Amy Morris-Young

Soul Seeing: The history we teach our children — in books very like our children's Bible with simple line drawings to illustrate even simpler versions of the truth — has not yet included the full picture.

Notes from Nonna: When a friend told me about her son, I felt at once both isolated from those around me, and in the encompassing presence of God. And from that quiet stillness, I felt and heard this: "Just relax and let me love you."

Notes from Nonna: Can we talk about how wonderful grandchildren are? I mean, really, who knew about the joy that was coming if we could only survive our kids' teenage years and early 20s?

Some of my dearest family and friends embrace political positions that that fiercely contradict mine, but I still strive to love them. Being yanked between the ferocious ends of our current moral and political tug-of-war seems makes that difficult in the extreme.

When I'm in the middle of what feel like back-to-back catastrophes, I have learned that if I give in to even a bit of self-pity, I can rely on being thumped soundly on the head by God and the universe. And rightly so.

Notes from Nonna: As much as you think you want to be all grown up right now, I am happy that you can't read or understand the news. Very scary things are happening in our country right now.

Notes from Nonna: Our lives in the U.S. are predominantly lived out in separate boxes, the smells and sounds and textures of village life only distantly remembered, if at all.

A recent visit to Mass reminded me of my Italian grandmother, who late in her life traveled regularly to her ancestral home in Villa Basilica. In time, her visits became a liberating force among the women in the village. 

Daily Easter Reflections: In the 1990s a Peanuts cartoon featured Linus and Lucy waiting on Halloween for the mysterious Great Pumpkin. In one cartoon strip Lucy refers to the Great Pumpkin as a "she" and Linus looks at her shocked. "Never even occurred to you, did it?" she replies. 

If there is one thing my short trip to heaven taught me, it's that the last thing death means is that we are done, through, finished. Just the opposite. 

Book Review: I found this book and the entire grief-therapy empire that Christina Rasmussen has established to be, at the least, astonishingly ambitious in its promises, and, at the most, possibly harmful for those who are suffering grief, and thus at their most vulnerable.

In our crazy life, my husband and I have found that each time we make a plan, and dare to write it down on the calendar in ink, the logistics angels start to giggle. 

The lyrics of hymns, the words of prayers I've prayed countless times, the responses we say by rote: they comfort and stir me, awe and humble me, hit me in the gut and always reduce me to tears.

While I appreciate that aging is a scary process for all of us — and my decision signifies my embracing that instead of running from it — I certainly don't think it qualifies me as either inspiring or brave.

There is a rarely-discussed truth among us parents of three or more children. In general, we just seem to relax the more kids we have. But there is no possibility for complacence when your child struggles with addiction. 

This past weekend marked three years since my Mom passed away. A gift from my stepdaughter, a Christmas cactus, has evolved into a metaphor for my relationship with my Mom.

Column: I try to do what I can when I can for those I perceive as vulnerable and dehumanized. I go to Mass. I pray. I donate some money. I donate some stuff. I sign some petitions. I share information on social media. I vote. But I truly fear it will be not enough.

I heartily joined conversations with others of my generation who discreetly pointed and scoffed at younger folks in restaurants who seemed to focus on their cell phones at the expense of conversing with each other. And then, because it was totally different, I would reach into my purse and show my dinner companions the most recent photos of my grandkids.

Now, I fancy myself a pretty calm gal. But I dare anyone to drive two-hours-plus, each way, in gnarly urban traffic and stay completely One With Rama. I started out each day with the best intentions and love for my fellow man. But, dang!

My Italian grandmother wouldn't give up two hours for a movie, but she gave every waking minute of every day to action, for her family, and for others.