Archive
Author: Alasdair Renwick-Hale
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Grief Outlasts the Casseroles
I remember sitting in a small, sterile hospital room in the late nineties, the smell of industrial floor wax heavy in the air, watching…
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Contentment Is Trained, Not Discovered
I remember sitting in a small, dimly lit room in the hospice during my final year of chaplaincy, listening to a man who had…
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Mission and Empire Were Entangled and Not Identical
I remember sitting in a cramped, dimly lit hospital waiting room years ago, listening to a young man try to explain his profound grief…
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Owning Less Is Easier Than Wanting Less
I spent most of my years in hospital wards, sitting in the quiet spaces between a patient’s breath and their inevitable questions, and I…
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Cheapness Usually Has an Address
I remember sitting in a sterile hospital corridor years ago, watching a young administrator frantically explain how a “streamlined” logistics system was supposed to…
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Reading a Letter in One Sitting Changes It
I remember sitting in a quiet hospital corridor late one Tuesday, the air smelling faintly of antiseptic and stale coffee, watching a young man…
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Twenty Minutes and No Advice
I can still smell the sharp, sterile sting of antiseptic and floor wax from thirty years of walking those hospital corridors. There was a…
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The Conflict Story Is Mostly Nineteenth Century Invention
I remember sitting in a sterile hospital room years ago, watching a young man stare at a monitor that was providing him with more…
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Every Purchase Is a Vote Cast Somewhere
I remember sitting in a sterile hospital room late one Tuesday night, watching a man stare at a mountain of unopened, expensive gadgets he’d…
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Bring Food Before You Bring Advice
I remember sitting in a dimly lit oncology ward in the late nineties, the air thick with the medicinal tang of antiseptic and the…