Last summer, during the time when melanoma surgery had confined me to the chaise on our porch with my leg elevated above my head, I came across a poem that saved me. Or so it seemed, as I read it over and over again, suddenly seeing what felt like the unluckiest time of my life through a new lens.
Funny, how one simple phrase can lodge in the mind, take up residence in the heart, and offer a kind of solace and sustenance that even a whole book couldn’t provide.
“You Can’t Have It All” is the title of the poem, and these are the words I grabbed like a life ring, the simple truth that got me through.
As I read Barbara Ras’s lovely, whimsical litany of the small blessings she could celebrate in her ordinary, imperfect life, I knew I wanted to make a list of my own. There were so many things I couldn’t have in that hard moment – a shower, a walk, a trip to the store – but I began to notice the countless gifts that were still mine for the taking. All through August and September, as I drove back and forth to doctors’ appointments and daily radiation treatments, I composed new versions of the “You Can’t Have It All” poem in my head, realizing that every day I could write an entirely different one. We all could.
This week, with my various medical dramas behind me at last, I retreated to my family’s house in Maine for a couple of solitary days before my birthday. Sixty-seven is nothing special, but it feels like a milestone to me, as I round the corner toward seventy with more challenges ahead and a greater awareness of just how little any of us ever know about what our futures will hold.
In 2024, I spent one week of every month, from April through October, in Maine with my parents, happily chauffeuring them to and fro, shopping and cooking, delighted to spend time with them in this house full of memories, the place we all love best. This year, cancer treatments kept me at home and it’s become harder for my parents to travel. So much has changed, and change these days feels like another word for loss. To have even a few days to slip away by myself has felt kind of miraculous.
I can’t have it all, but I am here. And so, for my birthday, I’ve finally written my own version of Barbara Ras’s wondrous, grounding poem. Maybe you’ll be inspired to do the same.
You can’t have it all.
But you can have the hour before dawn in a house by the sea. You can have the luminous moon framed by your window, its milky cone of light flung across the glistening dark water. You can have the delicious ease of your own warm body stretched out under the covers like a star. You can have the blue painted rock that says “best Ma ever” on the table by your bed.
You can have your coffee, dark and strong, in the old blue pottery mug that feels like satin and fits your cupped hands just so. You can have a peach. Tender and weighty, and all the sweeter for being the last one of the season. You can have contentment.
You can’t have a promise of tomorrow, but you can have every moment of today, and you can have it all to yourself. You can’t know if your cancer will return, but you can live without knowing.
You can have Dr. Malik, who showed you the hole in your heart, who closed it for you, and then later came to your bedside and pressed his hand to your wound to help slow the bleeding. You can have Dr. Ryan, who treats you like a friend, who carefully carved the tumor out of your breast and, with the tiniest of stitches, sewed you up again. You can have her nurses, who always, still, call you back. You can have kindly technicians who greeted you by name and covered your legs and bare arms with warm blankets and sent beams of radiation deep into your chest every day for twenty days, and who posed with you for a photo when it was all over. You can have Dr. Park, in her rhinestone-encrusted Apple watch and red high heels, who knows your oncotype number by heart, who listens with her whole body, who hugged you hard when tears welled in your eyes. You can have Dr. Zipoli, who said he was sorry before he cut the wide, deep circle out of your calf, who gently put his hand on your back and asked if you were ok, who saw you at 8:15 am for ten straight Tuesday mornings to patiently debride the wound and apply a fresh graft to that painful, slow-to-heal spot. You can have Medicare.
You can’t have a charmed life. But you can have friends at your side for your life as it is. You can have loved ones who show up for for all of it. Who counted down the days with you, who held you from afar and brightened your hardest days with texts and flowers, with cards and care packages, meals and phone calls. And who were there to cheer you across the finish line as if you’d run a marathon, which of course you didn’t, although, in truth, it kind of feels as if you did, and the people who love you know that, which means a lot.
