I have a fondness for writing about precocious, troubled teenagers, who are alienating, but kind of endearing. It's from remembering so clearly that time in my own life. I experienced myself as more dramatically troubled than I was, but I… — Ann Hood Copy Share Image
Everyone has read about or knows someone who has gone through fertility treatments. It is an emotional nightmare, fueled by false hope and the… — Ann Hood Copy Share Image
“Still, he loved her. She knew that. He loved her the best way he could. But she wasn't sure that was enough anymore.” — Ann Hood Copy Share Image
“On April 18, 1906, when that earthquake hit San Francisco and took David from her, Vivien began to speak the language of grief. She understood that grief is not neat and orderly; it does not follow any rules. Time does not heal it. Rather, time insists on passing, and as it does, grief changes but does not go away. Sometimes… — Ann Hood Copy Share
I have learned that there is more power in a good strong hug than in a thousand meaningful words. — Ann Hood Copy Share Image
Babies make you do things for them. They get you up and they get you moving. — Ann Hood Copy Share Image
I was a daughterless mother. I had nowhere to put the things a mother places on her daughter. The nail polish I used to… — Ann Hood Copy Share Image
For reasons I can't remember, my family eventually stopped attending church, and I started questioning the Catholic Church's beliefs. I dabbled a little, but… — Ann Hood Copy Share Image
Since my brother died in 1982, my parents and I had formed a shaky tripod of a family; now that I'd lost my father… — Ann Hood Copy Share Image
“Nothing can stop the words so well as the mute alphabet of knit and purl. The curl of your cupped hand scoops up long… — Ann Hood Copy Share Image
I learned to knit in 2002, six months after my 5-year-old daughter, Grace, died suddenly from a virulent form of strep. I was unable… — Ann Hood Copy Share Image
If watching your child die is a parent's worst nightmare, imagine having to tell your other child that his sister is dead... Although I… — Ann Hood Copy Share Image
