For Michele Botts, in memory of her beloved Michael.
The play is over. It was a wonderful piece: there was great chemistry between you and your leading man, and the story was compelling. It enjoyed a good long run, but this was the last performance. The theater is empty and you’re here alone, packing up your dressing room, turning off the lights. Now you’ll walk home alone and let yourself into that too-quiet apartment. And tomorrow you’ll have to figure out what you’re going to do next. This part will be difficult. You’ve been with the same cast for so long, you became like family. You knew your lines by heart, and your feet automatically took you to every mark on the stage. Comfortable. And such a good part! The part of a lifetime, and you didn’t want it to end.
What next? The options here on Broad Way are limited. It’s hard to even think about, you’re so tired. Maybe you’ll just retire and move to the outskirts of Obscurity. Buy a little cottage and get a cat. That sounds sweet. You’re already thinking about wardrobe: overalls and a straw hat for gardening; a vintage apron for baking cakes; comfortable shoes and a good wool coat for those winter trips to the grocery store. You can finally let your hair go gray. And no stage make-up night after night, your pores will be grateful. Maybe you’ll do that.
Not tomorrow, though. Some of the cast members are having a party and of course, it would look bad if you didn’t attend. You’ll go. Be a good sport. The leading lady will be there, even if the leading man won’t. Gone. Packed up his things right after the last curtain call, and off to Parts Unknown. You hope they’re good parts. You hope he’ll be happy. Best leading man you ever had. Always brushed his teeth before the big love scene. Never stepped on your lines, never tried to upstage you. Willing to read and rehearse well into the night to get it right and always, always giving it his all, making it so easy to play scenes with him and respond with true feeling. So natural, so right. People assumed you’d continue on together. So did you, for a while. Until the rumors started flying about the Big Break. Then he told you. He’d been offered a part he couldn’t turn down. A film. A tragedy, yes. But, ultimately, redemption. The director was bigger than God.
And so you wished him well. Promised to stay in touch. We’ll always be friends, of course we will. See you on the big screen. And like Icarus, he flew off into the sun.
What you hadn’t counted on was this overwhelming sense of loss. Not just for him. For the part, too. Who you were when you were with him. He was one of those larger-than-life characters who raise everyone around them up to their level. The fact that he considered you special was a glow-inducing miracle. And when he would see you standing in the wings, he would hold your gaze for one extra heartbeat before delivering his next line. And beat, your heart did. And take wing, that it did too.
But now you’ll just have to make do with the memories. Your leading lady days are behind you. Those roles will go to younger women, and good luck to them. It’s a brutal business, this life. Somehow the exits outnumber the entrances now, and still the show goes on. Too many exits. And on, and on.
Tomorrow you’ll make a good entrance at the party. Put on a brave face and wow ‘em in the back row. And then, who knows? There are plenty of supporting roles out there for someone with your experience.
Your experience. It didn’t kill you. You’re still waiting for the promised strength.
So, one last glance at the stage. One more whiff of any sweet applause that might still linger. The sound of two hands clapping, times adoration. Ecstasy.
The Exit sign glows over the door. Another exit. This one feels so different from the others, so final. You know when you walk through that door, and into the world of natural light and shadow, that you’ll be making the most difficult entrance of your career. All of this damned experience will float around your head like a veil, rendering you unrecognizable and making it hard to see where you’re going. At least the rest of the world will have the advantage of a soft focus, but not you. While you stand sweating in the harsh glare of this Stage Of Life, people will avert their eyes. Or worse, that sad smile of pity. Whenever his name is mentioned there will be uneasy glances your way. The subject will be quickly changed. The once welcome whispers will change from “That’s her!”, to “Poor woman, how will she go on?”. How will you go on?
Push the handle. Take a big breath and just push. What’s the worst that can happen? The worst has already happened. The worst thing you could ever have imagined walked right up to you and slapped you so hard that whole months went flying right out of your head, never to return. Seriously. The universal Heidi just gave you immunity for the next challenge. Push.
You step out into the cold, still night. A sudden rustling of floral paper and playbills. The muffled applause of gloved hands clapping. Two hands times human compassion. Little ecstasies. Flowers and requests for autographs, the look in their eyes says it all. You have emerged, the glow of specialness intact. Somehow, it’s yours to keep. Still a beauty, but deeper now. You realize that your heart will find it’s wings again. And beat. That it will, too.
