In one of her books, Madeline L’Engle recounted a story she had heard: “Someone tells me of a story of a bishop who lost his wife and child in a tragic accident. And he said to his people, ‘I have been all the way to the bottom. And it is solid.'” I too have found that to be true—for the most part. Like Flannery O’Connor once wrote, “I can, with one eye squinted, take it all as a blessing.”
Word keeper, mother, observer, sacred eavesdropper, close-reader, wounded healer, beauty-finder, skeptic, and trying to put all that into words. Lover of libraries, crepuscular rays, murmurations, etymology, flowers and dachshunds in sweaters; the scents of lavender, coffee, and books. An anglophile whose favorite writing accoutrements are a cup of PG Tips and digestives with dark chocolate.
After my 33-year-old husband, a well-known rock cellist, drowned in Lake Geneva, Switzerland while touring with singer Regina Spektor, I found myself searching for meaning in the intersection of fresh widowhood and young motherhood. I documented both at Dear Audrey.
Here is the world. Beautiful and terrible things will happen. Don’t be afraid.
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