You can’t have it all. But you can have a break. You can have three months off from doctors and cancer drugs, and three months feels like enough, enough time to heal, to rest, to play, to gather strength for what comes next.
And now that it’s October, you can have autumn. You can have autumn in abundance. You can have apples with names like Gravenstein and Pippin and Northern Spy. You can have red maple leaves and acorns, blue skies and starlight. You can have sweater weather. You can have asters blooming by the roadside, milkweed bursting from swollen pods, the fragile petals of wild roses, tumbling hydrangeas in fading shades of dusky pink and heathered violet. You can have a single Monarch sailing through sun-warmed air. You can have crows, and their endless cacophonous conversations in the twisted pine tree that miraculously survives every storm. You can have frilled cosmos and a handful of late lavender to cut for a bouquet.
And you can have a table by the roadside laden with the last gleanings from someone’s island garden, tomatoes and dahlias in green plastic cups, a jumbled pyramid of miniature squash and motley eggplants, and a jar for the dollar bills you might wish to leave behind. You can have a bit of your faith in ordinary goodness restored.
You can have a long walk to the beach, past boats dry-docked in yards and silent, empty houses closed up for the season. You can have this beautiful world, the one that’s been here all along, just waiting for you to return to it. You can try not to miss anything. You can have a chip of blue sea glass and a smooth gray stone to tuck in your pocket. You can take off your shoes, step into the icy waves lapping the shore, and relish the cold shock of it, your toes cramping as shivers run through your limbs. And even though you had a summer without swimming, you can have this, your feet in the water on the last day of your 66th year.
You can’t have it all, but you can have two days in Maine, eating avocado toast for dinner with your book propped up. You can steep in silence and your own company. And you can realize you are still you, which is to say ok, but also different. Here, alone, you can look back on what you’ve just been through and marvel a little at how, in the unlikely way of some hardships, these things have changed you, probably forever and probably for the better. You can love your life with a little more tenderness. You can understand, in a way you never did before, how fragile it is. And how precious.
You can have a birthday without a party and still it will feel like a celebration. You can have your husband meet you at the farmer’s market on a fine fall morning and you can greet him with a kiss. You can buy donuts to share as you wander the rows, gathering salad greens, bread, and fish for the dinner you will make. You can create a day together, back at the house where you fell in love four decades ago, where you spent your first married night, and where your wedding dress still hangs in its plastic bag at the back of the closet nearly forty years after you took the vows that bound you to each other in sickness and in health. You can have Jackson Browne on the dusty black turntable, the first birthday gift he ever gave you, which still works. You can have this long marriage, this man, the life you’ve built, the sons you raised, the soul daughter you chose, your parents, who are still here to tell you the story of the day you were born.
You can’t have it all. But you can have grace in all its guises. You can see beauty in today’s small doings. You can be kind and you can receive kindness in return. You can have what Mary Oliver calls “the imponderables, for which we have no answers, yet endless interest, all the range of our lives.”
You can’t have it all, but you can have a really good book
Every once in a long while, a novel comes along that I want everyone I know and love to read. Patrick Ryan’s epic, generous, gorgeously written, heart-expanding “Buckeye” is that novel. And because I adore it so, I’m giving one copy away here to one of you.
Enter to win by leaving a comment. Want to share something you do have, even though you can’t have it all? Do it below, and perhaps I’ll draw your name at random. I’ll pick a winner on November 3. And if you don’t want to chance it, please, just treat yourself to this book. I promise, you’ll be glad you did.
You can order “Buckeye” from Amazon (an affiliate link) here. Or, even better, order it from Parnassus Books, which stocks signed copies, here. (In fact, “Buckeye” is dedicated to Ann Patchett and her husband Karl.) Barbara Ras’s book of poetry, “Bite Every Sorrow” is available here , and you can read the original poem here.
