The phone rang at 11:10 pm. I tried to ignore it. I was tired and hoped the call wasn’t from a distraught therapy client. But the voice rising up from my answering machine was Kathy, one of the therapists I worked with on the second floor of a building called Century Hall.  “Pick up! There’s a fire!” Kathy shouted. I picked up. “What do you mean? A fire?”  “There’s been an explosion. Century Hall is burning!” said Kathy. This news was so bizarre that, at first, I couldn’t understand it.

I’m trying to make friends with death, trying to get closer without scaring myself too much. I’m trying to understand whatever I can...

Posted Sept. 2024 | Psychology Today I take my five-year-old daughter Jessie to a Halloween haunted house. She runs up the stairs of the...