NOTES FOR THE EVERLOST is in the world and I am on the moon. Something like that. Kind of stunned, if I’m being honest, that eleven years of pain and growth and love and joy and plain blood and sweat have passed, culminating in something I can hold in my hands—something you can hold in your hands.
We had the launch in a seaside barn, scrambling with a generator when the power went out. A beautiful night introduced by Liam and Ben’s primary care nurse from the NICU, which felt like magic. It was reviewed by Kirkus and Foreword and in lots of other places. It was recorded with my voice and released as an audiobook by Penguin Random House; excerpted in a magazine here and there; signed and stacked in bookstores. It’s been sent back and forth across the continent and the sea, travelling the world from hand to hand in a circle of bereaved parents, accompanied by journals I can’t wait to receive back.
It’s been a blur of activity and anxiety, wondering—worrying—how it’s possible to withstand such a chunk of heart-meat existing in the world without making me spin to the point of motion sickness. Trying my best to support it, keeping it from vanishing in the cacophony as so many things do when the world is either in crisis or suffering from an abundance of information. Or both.
Catching up almost two months to the day of the release of Notes for the Everlost, because I’ve been spinning: thank you for reading the book, and for reviewing and rating it on Amazon and Goodreads and all the other big places. It helps! Thank you for passing it on at your doorstep to another loved one, as I’ve heard you’ve done. And thank you for letting me know.