Thank you for your encouraging words and for sharing your story of resilience and gratitude Katrina. It’s always a nice surprise when I see your writing in my inbox. Today was no exception. As I am isolating from Covid, it comes at a perfect time. Helping me reflect on the positive things in my life despite other life challenges is just what I needed today.
Thank you!
Welcome to our ever-growing club of cancer survivors. We see each new day differently than we did before, and we mourn those who did not make it through. Cary and I visited or Asheville, NC grandson and his family This was my first meeting with our newest and 4 th great-grandchild. Two weeks ago we had dinner with our oldest great-grandchild, a 17 year-old who had just broken his leg in a football game. We are happy because now he will concentrate on his best sport, track and field.
And a week before that I wrote a poem, first one in 60+ years.
Please keep writing, Katrina. We need you.
I love your version of the poem. I’ve spent the last few years battling health issues, and being limited physically has made me softer, more patient with myself, allowing me to become the recipient of help, after many decades of being a caregiver. I like this version of myself and I treasure the small details that bring me peace. Enjoy your time alone and your birthday!
This is a beautiful love letter to your life. I’m glad to see another post from you!
I have today and I am thankful.
I can’ no longer have my husband of 50 years by my side but I can have friends and family intimately in my life.
You can’t have it all, but you can have the beautiful voice of someone, who feels
like a kindred, in the most lovely and life assuring way. Someone who, since first discovering
in the hectic throes of early motherhood, touched my heart in the kindest way.
So very, very glad,
that you dear heart
are still
here ♥
Today’s reflections are so perfect for me. My amazing strong wonderful husband of 46 years has cancer… treatable thank goodness but so scary. We will decide what comes next in the next few weeks because we fortunately have “treatment options “ .
A good book would be a lovely escape.
take care and stay strong and keep up the good fight.
I enjoyed reading your words and I would love to read that book. Maybe I will be the lucky winner.
I feel lucky every day. Surviving well after a cancer diagnosis three years ago. Every day is a blessing..
Katrina, I always feel happy when one of your posts lands in my inbox. Thank you for your writing. Happy Belated Birthday.
Thank you for the reminder of all of the good that is around us.
I’m enjoying time with my parents before things change and visits won’t be the same.
I’ve missed reading your messages. I wish you well.
Take care.
Thank you, I needed this today as I was feeling very blue after such a loving conversation with my dearest friend, my aunt who is struggling through her last days. I too am seeing my 67th birthday next month and am in a place of wondering, pondering and uncertainty.
Oh Katrina seeing your name in my inbox made my day. I LOVE your take on life and the way you write about it. You are my favourite author to read. As a retired nurse, I am pleased to read your medical dramas are in the rear view mirror.
I can’t have it all and can cherish the warmth of my Sheltie and cat on my legs and lap as I enjoy the lounge chair out on the catio this cozy October morning.
How lucky are we to have you and your words in this world….to help us appreciate the good still in it. Thank you, and may the next year continue to bring you gifts large and small.
You can’t have it all, but you can have the good stuff—real connections, peace in your heart, and the beauty of each ordinary, extraordinary day.
Ahh thank you for these beautiful words. They are a balm this morning. Yes, each day a gift. I get to savor my coffee as long as I like, let go of needing to set someone straight, walk down to the point above the water in evening light and sit a spell with the waves and wind and my guy…and feel nothing but gratitude.
Your email so touched my heart as it always does, as if you were sitting right next to me and reading my thoughts. You have lifted me up through many changing seasons with your emails and books, and helped me reframe my life to focus on the blessings, the gifts, the joys. Thank you, thank you again and again.
I’m so sorry to hear about the challenges you have faced and from all your writings you have always looked on the brighter side. First I wish you no more health problems, time to heal, and to enjoy the fall weather.
About the poem, there are times I worry that I am too lucky at 81 to enjoy my good health and that sometimes frightens me. As the phrase goes “you can’t have it all”, makes me think deeply about the suffering that’s all around us and although it may not be personal, it still hurts. Everyday I hope that miracles will happen and cures for the horrible illnesses people have will be found, that many more people in our country will start caring about others less fortunate and we can all enjoy peace and happiness!