So buy the cottage; get the cat and the apron. And then find a housesitter so you can take all of that life experience into a supporting role and blow their minds with the depths of your performance. And when you’re picking up your award, sing his name at the top of your lungs, if you want to. “He was wonderful! It was beautiful! He made me who I am today and I will always be grateful for our time together!”
Because this is Widowville, honey, and we write our own scripts here.
…
Copyright © 2010 Jean Fogelberg. All rights reserved. May not be reprinted without permission.
Hi Jan, I haven’t experienced loss of my soulmate (he does have end stage liver disease and is on the transplant waiting list) or the loss of my Mom or Dad (they are both 83 and both have different medical issues). I do have fear of losing all three of them and that creates a huge amount of stress. It is fear of the unknown which I realize no one can tell us what is going to happen and when. The one thing I have found that helps me is by going to yoga once or twice a week at our local YMCA. I can now do a down dog longer than a second and it gives me a place to relieve my mind for an hour. Just last night I cried because my Dad (who has always been my rock) keeps interrupting me when I talk, adamantly disagrees or doesn’t trust what I say and has a high pitch reaction before I finish most sentences I’ve started. We have always had an incredible relationship so this is something new for me. I have also taken to writing on a big sheet of yellow paper when the tears aren’t coming out. The fear of losing a loved one is very painful for me right now. I hope you keep writing here on DLH-I am learning from each persons experiences.
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Melisa,
I can understand your fears of losing a loved one. It is something all of us have to face at some point in our lives. Back in 1987 my mother was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer and dad had Parkinson’s disease at that point for almost 10 years, so his health was deteriorating. Unfortunately, my dad died of a massive heart attack in April 1988 and then my mother just gave up after his death and she joined him in Heaven in May 1988, just 5 weeks later. That was a very difficult time in my life losing my parents so closely together. But I kept telling myself they were both no longer in pain, and they were together in Heaven. That sustained me and helped me in that grieving process. So just take a day at a time, bless each moment you have your loved ones, and do hang on to all of the good memories and times you all have shared. Keep writing to DLH which is such a blessing, a place where we all can seek help with our fears and grieving. There were not such wonderful resources available to me back when I lost my parents. I’ll be praying for your husband, your parents and especially for you, Melisa. Take care.
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It still is a new experience for me…living without my life partner, my soulmate. Jack died on Jan 13 so it’s been just over 6 weeks. The hardest time of the day for me is when I drive home after work, walk in the door and he is not there. Does that sadness ever get better? Also, the weekends I find are so hard to get through. Everyone tells me it takes a long time and that eventually the pain is not as deep. This site is so helpful to me; just to read others’ comments and knowing that I am not alone is so helpful.
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Dear Jan,
I also think you need to give yourself time to heal, your wounds are still so fresh. I realize this is not the same as losing your soul mate but, when my Dad passed away I would walk in the door, and my stomach used to sink, when I realized after a spilt second, he was not there anymore. I do commiserate with the feeling you must get as after a long day at work, coming home to an empty house.
I am wondering have you made some time to go out with friends, to shop, maybe for a manicure, see a movie, or to have dinner. The healing will come slowly, as it can not be forced. Hope I might have helped you a little on your way.
“A time to weep and a time to laugh, a time to mourn and a time to dance”
~Char
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Char, I know it’s still so soon. Guess I want to ‘speed up’ this pain so I can try to move on but as you wrote, we cannot force the healing. I am going to a grief recovery group weekly; sponsored by OSF Hospice care, which was in our home during the last week of Jack’s life. Such beautiful, compassionate, caring people. The group is helpful. Gives me the opportunity to be with others who have also lost a soulmate/loved one to cancer. They are all at different stages of grieving. For some it has been two years since their loss, but they come not only for their needs but to help others who are new to the group. I am trying to go out with friend(s) or having them visit me at home. I am blessed to have such a great support in my friends and my daughter and family who live nearby. Grandchildren are such a joy! I am looking forward to warmer weather when I can plant my flowers on the three decks of our condo. Gardening is my love so hopefully that will be great therapy. Thanks for your comments and support. I just love this site and all of the wonderful support from everyone. It is truly a gift from God. Bless all of you!
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Dear Jean,
What a creative way to write about such a difficult experience. The pain of the loss of a loved one is for me, the worst. Whether it’s a husband, parent, or other loved one, there is still that challenge of figuring out how to live without that person in your life, and how to make life wonderful in a new way. I loved reading how you have indeed found your way, as you are a very special artist who has so much to offer to the world. I thank God that you are sharing with all of us and I hope you know that you are loved for you, as we have come to “know” you; not for being anyone’s wife, but simply for being the amazingly gifted woman you are. Many blessings to you always!
