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When my mother screamed into the phone for me to get over there, “Daddy’s dead,” a long waiting period ended. My father’s failing health over several years had left him almost helpless; he had demanded and received from my mother as much care and supervision as a infant.
By Fred WistowFebruary 1988I didn’t go to my grandfather’s funeral. I had excuses at the time — I was living 500 miles away, no money for plane fare, other obligations, and so forth — but mostly I suspected that funerals were some kind of superstitious pagan ritual.
By David ManningJanuary 1988An old man and a butterfly, a beloved friend’s housewarming, a hysterectomy
By Our ReadersJanuary 1988Richard presses the buzzer. A dry, rasping sound echoes off the cracked, peeling walls and bounces up from the marble vestibule floor that needs cleaning.
By Barbara TurinoDecember 1987Popcorn strategy, domestic violence, the importance of being cute
By Our ReadersNovember 1987He knew understanding was coming to him, like the answer to a riddle which has broken its anchor line in the unconscious and is floating up toward consciousness, becoming more illuminated by the light of consciousness.
By Jon RemmerdeSeptember 1987Personal, political, provocative writing delivered to your doorstep every month—without a single ad.
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