HeyJaredA Slightly Better Man
Grieving Father. Finding Strength. Seeking Wonder. Growing Together.
- Indexed issues, last 90 days
- 7
- Latest publication
- Sep 26, 2026
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- Earliest in this view
- Jul 4, 2026
Latest issues
Empty Closets (opens the original)
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My wife’s clothes have hung in her closet for over two years.Whenever I dared to peek inside, they looked listless and drab, as if missing the warmth of her skin had made them forget their shape and buoyant colors.On her nightstand, the Lavender and Vanilla lotion that I used to sniff to relive plunging my nose into the crook of her neck is now so spoiled that those memories feel more rancid than comforting.And even though these thoughts have plagued me, I still haven’t been able to bring myself
SAY HER NAME (opens the original)
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Sometimes I can be too cute for my own good writing these things.Two weeks ago I wrote Moving In, Moving Out, about my daughter Emma moving into her dorm room and my desire to live in the moment. To not relive the memory of my wife, Judy, dying two years earlier.And while everything I wrote in that essay was true, I did leave some things out to make the story smoother. Easier to digest.But life isn’t smooth. Especially when it comes to grief. It can’t be easil
MY ROYAL WORM TAKES A VACATION (opens the original)
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Lately, my Royal Worm has been very quiet.Which is weird. R.W., as I call him, is my gremlin. My ego. The little bastard who lives inside my head, who enjoys pumping me up, challenging me, and telling me that I suck — sometimes all in the same thought.I first met him a while back after struggling one night with a work situation and grieving over my wife. I wrote about it in My Royal Worm, after an exercise from Taming Your Gremlin
MOVING IN, MOVING OUT (opens the original)
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The hospice nurse told me that I should start rolling my wife onto her side to help mitigate the bed sores developing on her lower back. So that night, I did.But Judy was unable to balance by herself, so I had to hold her in place. She felt so frail. Her skin clung to her bones. Her lungs barely able to exhale air. I worried that if I squeezed too hard, I would crush her like an empty beer can.Even though I was exhausted, I fought sleep to make sure I wasn’t doing more harm than good. I remember
TOES (ALMOST) IN THE SAND – PART II (opens the original)
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Almost a year ago, I wrote a piece called Toes (Almost) in the Sand. It was about how I signed up for a volunteer beach cleanup and, when my two girls couldn’t join me, I chickened out. I was too sad to spend the morning surrounded by happy, smiling people enjoying the day with all their families and friends.It took a while, but I finally got another opportunity to do a beach cleanup. (Okay... this one was more of a canal cleanup than a beach cleanup, but it still counts. It had beachy vibes.) O
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