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Hi Debora,
What a beautiful note to Jean, she IS one amazing woman, WHO presently does not have internet service. But I too love this piece as it is absolutely brilliant.
And Debora I am in total agreement on the loss of a loved one, no matter what the relationship was/is.. living without them is hard,period.
~Char
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Thank you, Debora. I wanted to write something about all of the changes: the personal transformations the grief takes you through, how you try to maintain your brave face while figuring out who you are now, how you lose friends and discover others, how people avoid mentioning your lost love or become uncomfortable if you mention his name. And how each person has to create their own new path. I appreciate your kind words as well as your Faith in me
.~ Jean
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Thank you to all who commented! My words, while never as eloquent as Jean, come from the heart. I lost the two people who meant the most in the world to me, and now, when I help others who are struggling with fresh grief and looking for answers, I give them gentle honesty. Life will never be the same, that is true, but it can still be exhilarating, joyous and filled with love; it’s just that you may have to reframe those things for yourself and find new ways, and possibly new people, to help make that happen. It’s all about making the conscious choice to move forward.
My mom left me a card in the event of her death, long before she got ill, asking me to NOT spend too much time grieving. She loved me and wanted me to enjoy life. One of the ways in which I do that now is to go to a beautiful restaurant on her birthday, like I used to do with her, and celebrate her life with friends. I go to someplace I would have taken her had she lived to make the move to New England with me, and I drink a toast to her and focus on the happy memories. There will always be the pain of loss, as for me, once the love is there, the loss will always be felt, but I make the choice to focus on the good and not the pain as much as possible.
And to dear Jean, I never found my soul mate, but I can only begin to imagine how difficult it must be to have found that kind of magic and then be asked to release it. I lift you up in prayer every day and thank God for the time you and Dan had together, but still cry sometimes for the fact that it clearly wasn’t long enough. My soul longs to hear more of his music and to experience the spirit and energy that was palpable at every concert. We all lost him far too early.
I am grateful beyond description that you have shared so much of yourself with us, because you are one of the most talented, artistic and genuinely beautiful people I know of. You inspire me when I see how much you have become your own Phoenix, rising from the ashes of the pain and turning it all into good. If only millions more were like you, this world would be such a lovely place!
Sending you big hugs and hoping that perhaps, one day, I can give you a hug in person. God bless you and all your sweet DLH angels!
Debora
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Hi Debora,
I really enjoyed your note. What stood out to me was that you made it clear that your love for Jean is unconditional-irrespective of whether or not she was married to Dan Fogelberg. You just love her for being her, and that is something that I let my daughters know daily. Don’t get me wrong….I’m by no means the perfect parent, but I think growing up in the 60′s and 70′s, unconditional love was not talked about as much. I don’t think parents were encouraged to express love to their children as much as they are in this generation of parents. Good work, Deobra!!
~Ann
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Thank you, Ann. I was blessed to be raised by a mother who went through great lengths medically to have her tubes restored and to give birth to her fifth child in her 40′s. That was in 1959, and I was one of the first successful deliveries of that nature, so my mom always gave me love and let me know how much she valued me. She was my rock, which also made her death so much harder for me.
I currently write a monthly article on child protection in general for my agency’s website, but I spend a lot of time writing for parents and caretakers about how to avoid problems later by spending time with kids, communicating with them, and building those bridges that are oh so vital as children grow; allowing them to make wise choices and not fall victim to suicide and eating disorders, amongh other ills today. I couldn’t agree more that it’s the parent-child relationship that is key for every generation.
If each individual were valued and loved unconditionally, or as close to that as we humans can get, just think how much better this world would be? When I see homeless people wandering the streets, I always wonder if they were born to loving parents, and what route brought the individuals to that point in life. So sad!
I think it’s also crucial for caregivers to learn to love and forgive themselves. My mom collapsed without warning the day after Christmas, just as I was beginning a MUCH-needed long vacation. I was stressed out and beyond exhausted, then suddenly had to forget all about rest and self-care to deal with caring for Mom; attending to her finances and all the things she used to do; work my full-time job as a director of 5 human service programs, etc. My friends were afraid I’d go first because I was burning the candle at both ends and in the middle and had no relief. At one point, I got so ill that I couldn’t even be around my mom for a week, for fear she’d catch what I had and not survive!
