Takeout napkins: Every time I order take out, the waiter puts some napkins in my bag. Place them in a napkin holder. You

In the days preparing for this moment, I attempted to anticipate what she might have to say so that I could mentally prepare responses. Ultimately, I had decided I would simply let her speak and say whatever it was she was needing to purge in order to help her heal.

The crash was seen by no one. A resident of Wade Green road had heard the collision from her porch as she and her family were getting ready to leave for vacation. Her home was set back from the main road and behind some bushes that obstructed the noises and view of traffic.

I waited in the car outside the usual monthly meeting place in the passenger seat unable to bring myself to enter the building. My husband, who had driven me for moral support, sat in the driver’s seat.

“That’s her,” he said as I watched three women walk past the front of our car. One of them noticed my husband through the windshield, then saw me, and began walking towards our car as I slowly exited the vehicle. She carried an 11 by 14 framed picture in her arms, and a bag of files hung from her shoulder.

I remained quiet for the few seconds we stared at each other in the parking lot as I waited for to speak. She was matter-of-fact and pointed as she began, as if she had spent the last two years rehearsing.

From an evolutionary perspective, our bodies are dependent on lightning to be able to tell whether it’s day or night. Yet, that’s a challenge today because most people are exposed to artificial lighting all the time.

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r me, the main takeaway from Jan Koum’s story is that the biggest opportunities often lie in markets that don’t sound attractive. When the iPhone was launched in 2007, nobody in Silicon Valley wanted to build Android apps for the Indian market. But Jan Koum did, and his achievements can certainly be considered attractive.

Just before daybreak on a Saturday morning in June of 2016, my son, Ben, left a friend’s house in his red Ford Ranger pickup. He and two buddies had been out the previous night bar hopping in Atlanta and had managed to make it the 35 miles back home. Ben had fallen asleep, but was awakened by the calls and texts of his anxious girlfriend who had been begging him to come see her after a recent fight.

Towards the end of your workday, you should do the easy, repetitive tasks that don’t cost you much energy. That way, you can slowly slide into home time and unwind more easily.

She had seen where I posted about the upcoming picnic on my public Facebook page, and chose that time and place to confront me. My husband said he spoke with her for a little while, offered condolences, and told her that I should be at the monthly Compassionate Friends meeting the following Tuesday if she’d like to attend.

We turn on the lights as soon as we get up and spend the majority of our time staring at screens and smartphones, making it even more difficult to differentiate between day and night.

Right before the chapter’s annual butterfly picnic in the Spring, I asked my husband to drop off some items for their raffle since, due to a sudden bout of malaise, I was unable to attend. When he returned home, he asked me to sit as he began telling me about a person who had come to the picnic wanting to speak to me. I knew who it was before the name left his lips.

The woman first ran to the Honda and, upon seeing the passenger, knew there was nothing she could do. She then noticed flames igniting from within the Ranger’s mangled engine, and ran over to see if she could help. Reaching into the cab, she smacked the passenger’s leg in an attempt to stir him. There was no response from the young man slumped over the steering wheel, as the flames grew larger and the woman was forced to back away.

Shortly after losing my son, I discovered a national organization dedicated to bereaved parents and siblings called The Compassionate Friends and started attended meetings. I had found a place of like-minded individuals who needed to bring purpose to the seemingly senseless deaths of their children. After two years, I had become the editor of the chapter newsletter and a small group facilitator.

She came running down her driveway to see two mangled vehicles on the same side of the road that was partially divided by a medium. One, a blue Honda Accord, had landed up against a light pole just on the other side of the bushes of the resident’s home. The Ranger was seen just landing back onto its tires from an apparent roll.