We use cookies to improve our services and remember your choices for future visits. For more information see our Privacy Policy and Terms of Use.
We use cookies to improve our services and remember your choices for future visits. For more information see our Privacy Policy and Terms of Use.
They draw me into an arch so that they can run an eighteen-inch horse-needle in between the plates of my spine for an hour or so to get a copious sample of the cerebrospinal fluid. So the doctors can tell my family. What they know already. That I am very sick. That I might die.
By Lorenzo W. MilamApril 1983Forgiveness, gratefulness, an uncomfortable dinner
By Our ReadersMarch 1983My brother is weird. I never know what he’s going to do next. Like the time he decides around three o’clock on an August afternoon that he’s going to climb the Franklin Mountains.
By Chuck TaylorAugust 1982As I learn to accept love as it is really given — not as I expect it to be — a vast amount of the precious stuff becomes available.
By Sherman BurnsJuly 1981Giving the eulogy, being followed by a chicken, losing a child
By Our ReadersMay 1981I’m especially grateful to the Wrenn family for their warmth to me during this undertaking. They were completely honest in front of the camera. I was a stranger to them but to my amazement, they were willing to express the love they have for each other as a family without inhibition before my curious eyes.
By Alma BlountMarch 1980Personal, political, provocative writing delivered to your doorstep every month—without a single ad.
Subscribe Today