Author name: pharmon333

I knew that something was wrong when I heard my brother’s voice on the phone, and he told me that his closest high school friend had died. He was challenged by a variety of health concerns and died at only 64–too young– we commiserated. A wild and free-spirited lad, he stayed back in our small

We have all experienced these: Feeling small in a meeting for saying the wrong thing at the wrong time. The disappointment of missed expectations from a friend or lover or a child. The sorrow of choices: the loss of a job or the need to move. Social disregard or lack of recognition. Suddenly feeling mortal

I have been getting ready to let go of my cat Dorothy for two years now. By let go, I mean that as she fails, I will be arranging for the vet tech to come to my house and euthanize her. I take my responsibilities as a pet companion seriously; pets depend on us to

Huge drops of sweat dripped down the backs of our black dresses in the ninety-nine-degree Texas heat. The funeral mass began at 10:00 which meant that the height of the mid-day sun would be peaking as we arrived at the cemetery for the graveside ritual. We arrived by caravan; the police motorcycle leading the motorcade,

Do you remember that adage about the “golden years”? My father used to speak of that in terms of retirement. The idea that after a life of hard work, one would be able to enjoy life, play, have fun and relax as a reward perhaps. Recent studies show that young adults in their 20s and

“They will tell you that you will get over it” my friend Lillian said as we sat in her living room with martinis. “But you will not get over it. You will just learn to live with it.” It had been a week since my partner Roy died, the friends and loving family had left,

“I need a January calendar.” “January?” I said. “Don’t you mean you need a 2022 calendar?” And then I got it. My patient had been on hospice for several months and was ready to die. She was frustrated at times because she felt her body was not cooperating with her. She had no intention of

“I want to hear that poem again.” The poem is by Robert Frost, and I have never particularly liked it. But for the 15th time in the month, I take it out and read it to my patient. I am not sure how we began this routine; when we met, she told me that she

It was a sweltering day in October in Tucson. I dialed my mother’s hospital room as I drove to a clinic to do a presentation on “Coping with Holidays and Cancer.” (Yes, I know, I should not have been on the phone while driving –we did not know better then—). The stress in the car