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

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

Take a peek into my life—the life of a woman who fell apart, got back up, fell down, got back up again, got knocked down, and remains getting up, never losing her hope, faith, and determination.

I am a 46-year-old African American woman. I was raised in a single-parent household and never met my father. I can’t recall the exact age, but I do know that I was under ten when my adult male cousin molested me. ...more

I walked into the small, overheated, stuffy office for our weekly staff meeting. Andrea, the rector, was there, her gangly body looking uncomfortable on the wooden office chair, her pinched sour face more unpleasant than usual, and her short mousy hair typically unkempt. The light from the window behind her dazzled my eyes, making it hard to look her in the face. To her left sat Frank, ...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

I have two mothers in Japan. One is my real mother. The other is a seventy-four-year-old, wealthy widow who loves to drink whisky and smoke. I don’t remember exactly when I met her, but she and I have kept in touch over the past five years. She was one of my clients in the securities company I worked for as a broker. She and I talked a lot then, not only about investments, but also about our lives ...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