I left my position as information technology manager at the Virginia Museum of Fine Arts in August 2010 to begin a new chapter in my life. So much of it had been spent being defined by my husband, my children or my career. I wanted to take time to learn who I was independent of my profession.
I visited my father last January in a nursing home in Florida. Dad was suffering from Alzheimer's. It was a difficult visit. I am thankful I made peace with him years before, while we were still able.
She arrived late for her appointment, not unlike other patients who were surprised by the heavy storm.
For a few weeks I've been wearing a tiny patch on my abdomen. It's an estrogen patch that my doctor prescribed for my menopause symptoms — hot flashes, mostly.
It's hard to believe that it's already Thanksgiving time again. As I reflect on the typical traditions of turkey, cranberry sauce (the canned kind that slips out and retains its ridges and shape), and gathering with family, an age-old question presents itself: Is it the turkey that is really making you tired … or could it be your relatives?
I moved to Richmond from Pennsylvania in 2006 after my husband died. I chose an over-55 community, hoping that the activities it offered would help me make friends because I knew no one here except my son and his family.
This summer, Venus Williams pulled out of the U.S. Open, revealing that she had been diagnosed withSjögren's syndrome.
I did it. I bought a minivan. And then I cut my hair short.
My oldest son has gone to college. I miss him already and he has only been gone two months, one week, two days, five hours and 63 minutes.
October is Breast Cancer Awareness Month. Raise your hand if you know someone who has had breast cancer. Me too. In fact, I come from a family of breast-cancer survivors. Suffice it to say that I am aware of breast cancer. And I bet you are, too.
As I write this, I know some moms out there will disagree with me. Thus, I'll add a caveat that, as a first-time mom, I do not proclaim to be an expert.
So much to say, so few words allotted to say it in, so let me begin this way: Most people's jaws drop — well, that's not quite right. The jaws of about 99.9 percent of the people I meet drop when I tell them I own a professional football team.
Sept. 25, 2010, was the day I buried my mom; Sept. 25, 2011, is the last day of the Susan G. Komen 3-Day for the Cure walk in Washington. Three days, 60 miles. I can do it!
In April 2002, my 23-year-old daughter, decided to move back to Arcata, Calif., where she had lived as an exchange student her junior year at college.
The memories of 9/11 are fresh and crisp in my mind. I can't remember what I had for dinner last night, but I can remember the smell in the air in New York City on Sept. 12, 2001.
This is the moment I've been waiting for, isn't it? Kindergarten is right around the corner for my son, Sam.
I am the proud mother of Natalie, my only child. When she was 2, I made the decision not to have more children. I had two miscarriages before she was born, the second being very difficult.
My daughter is in her room making clothes for her pet mouse. She is 5, and no, we do not have a mouse in the house (as far as I know).
When I decided to leave my sales job last year, I was convinced I would feel a sense of relief. I would have so much free time to get things done and be with my two kids.
Seventeen years ago this month, as a naïve and compassionate college graduate, I began my first job as a crime victim/witness advocate within the local prosecutor's office.
Three simple words. Together they hold all of the truths of the world. No. Not those three. My dog died.
On Jan. 1, I listened to all the news shows espousing advice for New Year's resolutions. I've made resolutions in the past, so I know sometimes they stick, sometimes they don't.
Hope. There's a little part of us that yearns for the type of love that shakes us to the core. The type of love that is dangerous, witty, affectionate, sexy, compassionate, funny, honest and warm.
Here's a challenge for you: Say only positive words.
When my brother-in-law, Kevin Shimp, was nominated this year for the Leukemia & Lymphoma Society's 2011 Virginia Chapter Man of the Year, it had special meaning for my family.
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