After she died, I kept beating myself up emotionally for the one time that she made a request of me and I was short with her. It wasn’t horrible, but I let my own desperation show, and while the words weren’t spoken, I could see the hurt look on her face, as if she couldn’t believe I could behave that way when we both knew she was dying. The guilt I felt was overwhelming, until one day, a good friend who also happened to be a therapist took me to lunch and asked about it. Her words to me were basically this–that VERY few people have the kind of constant, round-the-clock care that my mother had, all from someone who loved them and not from strangers. She assured me that even in my lesser moments, what I gave to Mom was a gift. We did have to use a nursing home for the last month of her life, but now, I trust that Mom knew I was just SO tired and forgave me, as she always did. In my belief system, she is in a place where none of that matters, anyway. What a complicated web we caregivers can weave for ourselves! And yes, I did deal with several of the health issues after Mom’s death–high blood pressure, increased blood sugar, thyroid disease that culminated in having my thyroid destroyed, etc. Yet another reason that this website is such a gift to all in the caregiver role. Had I fully understood all the risks, I would have make my own self-care more of a priority.
Thank you to all of you for being here for caregivers, past and present. God bless your work and your lives!
Debora
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Debora, what a powerful post! So much of interest there. That your mom had her tubes restored in ’59, wow. She sounds amazing, and your relationship with her, incredible. When I see homeless people I always think: “Don’t they have any family to help them?”. The stories must be so varied, with families finally giving up after years of attempted interventions, etc., well, that’s what I tell myself. Ah, yes, that one terrible moment, which all caregivers have rattling around in our brains. That moment when, as you so perfectly put it, we “let our own desperation show”. The moment itself lasts for one second, but ever after, every detail is clearly imprinted in our brains in slow motion. One moment. Out of hundreds and thousands of moments. How hard we are on ourselves! Complicated webs, indeed. ~ Jean
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Oh, dear Jean,
Thank you for helping me to move closer to true forgiveness of myself for that single moment. I have never told anyone else, other than my friend, about it until now and always thought I was the only caregiver who blew it. If I had been rested before it all hit, but then again, who is ever prepared for the sudden illness and impending death of a loved one? There were so many layers in all of that–trying to be brave and strong for Mom; the repeated shock (which is felt emotionally and physically) when one begins to accept that this is it; the desire to imprint every last second into the brain while still trying to keep daily life in motion; the anger that our time is coming to an end; the frustration with my own body for its need to sleep at all . . . I needed to “snap,” but of course, tried to hold it together instead of being honest about the emotional hurricane whirling around inside me.
Even as I am writing this, I am crying once again with the memory of that one single moment. Why do we do that to ourselves, when others can see how much good we did? Maybe it’s because when it’s someone we love so much, we just can’t settle for anything less than our best? I don’t know.
And if we ever do get to meet one day, I’ll tell you the rest of the story about my birth. It was actually considered a miracle at the time and there is another layer, in fact, another dimension to it that makes it even better than you have read thus far. My mom was an amazing woman and I do my best every day to honor all that she gave to me.
Big hugs to you!
Debora
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Hi Debora,
After reading your story I am most certain that your mom is smiling down on you at this moment. You should pat yourself on the back, and give yourself more time to heal, as she was not only your mom, but your friend. I think you are one amazing care giver, and you should go easy on yourself.
~Char
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Thank you, Char. I know that Mom is with me–I feel her spirit around me all the time. She was my best friend and a wonderful role model, too! I sense that she’s proud of me, but I have a hard time shaking the look on her face that day. She had become so totally dependent on me and we had weathered so many of life’s storms together that I wanted to do my best to repay all she’d given me. I know that whatever mistakes I made are long forgotten by her and that she’s at peace, but the road to healing is a lifelong one. One of our favorite movies was “Shadowlands,” and there is a line in it about impeding death: “The pain then is part of the happiness now. That’s the deal.” Most of the time, I try to remember that whenever there is great love, there is an accompanying sense of loss when the person dies, but the love is so worth it! Thanks for being there, Char.
Debora
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Debora,
Thank you, for being here…
I am a caregiver for my husband, with various health issues, and my 90 yr Mom. I find the information, comments and ideas, that DLH provides,has helped me tremendously. Trying to remember that each second counts in the life of someone, has me striving to be a better, more compassionate care giver. I only hope I can do as well as you did.
