Good Letters: The Image Blog

A Bluegrass Wake
Tuesday October 18, 2011
My sister died on a day when I was in Nashville. She went to be home, and I was five hundred miles from home, and another two thousand miles from my sister. It wasn't supposed to be this way. A one-to-three-months-to-live death sentence wasn't supposed to only last two weeks, and vacations—taken in part as a respite from the grievous weight of caring for a dying loved one—weren't supposed to end with....