Nearly a year ago, when I wrote the blog When You Meet a Stranger’s Husband, I noted that I was rarely with family when keeping vigil. During the week I met with Ferdinand, I was fairly convinced that we would not see each other again. I was naïve to think this way since we live in the small town of Park Slope, Brooklyn.

Because the first anniversary of Isabella’s death is this week (Jan. 15), I wanted to talk about my unplanned reunion with Ferdinand. It happed on August 15; seven…

There is a long-standing joke in my family. At the funeral of a guy, the [insert clergy member of choice here] approaches the casket to begin the eulogy. He hesitates. Pauses. Fidgets a little and finally says, “His brother was worse.”

I have a pet peeve regarding eulogies. It makes me absolutely livid when the person officiating defines the person by her illness, rather than by her accomplishments, or, even worse, when a person is remembered in negative terms.

This brand of eulogy was given for an aunt of mine who had…

On a frigid Halloween night, sipping hot chocolate and wondering why anyone actually cares about Kim Kardashian’s 72 days of marriage, I was surveying Facebook, and saw that my friend Ivy posted the eulogy read by Steve Jobs’ sister, author, and English professor Mona Simpson. In it, Ms. Simpson wrote of meeting him for the first time (he was adopted and searched her out), their relationship over the years, and the end of his journey.

I don’t know when exactly my tears started to flow. I don’t know if it was…

When Apple co-founder Steve Jobs died last week after a long battle with pancreatic cancer, there were many articles and blogs written about his contributions to the improvement of our civilization, the way he revolutionized how we communicate, listen to music, and consume technology. He was lauded for his understanding of the marketplace, creating shareholder value, and fabulous sense of design.

What I found most interesting, however, were his views of death, which he shared with Stanford graduates in 2005, after his original diagnosis. Now when he spoke to the students…

My experience on September 11 has been well documented in the media, whether in an interview that took place later that morning in which the reporter’s characterization of me went something like: “said Abby Spilka, in a highly emotional state one hour after the attacks” to the time I was interviewed by Channel 9 News with the screen identification “Eyewitness to Terror.” I have given testimony to the Columbia University 9/11 Narrative and Memory Project and written about it for Museum News. I have blogged about it for the Museum…

I have been a bit neglectful of my blogging responsibilities of late, something I don’t need to remind my VNSNY colleagues. July has been a month of transitions for me. I have a new role at work, which is both exciting and daunting. And while I am still learning to balance official responsibilities with unofficial responsibilities, and taking on new tasks while maintaining all of the old ones would seem to be what is proving to be most difficult, it is not. And this brings me to the other transition…

When I wrote about organ donation in February, I knew of one example where a friend’s father donated several organs and my friend met one of the recipients. While the pre-visit jitters were not at all justified, I completely understood them.

In today’s New York Times, there is a wonderful article about a 38-year-old man who suffered a brain hemorrhage and whose wife agreed to donate his organs. In total, EIGHT people were given hope because of Julio and Mirtala Garcia’s selflessness. Mrs. Garcia met with five of the recipients last…

In the case of Prince William, when every person on the planet feels a connection to your mother, how do you do remember her at your wedding with honor, respect, and most importantly, in a way that has meaning for you?

Twice in the month of March it was my honor to speak at two different volunteer trainings at the offices of VNSNY near Herald Square. Each of these weekend days required traveling through the city early when there were few people on the road or on the sidewalk. It was like the city had not yet awakened, or if it had awakened, it had not yet had its regular coffee with skim milk.

I really enjoy speaking to new classes of volunteers because I want to convey to them how special they…