~Char
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Char,
I can’t begin to imagine caring for a husband and a mother, too! One was al I could handle, and it was not long after I had spent 14 mos. dealing with the cancer and death of my dog, who was my only “baby.” Handling two major caregiving situations at once makes you Super Woman!
After my experiences, I have learned to focus more on the positive and the gift that each moment is. When you start to view it that way, you find that you can handle those daily stresses a little more easily, at least I do now. I know that my actions now may be something I may remember, or even regret, later, so I try to take a deep breath and make a conscious choice about how I want to act. I am so far from perfect at it, but that awareness helps me.
I have no doubt from everything you’ve said that you are an amazing caregiver, and you and your family are in my prayers each day. God bless you!
Debora
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Debora,
Wanted to let you know how much your sharing of your one moment in your caregiving that haunts you has helped me. As Jean said, we all have them. I feel so much more at peace after reading your post and remembering how I had been my husband’s round- the-clock caregiver and that even tho’ I made mistakes, he did have someone who loved him taking care of him. Thanks for helping so many learn how to go a little easier on ourselves.
Betsy
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Hello everyone,
First….Jean, you are an angel on this earth. You have a gift also, like Dan, with words. I have not been a widow, but I call myself a “serial bride.” (Three weddings, three divorces, with my Mom standing in the background saying “I told you so.”) But even a divorce is like becoming a widow in so many ways. You sleep alone, you eat alone, you cry alone, your mutual friends don’t know how to respond to either of you, you long for one last hug, you yearn to hear his voice and sometimes even when it was in anger. It is sheer loneliness. That is all…in my situation. I had to force myself to get out, call my friends, and the hardest part was not calling my ex and begging for him to come back. Being lonely can be overcome. There is so much to life and each day is an adventure. You just have to convince yourself that life does go on, memories last forever, and happiness is just around the corner. In no way am I saying that losing a spouse to death is easy. I can never begin to know what that feels like. Take a deep breath, love the memories, laugh out loud when you think of something silly that the both of you experienced, and always keep he/she in your heart….where the love started in the first place.
~Bev~
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Jean,
You write as beautifully as your husband sang. Thank you for the gift of your prose; it helps me set my chin for one more day.
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I was just looking on this internet thing as you call it and came across this site. I see your pics — pretty good looking couple–did not recognize you but vaguely remember the name dan fogelberg. my heads alittle fuzzy here in widowville. but nice to know i have some company!
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Jean, you really ought to write a book. You have so much to share with the world!
I really only got deeply hooked on Dan’s music towards the end of his life. In fact, most of his music I have still never heard (I am constantly on the lookout for the missing recordings) but I love it for the poetry of the words.
You have such a magical style of expressing yourself. I could imagine where some people would have been jealous of you, for your beauty, your husband & your talents. But that would have been THEIR loss. To me (& probably to others) you have become more than “Mrs. Dan Fogelberg”, you have become “Jean Fogelberg.”
Dan must have been a pretty neat guy to have chosen you. I only wish that you’d had more time together.
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So well said! Your words about Jean are PERFECT!
We are all in ‘this’ together. I am thankful we are here at the same time! So much posted has helped me to make pivotal decisions. From caretaking to career changes. Profound thanks to all. And gratefulness to Jean!
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Hi Sharon. It is true. At first when you read & post here, you think “Whoa, THAT’S DAN FOGELBERG’S wife!” After a while, after exchanging posts with her & reading her other ones it’s more like, “Oh, THAT’S JEAN, she was married to Dan & he died way too young of prostate cancer…oh & he was singer & songwriter too.” You just think of them as “Dan & Jean Smith”, a couple of newlyweds who took a while to find each other but finally did. They were meant to grow old together but were victims of fate. We’re still fans of Dan’s but now we are also fans of Jean. We think of her as our friend, & as her friends, we want to help her see that her husband gets the honors that are due to him, & are thrilled for her when he does!
Nobody would have blamed her if she had just quietly licked her wounds & gone into hiding for the rest of her life. Her fairy tale romance & marriage had such a tragic ending. But she chose to use her tragedy to try & help others. Hopefully, in turn, it is helping her too.
Catch ya later.
Denise H.
