by Jessica Sims

When someone becomes a parent they are essentially on their own. Society tells us that those maternal instincts kick in automatically, however that is not true for everyone.

by Ellen Usher

The smell of urine, thinly masked by ammonia and bleach, assaulted me every time I entered the building. I hated going, but I had to. I didn’t want to see him, or rather the shell he had become. I had done it before in 1995 when I would lose the person closest to me. Before, I had time to prepare. An infection, a bruised leg, gangrene, lost of a limb, and a slow decline into senility had taken ten years, and by the end I was prepared. I had time and months away at college to cushion the blow of my grandmother’s death.