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

It wasn’t always pleasant when my husband Bill and I discussed politics. The wars in Iraq and Afghanistan aren’t pleasant so why would discussions about them necessarily be? We usually ended up agreeing to disagree before a full-scale war would break out at the kitchen table. That can happen when a closet Republican marries a Democrat. On matters of religion, Bill’s predictable response was a discussion stopper: “You mean you haven’t figured that one out yet?” ...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

“Lift her up, Lord! Take that fluid from her body. I’m going to keep on praying to you day and night... Almighty God, make her well. Which will be a great testimony to you for all patients and doctors and nurses to see.” These were prayers of the sister of a 47-year-old black Baptist woman who was critically ill with cancer. ...more

After our ceremonies a few of us
Crossed Puget Sound to MacNeill Island
To the grim fortress where the Brotherhood
Of American Indian prisoners had donated
To help our intertribal spiritual gathering.
I held my breath as the iron doors
Slid and clanked behind us, but
Through an open door down the hall
The pounding of a drum, lusty voices sang— ...more

I enjoyed calling my friend “Mr. Bill,” because I truly respected him that much. I was a person who never respected anyone.

We were both abused in the home. I was born into a family of alcoholics. No pretty words can describe my parents: they were drunks. My dad was a mean drunk. ...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

I knew we would meet exactly three minutes before we in fact did. I got a call on a special phone at work late last night telling me you were an estimated age of 3 and you had been shot in your chest and were not breathing. That was all I knew, but that was enough to get my attention—all of it. The truth is I had been preparing to meet you for many years, readying myself in every way I could to take the very best possible care of you in the seconds that mattered most if we should ever meet under these circumstances—even though I never EVER wished we would. ...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