The year after my mom died, I inhabited a raw, tender, vivid state of grief. I looked around at people’s interactions—in coffee shops, classes, activities, and workplaces. And I noticed two things:
Bearing Witness
The Story of a Squirrel (and my heart)
Years ago, during a bike ride from the Farmer’s Market, we spotted drawers stacked on the curb. Once home, as I unpacked produce, Mark wordlessly went out to the garage. Ten minutes later he was home with a pile of drawers. Within an hour, we had a “squirrel drawer” hanging from the maple tree just outside our back porch.