The starkness of the words in black type on a white screen prods us to want more information. Why are we—why am I—surprised by something so certain?

Briefly Sunday night I couldn’t contain the negative emotions or stop the agitated outburst.

The mother I had as a child no longer resembled the person she had become. But I loved her all the same, clear through the difficult days till the very end.

Phyllis Girdwood reflects on what it meant to care for her husband who was dying with cancer—and how she’s learning to cope in the years since his passing.

After what I’ll honestly call a very difficult year, I can say, I’m doing great. But the hope we celebrated at Christmas means more than ever.