Thank you for you. You have a way of putting words together that touch the heart and bring warmth and magic where they are mostly needed. Just like how they are for me. I am in the darkest chapter of my life, as I ponder about divorce and paths to be taken, but here, right here, I found some answers and light. I can never have it all, but in the here and now, I am just so grateful for this life, all messy and chaotic, and beautiful all at once. Thank you. I hope you find healing and that all the goodness you sow bear fruit of so much love and life too. ❤️
Katrina, I love having a window into your process as you try to make sense of where you are right now. When I am working through challenging times, one of my mantras is “both/and”; your reflections feel similar to me.
This is such a timely and poignant piece for me. At the beginning of the summer after a year of planning, my husband and I moved to Colorado to be near our daughter and her family. However, it was not long before we realized that many things about Colorado were just not a good fit for us. I was so homesick for my little town in New Hampshire—I longed for trees and shade and soft (ok, humid) air. I longed for windy roads. I longed for the solitude of our beloved “Camps” in the north Maine wilderness. And I longed for the shock of the Maine ocean that you describe. And so, although my circumstances were very different from yours, I realized that l could not have at all; it was a heartbreaking decision in many ways, but after just seven weeks, we decided to come back to New Hampshire.
We have been here almost a month now, and I am so grateful. And, at the same time, I miss morning walks with my daughter and miss driving my granddaughters to and from their activities, miss the casual ease of dinner on the deck with all of them. Both/and.
I am inspired by you to write it all down in the way that you have. I’ll share it when I do.
What a lovely treat to read these beautiful words today, Katrina. This brought a smile to my face and a warm memory to my heart. Towards the end of her life, I was chatting with my amazing grandmother (“Nanny”). She was well into her 90s and was struggling with a health issue. I must have said something to the effect of “you always get through these things” ~
but I will NEVER forget what she said to me: “You can’t win ’em all, Babe.” 🙂
Oh, how I have missed your gorgeous writing. I am glad for your wellness and healing. You have had trials, and in true Katrina fashion, you have listened for the message. We all benefit from your introspection.
So GLAD you got to Maine—your happy place. ♥️
Bless you Katrina
I always love when you take pen to hand.
Thank you. ❤️🙏🏻❤️
Ck
I can’t have everything, but I can have Katrina Kenison’s beautiful words show up in my email in box – a real gift.
Thank you, bless you, peace to you.
Thank you for this beautiful piece Katrina, I am always surprised when just the right comfort comes into my life at just the time its needed. It happens often so I don’t quite understand the surprise. Your words today have been a balm for my soul and a challenge to change my focus. I’ve had Buckeye on my hold lhold list at the library since it came out and ii just picked it up and am eager to start it. Thank you for being up how good it is. Blessings of health and continued healing to you and all who have shared their lives so graciously.
Oh, my goodness…. this could not have arrived at a better moment. Thank you.
That’s all I can say for now….
And we are lucky to have your voice, which lands so gently. Thank you.
Beautifully written. What a gift your email was in my in box…words I definitely needed to read. Thank you for your openness and courage, resilience and grace.
I have a good friend, currently recovering from a brain aneurysm due to the hands of highly skilled surgeons and nurses.
As of January, I no longer can have my mother’s company, but I treasure the many ordinary days we spent together.
It is always a pleasure to read your words. Thank you for the book recommendation, too!
I am so glad to receive this! Lovely.
I am so glad to have your writing again, to have an update on such inceredilgy challenging days. And what a wonderful response you wrote to a poem that has been one of my favorites for a long time.
It’s true for each of us, of course, we can’t have it all. But look at the miraculous gathering of things that we can have. Thank you. (And no need to enter my name in your book give away. I already ordered the book from Parnassus.)
