After my husband, Fernando, had been dead for about two years, I decided to fill out a profile on Match.com. Of course, on that particular evening, I’d drunk quite a bit of wine.
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While my husband was alive, my erotic fantasies did not involve him, but now they always do. I am coming to realize that, at its core, my sexuality is still bound up with his. I am afraid that if I ever do have sex with someone else, it will release a torrent of grief, and I don’t know if I’ll survive it. And I can’t imagine how the other person might feel in that moment.
Losing a Parent in Your 20s, What I Wish I’d Known.
From diagnosis to death, my dad’s journey was a callously swift nine months. A strange lump in his thigh turned out to be osteosarcoma, which then...
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