect to herself and to heal the wounds of childhood trauma. But winter hikes, slogging through deep snow, one foot in front of the other, are exhausting. What kept her going this past winter was finding something she’d never seen before—snow and ice hearts. The more she hiked, the more heart stones she saw, and the more she saw, the more her heart healed.

A Letter To The Missing

Maureen Magee grew up as an only child. The word ‘family’ had no great, extended meaning for her. But now, after seven decades of life, she finds herself seized with a gripping kind of curiosity about her Dad’s family and has begun writing letters to the uncles she never knew.

Communing With The Dead

For Bobbi Lerman, a visit to a graveyard is an opportunity to stop and sit and listen to the stories of the dead. In this essay, Bobbi shares the experience of communing with the dead at Isola di San Michele, the island just across the water from Venice, Italy, that houses the city’s cemetery.

Time Travel In A Trunk

Buying a piece of furniture rarely reads like a detective story, but when George Bresnick purchased an immigrant trunk in Minneapolis in 1999, he knew that the opening line of a Holmesian saga had been written. Little did he realize that it would take more than 20 years for the tale to unfold.