She was 52, homeless, and cancer-stricken. A group of devoted strangers vowed that she would not die alone. And then something miraculous happened. One woman’s beautiful, strange, and troubling final days.
Following our daughter’s death, my husband and I saw no end to the grief. Yet we have somehow discovered meaning, hope, and even joy after life’s most terrible loss.
In 2004, my daughter was killed. I love her. I miss her. And now, I live to honor her life.
It proved long, slow, and frustrating.
Today’s solemn 500 Festival program honored Hoosier men and women who made the ultimate sacrifice for their country.
We’re born free, and this country should let us die that way.
Our most-viewed features, interviews, columns, and blog posts of the year, all in one place.
Seeing a beloved friend one more time was as much for my benefit as it was for hers.
Last fall’s gas explosion on the city’s southside not only devastated lives and homes, but pasts.