When I was a child, I used to hold my breath—wanting so desperately to turn blue. I used to hold in air so long that when it burst out from my lungs my feet would leave the ground, my body jerked with so much force.

Adam had died in late August just before the High Holidays. Her husband Nathan’s only brother, Adam had been the youngest in the large family of five. He had passed away suddenly -- one day after an unexpected motorcycle accident on the 10 Freeway caught him under a Ford Explorer

My boyfriend and I were on a train last night, sitting and watching the sad-faced commuters and the streaking tunnel lights as they passed by. There was a man who stood to the side of us, in the doorway. He appeared to be, at first glance, an ordinary man. But like most things in life, on further inspection, he was far from that.