Blog Posts

Connectioning

I’ve found that one of the joys of reading He Plays a Harp is talking with people who come to my book events. I haven’t had that many events (yet) but at each, I meet people who have connected with my writing or my story. Recently at Schuler Books, a young woman came for the reading and brought me a book to be signed. She was a bit teary and I asked her if she’d lost a child. “No,” she...

A Second Goodbye

After four years of writing, revising and editing; making photo choices and reviewing page proofs I have a book in hand. I love the feel of its soft touch paper cover, the typography is pleasing and the stories delight me as I re-read them. I have a handful of events planned and people seem excited to read it. This is what I worked for, right? And I wonder why I don't feel better, happier about...

Finally! A book.

It is with great pleasure I’m finally able to share news about my memoir, He Plays a Harp.  The official publication date of the book is May 11, 2014, Mother’s Day. I didn’t set out to write a book, I just wanted to mark the fifth anniversary of Noah’s death with a piece of memorable writing. Thanks to The Rapidian, I had a place to publish it and the waves were set in motion. Readers...

Odd Day, Even Year

Like a birthday, wedding anniversary or any important date, the anniversary of Noah's death is one we note. It's on my electronic calendar as a recurring date, The Day Noah Died, as if I really need reminding. It is on our wall photo calendar with a picture of him and the words, Noah's Day on February 27. He died in 2006, an even year just after the end of the winter Olympics in Torino. Eight...

The Signs

I've always been open to signs, you know, like an answer to a meaningful question via the appearance of a rainbow, a bird crossing my path or something else that tells me what I need to know.  Though I'm open to signs, I can't think of a time when I actually had a meaningful sign. Until today. I found this rock, or chunk or concrete while I was running. I picked it up and ran home with it in my...

Summer Camp and Love

Just out of Marquette, past Northern Michigan University’s wooden Superior Dome, there’s a turn to County Road 550. That’s where I’d move to the back seat of the van to sit next to Noah and hold his hand. Mike would drive and we'd pass Phil’s 550 Store, cottages, homes and the occasional rustic resort cabin complex while a Jimmy Buffett CD played to make the mood lighter. Noah loved...

His Dad is a Runner

There have been ebbs and flows, months or years early on that I didn’t run, but for the most part I’ve been pounding pavement for the better part of thirty years as a runner. Running defines me. It is part of my person, who I am. As much as I am a wife, a mother, a, writer, a PR practitioner and a vegetarian, I am a runner. I run alone mostly, in the dark stillness before dawn. I run without...

Tolerance of Grief

Yesterday was the seventh anniversary of Noah's death. I admit, the pain of his loss isn't as acute as it was seven years ago. But still, when I think of him, I can feel the tightness in my throat and my eyes start to burn. And I think about him every single day. That's the reality of this kind of loss. The grief hangs on and on. It's become a part of me. As much as I am a writer, a runner, a...

Poking the Wound

One of my classmates in my online writing class mentioned a book she thought I'd like to read, Far from the Tree by Andrew Solomon and I'm pleased that she did. The book is about parents, children and how their identities are wrapped around one another. His focus is on parents with children who are not "vertical"or similar to their parents. He writes about kids who are deaf, dwarfs, have autism,...

Nervous

This is one of several Christmas stories in my memoir. Noah loved Christmas and we fueled his passion with our own holiday hype. We’re super hall-deckers. There’s not a surface in our house that doesn’t have some piece of Christmas crud on it. Elves on shelves. A manger scene with a menagerie. In the bathroom a rooftop Kleenex box topper with a pulled tissue looks like chimney smoke. A...