She would have become a teenager this morning, but she didn’t.
Sometimes, what is still is the most transient of all.
https://meyerweb.com/eric/thoughts/2020/06/07/forever-and-ever/
She wanted things her way, and she was incredibly tenacious about it, willing to forfeit the thing she wanted rather than yield.
https://meyerweb.com/eric/thoughts/2019/06/11/so-full-of-fire/
Rebecca has been dead for half a decade now.
https://meyerweb.com/eric/thoughts/2019/06/07/half-a-decade/
In another timeline, an early alarm woke Kat and me this morning so we could sneak into Rebecca’s room with her siblings and wish her a happy birthday at the moment she turned ten, 7:24am, June...
The point, the essential point, is this: every family should have the chance to fight as hard as possible for their loved one’s life without going bankrupt in the process. And for those who can...
https://meyerweb.com/eric/thoughts/2017/06/26/help-insurance/
Three years ago, almost exactly to the minute as I publish this, I delivered the eulogy at my daughter’s funeral. A few months after that, reading it again, I discovered that when I wrote it, I...
https://meyerweb.com/eric/thoughts/2017/06/12/eulogy-completed/
Three years ago, Rebecca took her last breaths.
It has been one thousand days since our daughter took her last breath.
https://meyerweb.com/eric/thoughts/2017/03/03/one-thousand-days/
For a number of reasons, I’ve been thinking a lot recently about the two and a half months between Rebecca’s second tumor being discovered and her death.
All these jagged bits of the past, which do not cling to me; rather, I cling to them, senselessly, hopelessly, afraid to look at them but afraid to let go.
https://meyerweb.com/eric/thoughts/2016/10/26/bits-of-the-past/
This morning, our youngest child Joshua attended his first day of kindergarten.
Late in the afternoon, we all drove over to Mayfield Cemetery to visit Rebecca’s gravestone, two years after her death.
https://meyerweb.com/eric/thoughts/2016/06/07/between-the-rain-and-the-sun/
This is the form of closure I have always sought: the stitching of a grievous wound, to let the ragged edges grow back together, slowly closing up to knit new tissue.
https://meyerweb.com/eric/thoughts/2015/12/07/the-face-of-my-daughter/
“Why are you crying?” I asked my son. He wasn’t actually crying so much as sniffling, but the expression on his face was enough to justify the question. He just shook his head, so I sat dow...
https://meyerweb.com/eric/thoughts/2015/06/18/the-guilt-i-carry-2/