A friend of mine recently suggested I add more lightness to my writing. She said it would “make you more relatable.” Oh I get what she’s saying and I’m working on it. But in the last week three people I know have died, another’s dog has gone missing and I’m still fumbling my way through losing Jesse, so I'm having trouble accessing the light.
And yet, I feel very relatable.
When I emailed my friend late last week and told him the news of Jesse, he replied within minutes.
“Well that just fucking sucks. Those little buggers don’t live long enough.”
I laughed out loud and thought, “Yeah, you know what? It does fucking suck.”
On December 30th, we said goodbye to our sweet Jesse. We’d held on tight to our Hope Bone for two months but in the early morning hours on that day, it was she who let us know it was time to let go.
— From When Death Comes by Mary Oliver
At the beginning of 2011, I spent an entire weekend defining my goals for the year, following Ginny Ditzler's step-by-step plan from her dig-deep book, My Best Year Yet.
It was another breathtaking snow covered Christmas Eve in Ontario in the early 1970’s. My attempts to stay awake and this time finally catch a glimpse of Santa and his reindeer had failed – again.
“Jenn. Jenn!” My sister whispered across our room to me from her purple chenille topped bed. “Wake up!”
“Hmmm?” I grumpily replied.
“I just heard them! I just heard Santa land on the roof and - "
January 25, 2012