In My Father’s Name
I hadn’t expected my doctoral research to lead me back to my father’s death. Yet a poem about loss opened a door to memories, questions, and meanings I thought I had already understood.
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Like Coming Home
Home is sometimes less a place than a feeling. On a warm summer’s day in Hungary, I found both through the lens of a phone.
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The Ritual
Grief does not end with time. It becomes a ritual—a quiet returning to those we continue to love.