Thank you so much for this exquisite gift of a share. If it’s true that in our 40’s the eyes go and in the 50’s our knees buckle, our 60’s feel like a mystery gift in a poorly wrapped package. It might be cancer, it might be wisdom and it might be both. For sure it will surprise and challenge, broaden and stretch us. I cried reading her poem and I cried reading yours. I marvel at how each experience deepens who we are even as our essence essentially remains the same. So happy to see you here. Be well.
I can have a mother who has battled mental illness for 1/2 her life actually doing the best she’s been doing in YEARS at her assisted living while at the same time her husband, my dad, has lain in a bed since the end of April in his memory care slowly dying of Alzheimer’s. Tomorrow is actually his birthday, 82 is all. All the while my first grandchild turned 1 last weekend. Life.
Thank you for the gift of your words today, a glorious October, ordinary day. Remember, you are enough. I wish you the blessing of good health. 🧡🍂🌻
-Pat oxox
A few years ago I was involved in a mass shooting in front of a grocery store. I was wounded and came within an inch of “not having another day” but I have now been given 14 years and counting. I was given the gift of time. Time to see my grandchildren come into the world, time to make new friends and savor long friendships, time to walk a few more years with my husband whomI met when I was only 19…. time to experience the wonders of the beautiful southwest desert where I live. Your lovely writing today reminded me to not let the passage of time take this gift for granted. I have today and I am so very grateful.
You struck a resonant cord with the ordinary day.
“business men they drink my wine,
Plowmen dig my earth.
None of them along the line
Know what any of it is worth.”
Loren
You can’t have it all, but you can have a day where the tender words of Katrina Kenison grace your inbox and your day is all the more glorious because of it. Thank you. ❤️
Thank you for landing I my inbox today with an especially lovely message. I can have an hour or a few minutes puttering in the yard which always feeds my soul. Happy birthday!
Beautiful as always. You are such an inspiration to me. You make an ordinary day magical. Thank you.
Oh how I needed to read your beautiful, tender words today. What a gift to find this in my inbox. Thank you, Katrina. And bless you
Happy Birthday, Katrina! You can’t have it all, but you can relish the inspiration and wisdom of an author whose words have significantly impacted your life. I’ve cherished your writing since my first child was born 26 years ago and I was gifted a copy of Mitten Strings for God. You have always been a role model to me in motherhood and I’m so grateful for the gift of your writing. Thank you! Wishing you continued healing and good health.
Happy Birthday, Katrina! You can’t have it all, but you can relish the inspiration and wisdom of an author whose words have significantly impacted your life. I’ve cherished your writing since my first child was born 26 years ago and I was gifted a copy of Mitten Strings for God. You have always been a role model to me in motherhood and I’m so grateful for the gift of your writing. Thank you! Wishing you continued healing and good health.
What a beautiful early fall day to celebrate your very special birthday! You certainly have an abundance of gifts, as described in your essay; every one of them is priceless. May you have 365 days of lovely and magical moments ahead as you take your next trip around the sun.
I have this weekend with my husband and my three launching adult kids. We are in Nashville (Hi Ann!), where one kid studies, another teaches. We drove here with our third kid and our puppy. We are not together as a family often, with physician schedule and international researcher and teacher and tech worker schedules. And it’s not perfect. You can’t have it all. Being together is simultaneously amazing and difficult. But I have this: these beautiful, few, ordinary days, when—if I release expectation for perfection—I have family and love.
I’m so grateful for your honesty and vulnerability. Your life and experiences resonate with so many of us, reminding us that we are all connected. Your eloquent writing and captivating photos inspire, soothe, and center me. Thank you for allowing us to share the simple beauty of life through your lens. Your sharing truly makes a difference, and I appreciate the light you bring into the world.
Despite lots of worrying noises in my head and heart, I have a deep peace at my core. I am alive, have agency, and am aware of great beauty always at hand. Happy birthday and thank you for serving up so many wondrous images.
