To all of Kate's readers, I have made this blog into a book.
It ain't cheap, folks, but it sure is pretty.
Kate did other writing that I will be sorting through and figuring out how to share in the months ahead. She wrote a manuscript based on this blog, but it also included expansion of various points and other just-for-the-manuscript sections.
There are a couple of different versions of the manuscript, so I have to sort out what's what.
In the meantime, the blog is now a book (click here or below on the cover), but it's also still a blog. The entire journey remains online for all to read.
Tuesday, August 21, 2012
Tuesday, July 10, 2012
Fragment of Kate
Kate wrote the below on February 7, 2012.
*
Sometimes, there seems to be no words for it. But I try anyhow.
Tonight, I thought I was mentally strong enough to undertake the task of beginning the "legacy" writing tonight - notes to my kids for their milestones, like birthdays or for their everyday, for when I am gone.
Apparently I am not ready. I am crushed, sucked into a vacuum, fighting to fill my lungs with air. I miss them already. I cannot stop this machine of grief from riding roughshod over me.
These past few days, I have been doing well, living in the here and now. Doing lovely fun things. Buoying me up. And then an unexpected left hook of grief tonight, hit me so hard I can feel it in almost all the muscles of my body. Feeling almost guilty. Don't spoil the tranquility.
Pastor Tim came by today. We talked about the "constellation" that is our life here at #20 - his words. Stars in configuration. I have been meaning to talk to him, connect about the logistics of death as well as the more ethereal topics of what next, what is this, what might it mean, etc. We chatted. We talked about Kierkegaard and existentialism, and how every moment is "defined". We also talked naming conventions - comparing North America with Africa - specifically, Ethiopia, where he and LaVerna are recently home from.
*
Sometimes, there seems to be no words for it. But I try anyhow.
Tonight, I thought I was mentally strong enough to undertake the task of beginning the "legacy" writing tonight - notes to my kids for their milestones, like birthdays or for their everyday, for when I am gone.
Apparently I am not ready. I am crushed, sucked into a vacuum, fighting to fill my lungs with air. I miss them already. I cannot stop this machine of grief from riding roughshod over me.
These past few days, I have been doing well, living in the here and now. Doing lovely fun things. Buoying me up. And then an unexpected left hook of grief tonight, hit me so hard I can feel it in almost all the muscles of my body. Feeling almost guilty. Don't spoil the tranquility.
Pastor Tim came by today. We talked about the "constellation" that is our life here at #20 - his words. Stars in configuration. I have been meaning to talk to him, connect about the logistics of death as well as the more ethereal topics of what next, what is this, what might it mean, etc. We chatted. We talked about Kierkegaard and existentialism, and how every moment is "defined". We also talked naming conventions - comparing North America with Africa - specifically, Ethiopia, where he and LaVerna are recently home from.
Monday, June 4, 2012
Kate's final blog post
On May 14, Kate wrote a short blog post, but it remained in her draft folder.
She titled it: Cold feet and warm hearts.
And it said simply: Hi there, god. Can you make me a big bright umbrella beautiful dappled blanket?
She titled it: Cold feet and warm hearts.
And it said simply: Hi there, god. Can you make me a big bright umbrella beautiful dappled blanket?
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)