His Beard, Valentine

My husband has grown a beard for the winter. I hate it. The beard is thick and bristling: an unfortunate, malignant creature that has latched with scrubby desperation onto his lower face. It makes life difficult. I would like to kiss his lips and not his beard, and certainly not the beard residue from whatever he just had […]

Bearing Witness

This past week we had another death at the hospital. There have been quite a few this summer, which represents a bit of an anomaly for a ward that is populated by a predominance of young and healthy bodies. It has been awhile since I have written of the grief that is particular to the medical provider, and […]