Patti Davis
The New York Times

My Father Would Weep for America

The night before my father, Ronald Reagan, died, I listened to his breathing — ragged, thin. Nothing like that of the athletic man who rode horses, built fences at the ranch, constructed jumps from old phone poles, cut back shrubs along riding trails. Or of the man who lifted his voice to the…

The Royal Grief You Will Not See

Death holds up a mirror to everything — moments of love, stretches of strife, memories that punish and exalt. This is true if your family is far removed from the public eye, and it’s true if your family is ensconced in the world’s spotlight. Queen Elizabeth II was the matriarch both of a country…

Why a Strident Minority Wants Us to Drown

Forty-one years ago, on a cold, drizzly day in Washington, four people were shot by a young man who had concealed a gun in his jacket. This was long before mass shootings became a frequent reality of our lives. It was long before semiautomatic weapons became commonplace. There were many “good…