Author Archives: janishaag

What if, even as we die,we find that this time of advent,of waiting, this in betweenhere and gone, is notto be feared? That each slowing exhale,breath to breath to breath,is a kind of bardo, the liminal statebetween death and rebirth,an … Continue reading →

He is a maximum big-guy cat,cries as he walks around Mother’shospital bed in the family room. Normally, he’d be on her lap in herbig chair by the window, but nowhe’s underneath her, talking, as he does. And normally, she’danswer him … Continue reading →

(for Donna) Tonight as I am tucked into my warm bed,she is on the overnight in the housewhere we grew up, my womb mate whooccupied the same space two years after me, the little sister who, earlyin our lives, became … Continue reading →

Her father would wince when he’d hearMom call us “you guys.” To Grandpa, the fatherof two daughters, we were his preciousgranddaughters, and this usagestuck in his craw. And though we preferred our rubber-toedtennies (blue for my sister, red for me)and … Continue reading →

And now before dawn,a storm rages justoutside the slidingglass door, the suddenly barebranches of ourfamily treesshivering, dripping, as one of us insideis leaving, one whosestorms once ragedthough this house. She lies quietly nowin the family roomwhere we all watchedSullivan and … Continue reading →

Now there is no going in or going out.Now there is just here, the final here. Now there is where she hasn’t wantedto go. Where a week ago, traveling between here and gone, pairs of unfamiliar eyesand the face of … Continue reading →

It’s hard work, this loveno matter what anyone says.—Louise Glück ••• No one tells you that,besides all the little thingsthe dying need help with,it’s hard work tendingthe one on her way, the one who will notgive up, give in, even … Continue reading →

When it’s cool and sunny,heading toward the end of the year.Everything in place. Having hadone last vanilla shake, eyes closed,relishing the creaminess going downa parched throat. Trees still releasing the lastof their bounty, some alreadybare, their slender limbs reaching,always, for … Continue reading →

I wish I understood the beauty in leaves falling. To whom are we beautiful as we go? —David Ignatow, from “Three in Translation” This leaving is not pretty.We see it every fall—the browning,the brittling, the green suckedfrom what only months … Continue reading →

Before you go,what would youlike to hear? Certainly somegood barbershopharmony sung by strong voiceslike yours usedto be, and his. Maybe a bit ofJohn Denver,whose songs you played againand again on theeight-track tapes in the car—takingyou home downcountry roads— in your … Continue reading →