Happy Birthday! May the coming year bring you the blessings of ordinary days and may your body continue to heal and strengthen each and every day. Your words are always such a gift to others. How grateful we are that you set aside the time and space to write them and in your generosity – to share them with us. Today I can have my husband of almost 20 years, my three children and both of my parents at the beach for a week of fall break. Grateful beyond measure.
Thanks for the reminder and I swam for you and I, at age 67, off of Minn Beach, Shetland, in the cold Atlantic, this last spring, and in Lake George this summer, WILD SWIMMING! Breath and walk, that’s my mantra
Thank you for this. I can’t have it all, but I can strive to realize life while I live it. (Thank you, Thornton Wilder.)
Thank you for this gift of seeing. I will write my own. Maybe on paper. Maybe daily in my heart. Your words have been a friend ever since “mitten strings for god”. I’ve enjoyed growing up with you.
Wishing you peace – thank you for your teaching.
Just lovely! I always enjoy reading your words. You are always such an inspiration.
You can’t have your dear loved ones with you forever but you can be grateful they are no longer suffering and know that eventually you will no longer feel shattered and be able to laugh with love and joy about the stories and memories you have shared with them.
Thank you! You remind me that every day is a gift. I hope that your new year will bring good health. And I hope you will keep sharing your thoughts about your life. Very best wishes!
This piece reached me in so many ways. As I’m aging and developing health issues time is more precious. The little things, our routines, our creative outlets, the people we love, make up our rich lives. No dramatic flare, but the humble everyday is home
Thank you for your beautiful words. They have been a comfort to me since, my now, 31 year old son went off to college. I cherish your insight and look forward to your continued inspirations. Wishing you good health and blessings.
Even though we are only one year apart, your words comfort me just as my mother’s words always did! I lost her in 2009 and still grieve that loss everyday, she was a wonderful mom and always had the right words at the right time.
When I see you email come through, I take a moment to just ” be” with you and let your words wash over and soothe me!!
As Mary Chapin Carpenter remind us
STAY MIGHTY!!! 💕
Katrina, what a breathtaking reflection of your life at this point in time. I have this beautiful Fall day in front of me and suddenly it looks even more inviting than it already was! Thank you.
Katrina, your emails are always so welcome. I am 82 and my sister is 67 and going through breast cancer as you were. Your thoughts gave me so much insight in my attempt to process what she is going through. We live in other States so I do not see her often. Thank you for your “gift” of Flying Edna…..I have sent her some of their inspirational cards as I wasn’t able to find the words on my own. You are always an inspiration to me.
Katrina, from the first time I heard your lovely name from Steve … let’s count back, maybe 41 years ago? as I was selecting your wedding gift to send from Louisville, I remember thinking “ wow, I bet you are a beauty! “
I was not wrong! Meeting you once here for a family funeral, I was almost viscerally taken by your modestly stunning grace.
You can’t have it all… I can’t recoup all the inspirations you have shared over the years, but I can start now. And I truly believe that this is the right time for me to fully embrace your life’s experiences and dig deeper into mine with your gentle nudge.
I am so eager to join the myriad of your followers.
Gratefully, Pris
Happy birthday! And thank you for the reminder that we are surrounded by so many small gifts everyday. You cant have it all…but you can enjoy a peaceful morning of reading and quiet reflection. Thank you!
All of your books have resonated with me. You stories have touched my soul and opened my eyes to the many blessings in life by focusing on the small ordinary things. I plan to write my own version of “You can’t have it all” as it’s a wonderful reminder that everything is perspective. Focus on the positive ❤️
Notice Cherish Breathe! Is now my new mantra and I thank you for that!! Dana Vitulli
Good morning. It’s lovely to hear from you again. I’m so sorry to learn of your health struggles. I am in awe of your strength, resilience and positivity. I wish you good health, love and nature’s beauty every day.
