Catherine Gigante-Brown

When David was about 12, he told me that he wanted to take the train to school alone. My gut reaction was, “No way in hell!” I mean, we live in a safe neighborhood and all, but David has ADHD and was easily distracted. What if he missed his stop? What if someone messed with him?

I’m a firm believer that Tiny Kindnesses can change the world, one sweet, loving gesture at a time.

Who says feminists don't love alpha males and cooking?

I sat obediently in her chair atop four ancient copies of the Yellow Pages. Crossing my fingers, I prayed Catholic schoolgirl prayers.

I saw my present mother-in-law in a whole new light the first time she held my newborn son.

A new U.S. Preventive Services Task Force recommendation on mammograms ensures more women will die of breast cancer.

That’s the thing about being a breast cancer survivor — it’s always there: it never goes away. The scars, the fear that lurks in the back of your mind like a boogeyman. You’re going along nicely, living your merry life, and you’re fine, until you’re not.

What Stephen didn’t know –– what no one knew –– was how weak my knees grew when I pushed through the swinging doors of the ICU.

After I got over the initial devastation, I pulled myself up by my big-girl panties and got on with it. Chemo was no picnic—but it was do-able.

To the tattoo artist, I was a flesh canvas that she could transform into something beautiful.