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It’s hard to see her prostrating herself like this, in the sort of letter that you can—I have—want to write directly after a breakup. But even with the humiliation there are flashes of insight into the sort of person she is and of her very own brand of bravery, the one that lured Spencer to the coa…

At first, I took my freedom as a seventeen-year-old might: hard and fast and negronied and wild. I was thirty-four and I wanted so much out of this new phase of my life: intense sexual attraction; soulmate-feeling love that would force my life into new shapes; work that felt joyous like play but me…

Unexpected events had brought me graveside: when I was thirty-two, my fifty-seven-year-old mother was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s. It wasn’t genetic; no one knew why she got it. We would, the doctors said, have three to nine more years with her. Everything wobbled. This knowledge raised questions ag…