Warmest regards,
Jane Johnson
I can’t have it all but I have my husband of 60 years still by my side! I am the most fortunate woman in the world!
Thank you. Your writing always resonates so deeply with me. Wishing you good health!
What beautiful words amidst such a difficult year for you. May this autumn bring healing, restoration and strength.
As I lay with a heating pad against a sore hip, I am so very grateful for the ability to move. I may not have the carefree stride of my youth, I give thanks for all that I am able to do, the walks with my dogs and the reminder that stretching and gentle movement is foundational.
In September we drove through Bailey’s Island on our way back from strolling the gorgeous Bowdoin campus and downtown Bath. What an absolutely stunning area of Maine – it looked like something out of a picture book, almost too beautiful to be real.
This was beautiful. Thank you. My dear friend sent me this and thought I would like it. She was so right. I too went through cancer surgery and treatment in the last year and feel very different now about what I actually do have. I’m so grateful for the experience of cancer. The entire experience taught me so much about living.
Thank you for your words and your beautiful awareness. Our bodies are so sacred. I know that now in a way I never have understood before.
Beautiful words.
Thank you for your lovely thoughtful words. Such a wonderful read as the seasons pass to quieter times—the frenetic energy of spring and summer nature turning to rest and rejuvenation.
Katrina! I’ve missed your email messages. I was delighted to see you appear in my Inbox.
You’ve had quite a year – a true warrior. So inspiring.
God bless you and your family (I feel like a member).
Take care –
You can’t have it all, but you can have a warm dog sitting at your side, floppy ears spilling onto your lap, just happy to share the peace with you. Happy birthday, dear one.
You can’t have it all, I but you can have sun gold cherry tomatoes in October
I can have 15 or so minutes to slow down and take the time to read your words which ALWAYS validate the very circumstances I need to have validated, either for myself or for someone close to me. Thank you.
You can’t have it all, but you can have the memory of your foster baby, cheek warm on your full heart, in freshly washed pajamas, the smell of their hair new in your nostrils until it’s not, as love grows with every inhalation, every minute, hour and day you spend together. You can’t have it all, but you can know you made a difference to one small being.
I count myself the lucky one…the one who gets these read aloud to me, your loving husband and adoring fan. It’s wonderful to see this outpouring of thoughts and emotions, dear!
I am so very sad for all you have had to go through, dear Katrina. Please know my prayers and thoughts are with you and angels watching over you as you do your best to be stronger each day. We are all humbled in this life and pray for strength and perseverance in this world of strife and beauty.
Thank you for your beautiful sharing of your story.
Blessings and hope, Lydia
I love this, Katrina. This past year was the worst of my life: loss piled on top of loss. I’m an adult orphan now, as is my husband. I’m moving to another foreign country, not entirely by choice. I’ve lost friends, my home, a job, a parent. But your poem reminds me that there’s still plenty to love about life and this world. It’s really hard to see right now, but for me, I can have a quiet morning, with a lit candle, a chapter of a vintage mystery novel, a slow start to the day, a cup of coffee. It has to be enough.
I’m wishing your ease on your journey.
I have read (and LOVE!) everything you have written, and wish you peace and light in your upcoming years.
Here’s the smallest, stupidist thing you could possible imagine: I love that you enter a double-space when ending a sentence, We are in the same generation (I was 66 in June) and these young’uns’ essays are so stinking hard to read!!
As always, Katrina, your writing soothes my soul. And I am relieved to know you have made it through this most difficult year. A very belated Happy Birthday. I can’t have it all, but I have you to inspire me and warm my heart with your words. You have been a part of my reading world since I picked up Mitten Strings for God so many years ago. Wishing you good days ahead.
Thank you for teaching all of us that we can and do have lives worthy of making into beautiful poetry.
Thank you for your words Katrina. I’m smiling as I type this–‘you can’t have it all, but you can read a post such as this to savour its light, over and over again.
Happy Birthday.
Hugs. xx