Helly my dears,
I’m testing out a new system for the newsletter this month, so don’t be surprised if things look a little different. It seemed the right moment for a shakeup. I’ve already moved my blogging to Substack and have been entranced with the minimalist nature of the platform and the ability to have subscribers to support the writing of those particular essays. On the other side of the fence, this newsletter will never be paywalled, and you will never be asked to contribute to its livelihood. I love to do it, and after all these years, it would be wrong to change the structure. But the platform? Change is always good.
But with change comes loss.
As many of you already know, we lost our beloved Jameson last week. Since last summer’s horrifying torsion surgery, we’ve known she was on borrowed time. She hasn’t been quite herself for a while now. She saw the other side, was pulled back from the brink of death by a very talented surgeon—and you could tell.
She didn’t play much, preferring instead to seek out warm spots in sunbeams, have lots of lap time, and insist on having her tail held while she ate, even at 2 a.m. Every extra moment with her was a gift. She was getting sicker and sicker, losing weight, and when she started asking for her pain meds, we knew we couldn’t keep pushing her. She went with grace, dignity, and peace; we will be forever grateful for that. But there is a hole in my heart that I don’t think will ever be filled. We are numb, in shock, and so deeply broken. I haven’t been able to go online—there’s been an outpouring of love and support, and I can’t read more than a few notes without shutting down. I know I’ll get there. I know grief takes time.
If you did send a message, please know that I feel it in my bones, and without you, we would be even more lost right now. I can’t even properly eulogize my beloved girl yet. All I can do is be grateful she’s out of pain and that her ashes have come home. She is resting in the spot on my desk that she loved so much, and I am working from my chair so she has all the space she needs.
To be honest, talking about much else right now feels wrong, so I will sign off and plan to see you next month instead. I was considering a sabbatical anyway, I just wasn't expecting it to happen when it did. Of course, we never do.
Be well, friends. I hope you’ve had the opportunity to love someone or something as completely as we loved our girl. The pain of loss is excruciating but reminds us that love is vital to our very beings.
xo,
I am so sorry.❤️❤️❤️
I’m so sorry for your loss.