Grief Digest Articles

Some days we feel invisible; other days we feel maligned. Most days we feel anxious, and deeply sad (to the very marrow of the bone). Caring friends and loved ones are appreciated, but please forgive us when we are not able to tell you that. We see and hear your loving words; we feel your concern and care. But most of all we feel it when you cry with us, even if you are crying inwardly. That kind of love needs no words. We “know” that you share our pain, and while sometimes we just respond withi …

“Moving forward, or remaining suspended, in good grief is neither right nor wrong. It just is.”Nearly two decades, and still counting. Might we still be chasing the shadow of grief? Or is the shadow of grief a forever thing, one that will always be there no matter how we try to shed it?I’m sure some friends and family wonder why Gary and I are still absorbed in the work of grief. They may wonder why we still attend grief conferences, facilitate grief support groups, talk and write about grief, a …

We used to live in a townhouse, one of those inventions designed to minimize housekeeping chores, mortgage payments and a tendency to accumulate more things than one needs to cross the Sahara in summer. We moved there because I liked the idea of no yard work, and we would be unburdened by conversations of "It's-Saturday-so-mow-the-lawn." I hate housework (it hates me too!), and we wanted a less complex life.Smaller places do have a certain appeal...especially during the "It's Spring and that mea …

My sister the psychiatrist has a favorite expression: “Prozac should be in our water supply. We all need some.”It seems everyone these days is on some type of antidepressant. I hear it discussed in the locker room of the health club, in the grocery store, at the post office. “So, what kind of antidepressant are you on?” It’s the collective song of a nation obsessed with fixing every detail with pills. We’re busy, there’s no time for talking or working out our problems. Just throw drugs at it! Ps …

From the heart of Bill WhittakerMy wife, Helen, and Fred Astaire went way back. At least, it seemed that way to me. It started in the 1960s, when Helen moved from Connecticut to Chicago to take a job as a dance instructor at the Fred Astaire Dance Studio in the Loop district.Some twenty years later, Helen and I were in Paris when Fred Astaire died. We got the news on French television. Our language challenge was broken when a Ginger Rogers and Fred Astaire movie was broadcast in tribute to the d …