On Friday morning, February 23, 2007, my father, Bob David Sr., took his last breath. He was 81. I can hardly convey my gratitude for the way events played out over the last trying months, days, and hours of his life, and for all the gifts he gave me during that time and following. Here are a few details. ...more

As I faced the impending death of my beloved father, Alex Schoenbrun, I wondered how many more times I would feel satisfied saying and hearing “I love you” so that it would last me the rest of my life. ...more

When I met and fell in love with my charming, fascinating, creative ex-husband, I never saw the addict. We came together as poet and painter, with great passion for our respective gifts and for each other. It would be six months before I would begin to suspect that this exciting roller coaster ride of joint inspiration and creativity came with “another woman”—Lady Crack Cocaine. ...more

Our parents, in-laws, aunts and uncles are dropping like flies. Rarely two weeks go by without my hearing about someone’s relative finally giving up or giving in and leaving for good. In most cases, this is good. I know how cold and heartless this sounds, but none of us lives forever, and in the great majority of these cases, the soon-to-be-deceased are more than ready to go. ...more

From Publisher Bob David:

Around 1970, the author of this article seized an opportunity to kill a man who he was sure was intent on killing him. He was convicted of first-degree murder and given a life sentence.

Despite this glaring truth, Wilfredo grew to earn the sincere respect of all who knew him during his long incarceration. ...more

As far as I know, aside from stamping out ice cream cones in a factory when he was a teenager, my father’s entire working career revolved around the selling of alcoholic beverages. He began as a high school student helping out in the tavern purchased by his father, who had accumulated a fortune building houses before losing it in the Crash of 1929 and trying another avenue to get back on his feet. ...more

If anyone wondered whether animals grieve… they do.

I am from Boston. I didn’t think I could survive one more New England winter, so five years ago I put my dog in the back seat of my car and drove south. ...more

“I realized while I was away I married you just because I thought you’d make a good officer’s wife. I never loved you. I’m leaving.” ...more

SEVENTEEN YEARS ago, I was thrown into a cell in the Segregation Unit at Holman prison for conspiring to escape. I felt as if I had been pitched head first into the open jaws of a monster, a monster whose roar was the sound of steel banging against steel; whose moan, the whispering of schemers late into the night; whose cry, the whimper of tortured souls shadowboxing demons; and whose smell, a rank mixture of rat shit, body odor, urine, and disinfectant. The gullet of this beast—a narrow hall ankle-deep in trash and bits of food—fed nightly armies of roaches and mice. ...more

At 12 years old I was in a constant struggle with discipline and how things were supposed to be. I didn’t feel good inside. Everyone said I was bright, but school always meant problems. Poor grades, taking forever to learn, bad attitude, and mouthing off to teachers and coaches. I couldn’t care less. I would lie and cheat if I could get away with it. ...more