Writing

In this obituary you will meet Jerry McGinn: a Renaissance man with a twinkle in his eye, a quip at the ready, and a gift for building community—one glass, one laugh, one moment at a time. In honoring Jerry's life, I found not only my voice—but the heart of a story that keeps unfolding.

Some clubs have membership fees. Others have initiations. The Widows Club has only one requirement—one I never wanted to meet.

I’ve been in the Widows Club  long enough that grief bombs no longer sink me. I can navigate triggers  that sneak up in odd places like while getting my taxes done. Now,  they’re more like a tug on my heart, a quiet awareness of the difference  between then and now. The sadness remains, but now it’s laced with  gratitude and even humor.

Artificial intelligence is everywhere—but what does it actually mean for everyday life? In this accessible and lightly humorous guide, I explore how AI works, how it differs from traditional search, and how we can approach it with curiosity rather than fear.

Being a podcast guest gave me a new way to share my message—different form, same heart. In this 20-minute conversation, Dr. Bob Centor and I talk about my family’s experience with palliative care and why earlier referrals can make such a meaningful difference for patients and the clinicians who care for them.

Progressive supranuclear palsy. Multiple system atrophy. Corticobasal degeneration. I could barely pronounce the words let alone comprehend them. At sixty-five, my husband, Jerry, was initially diagnosed with Parkinson’s. Now, 3 years later, the neurologist suspected something worse—one of these Parkinson’s-plus syndromes.

What happens when caregiving pushes you past your breaking point? After a near meltdown at work, I realized stress was rewiring my brain — and not in a good way. Meditation, mindfulness, and support groups helped me slowly rebuild. This essay shares how I reclaimed my well-being, one breath at a time.

Some clubs have membership fees. Others have initiations. The Widows Club has only one requirement—one I never wanted to meet.

I’ve been in the Widows Club long enough that grief bombs no longer sink me. I can navigate triggers that sneak up in odd places—like while getting my taxes done. Now, they’re more like a tug on my heart, a quiet awareness of the difference between then and now. The sadness remains, but now it’s laced with gratitude—and even humor.

Two hummingbirds became my daily companions in the final season of my husband’s life—tiny flashes of beauty amid the ache of letting go.
What began as a fragile superstition became a doorway to presence, to trust, and to a deeper way of being with both love and loss.