It's all thin ice, or a minefield, or a tightrope. Pick your favorite analogy.
Toxins, fire, a fall, a virus, bacteria, a gunshot wound can, in an instant, change what is into what was. And nothing is ever the same.
Before he ran into a burning building, he had a normal life. Now he is disfigured and disabled.
Before she was diagnosed with multiple mylenoma, she worried about getting into college. Now she worries about finding a bone marrow donor.
Read MoreI expected him to be larger, a Paul Bunyan in clericals, because a man of average height and build couldn't carry the burdens he carries.
I expected him to shimmer, like a glossy photo of a saint, because of the things I carry.
But there he was, a latter-day Pat O'Brien in a white golf sweater, strolling around the sprawling grounds of his church before Mass on a flawless September Sunday, looking remarkably calm and untroubled as he greeted each of his parishioners by name.
Read MoreHis obituary was short, just a few paragraphs in Thursday's paper: "AMSTERDAM, Netherlands - Jan Gies, who risked his life to smuggle food to Anne Frank and members of the Dutch underground during World War II, has died at age 87."
"Risked his life." The words are too pat. They imply a one-time thing: A man dashes into a burning building and risks his life to rescue a person trapped on the third floor. A woman races into the street and risks her life to save a child from being run down by a car. Adrenaline and instinct fuel these actions. There is no time to think of the consequences.
Read MoreDear World:
I understand you don't believe in me. You call me a figment of the imagination, a charade inflicted upon children. I corrupt youth, you argue, and inspire greed. You say that I'm a farce.
Ah, but you're wrong. I am neither a figment nor a farce. I am as real as you. In fact, I am you.
Read More"Is he still handsome?" That's what people always ask. That and "How old is he?" and "Can he still sing?" and "Is he really as nice as he seems?"
Yes, he's handsome. He has thick gray hair, twinkley eyes, a great smile and a younger man's trim build.
How old is he? He's 30-50, my sister-in-law would say. Eighty is how the world translates it. But the number deceives.
Read MoreI expected him to be angry, furious, out of control. I expected him to be screaming and yelling "Why."
I should have known better. I have never seen him angry. Wounded, puzzled, defeated, yes. But I have never seen hate in his eyes.
Not the first time I met him, shortly after his daughter's death, when I drove to his house and sat on his couch and looked through albums filled with photos of a beautiful, smiling little girl.
Read MoreThey came to talk about their friend. Fifteen women drove from Dorchester to Braintree last Wednesday evening after a day of tending to their children, their homes and their jobs to sit in another friend's home and try to explain to a stranger how special Michelle Kennedy was.
"No matter what was going on in her life, she'd always say, "But what about you? How are you doing?"
"She was always there for me."
"She was my best friend."
Read MoreI didn't know he was sick. Not that I should have. Why would he have told me? He had no reason and no opportunity.
We didn't know each other. We were voices on the phone. I talked to him many times over the years, but I met him only once.
Read MoreFall River papers didn't cover it, though it happened in their backyard.
It wasn't news. News is about people hurting one another - robbing, lying, beating, killing. News is a health care worker mistreating patients; a doctor overprescribing drugs; a psychiatrist abusing clients. News is about the evil that men do.
But life brims with good, too, and the good far surpasses the evil. If it didn't, people wouldn't have partners, children, friends, pets. No one would nurse, doctor, teach, parent, rescue, feed, guide, inspire, love. No one would lift a finger for others.
Read MoreI never thought I would love her. I never dreamed I could even like her. I answered the phone and heard her voice, unrecognizable after 32 years. When she identified herself and asked me to come and see her, I said yes, out of duty and curiosity and perhaps even old-fashioned respect.
That's what I told myself. That's what I wanted to believe. But I went for more selfish reasons than these. I went to see if she were as mean I remembered; to show her she was wrong; to once and for all open the door on a moment that has colored my life, then slam it shut and lock it forever.
Read MorePity gets in the way. You know people don't want pity, so you stay away.
Discomfort is a problem, too. Yours. Theirs. Should you go up and say hello? Would a hello be mistaken for pity? What would you say after hello? What would you talk about?
Someone is in a wheelchair and you'd like to ask, "How come you're in a wheelchair? What happened?" Only those sound like the wrong words and because you don't know the right ones, you say nothing.
Read MoreIt was just another breakfast. I didn't want to go.
Eight a.m. is too early for small talk and smiles. I enjoy sitting at my kitchen table, reading the paper in silence, then facing the day.
But Karen Schwartzman from the Bank of Boston called and lured me. She said I'd get a chance to meet Margot Stern Strom, who is not only the executive director of Facing History and Ourselves but one of its two founders.
Read MoreI have accepted his words and his love, the way an infant accepts food. I've never wondered at them before. His letters have arrived sometimes in clusters, sometimes separated by weeks. I've relished them all. They are breezy, newsy, funny, warm, full of joy and wonder and life. I've shared them with my husband and children and answered some, but not all.
Read MoreThe contrast is everywhere. It's in the newspapers, in the ads for designer clothes and expensive skin creams laid out right next to reports of American children who go to school hungry.
It's in the landscape, in the sagging tenements that line the edge of American highways, where shiny new cars with deluxe audio systems and cruise control speed indifferently past.
It's in our cities and our towns, people in dress coats walking next to people in rags; the privileged hurrying to the theater and to symphony, the underprivileged going nowhere that isn't free.
Read MoreHe looms for me in death larger than he did in life. He was just my neighbor, after all, a man I saw only once in a while; a man whose company I enjoyed, but more of an acquaintance than a friend. I shouldn't miss him. Entire seasons would pass and I wouldn't see him. And yet now, just a week after his death, his absence feels huge, and my heart is strangely sore.
Read MoreEveryone should have an Aunt Fran. Even the name has a nice ring - Aunt Fran. It sounds friendly, yet elegant…
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