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Thank you all for your sweet words. Yes, Denise, I’m still Jean Marie Mayer from Lompoc, California. And you should feel that way about anyone, no matter what they’ve achieved, or who they’re married to. No one is better, or greater, than you are. The next time you look in the mirror, smile back at the person you see there and know that you are a special gem; there is no one exactly like you on the planet. And every experience you have and every change life puts you through makes you even more unique…I’m honored that you consider me a friend. ~ Jean
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Thanks, Jean, for this very important reminder. Even tho’ I “know” it, I don’t always KNOW it, and have to hear it again and again and again…
Thanks, too, for this beautiful post “Welcome to Widowhood”. I, also, have read it many times. With each reading I am touched by how eloquently it speaks to the places of pain deep within those who have lost their beloved. Even more, I’m inspired by the encouragement to “push” through, to take life by its horns and ‘ever forward’–to know that tho’ our world has changed, our lives still hold much for us.
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Well shoot Jean, not only was I in awe of you because of who you are married to, I was in awe of you because you were from California & because you were a singer & artist!!! We live sheltered lives in this part of Ohio, ha-ha!
Growing up, we looked at California as “The Golden Land” & anybody from there as a little exotic & special! We’re pretty boring here!
And SINGERS…WOW!!! Also exotic. To make your living SINGING, how COOL (I was in my first high school musical 2 years ago, 36 years after I graduated…Footloose)!!!
Now I will admit that I look at artists a little differently because I majored in art through school & (when I put my mind to it) I am actually not too bad of a portrait artist. I just rarely do it anymore. I’m a little more critical looking at the artwork of others. You & Dan are both very good artists!
I guess that I can compare it to this. My Mom’s late fiance had a brother who worked for Paul & Linda McCartney, at their ranch in Arizona. WOW, how intimidating would THAT be?
But he said that after you got to know them, they were very nice & unassuming people. When her fiance’s brother would go into town, Paul’s kids would ride with him in the pick-up truck (they were very well behaved kids too). He said that you were not allowed to kill anything on their ranch. Even mice would be released.
It’s just so nice to hear things like that. That someone so famous is actually a very nice, normal person.
For that matter, the late father of a friend of ours was one of the helicopter pilots for President Kennedy. After his father died, our friend was telling my Mom about it. He said that his dad had adored JFK & Jackie & what nice people they were when you knew them. He even had pictures of him taken with Caroline & John-John. After President Kennedy was killed, he worked for President Johnson. He had less flattering things to say about him!
It’s nice that you are such kind person that we lose sight of who your husband was & instead become more attuned to you. It’s almost like you want to say “hey Jean, have you ever heard this song called The Sand & The Foam?” DUH!!!!!
Take care of yourself, you are a good soul.
Catch ya later.
Denise H
PS…this is an old sketch that I did one night while sitting in a rocking chair & watching TV.
[img]neeciessanta.jpg[/img]
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Neecie, you are so very talented, and also a very kind soul. I love to read you.Hope you Sunday is rocking in Ohio!
~Char
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After reading this (at least a half a dozen times), it FINALLY dawned on me for whom this was written. It makes it even more beautiful!
I remember reading Mike’s “story of the road” – touring with Dan. I believe it was put on the “Living Legacy” website shortly after he passed away; he too left us much too soon.
Jean, what an inspiration, in your own right, you have become to so many. Thank you for all you have done and all you do.
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I am endlessly surprised and your amazing talents, kindness and generosity. I “know” you as other “Dan Fans” have come to know you. He was very blessed to have you in his life.
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Blown away and back again,Jean you have endless talent, I am so jealous:)
What a piece, is there nothing you can’t do? Thank you again, for making this one life we have… beautiful.
Char
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Dear Jean,
I have read this four or five times since the site went live, and each time I walk away with something different….and I still don’t know what to say. This is too powerful for me right now, so I’m going to continue to ponder what you’ve written, and when I know what to say, I’ll leave a comment that is worthy of this stage.
linda
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I just love you for doing this. Thank you.
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Thank you, Dru. I really appreciate all of these kind words for my story. ~ Jean
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Oh Jean! I was completely blown away by this. It was beautiful and so touching. Life is something else, isn’t it?
Just when we thought we had it all figured out. The turns and twists are more than we ever could have imagined.
I am so grateful that you created this blog. Your talent amazes me, and I’m so glad that I’ve gotten to know you through this “internet thing”.
Thank you,
Evelyn
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Thanks, Evelyn, for your lovely compliments. Yes, you said it: life is something else. So is this internet thing. ~ Jean
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Lovely.
CK
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Thanks, Carol. ~ Jean
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