Hello Jen! I’m a long time fan, think you’re terrific and just wanted to send you a note of encouragement.
Grief is a weight one carries around, that presses on your heart and head. I feel it in your missives. It takes ages to process.
That said, you’d be a terrible loss to the writing world going into a Masters of Health and becoming an administrator and abandoning your craft- your writing is too good.
Grief subsides, eventually.
I’d love to see the funny you back one day: the one that gives zero fucks, who watches a brawl at an Essendon match at the pub and chants “kiss kiss kiss” with your sister. The one that finds that hat and says “you know I’ll be making love with this on.” The one that writes about sunbaking at Fitzroy pools. The one that takes her bra off under her shirt then pokes her tongue out like her mum… (I said I was a fan!).
Remember your idea of doing a book about someone who wants to become a stand up and researching joke telling? I think there’s key there somewhere, with the grief, the hospitals and dying people, and the search for light. The split level, the light and the dark.
I've worked in human research ethics for about fifteen years, and I noticed something interesting while reading this: many of the brightest people who've come through our office have been studying for a Master of Public Health. I wonder how many of them felt foolish for enrolling. That degree seems to attract a particular kind of thoughtful person.
I'm also one of 'the girls'. I'm a triplet, and we've just turned forty (get fucked). I don't think we'll ever stop being 'the girls' either, which is fine with me.
Our parents made me their enduring power of attorney years ago, and I've never understood why. I always thought I was the least obvious choice. But while reading your piece, and then writing this, I wondered if perhaps they weren't choosing the most financially organised or conventionally responsible person. Maybe they were choosing the person they trusted to carry out what mattered to them.
I guess writing a bunch of words can answer a question you didn't realise you were considering.
I've never cared for a parent at the end of their life, or any person for that matter. But my dog - my very best friend in the world - had what the specialists think was a stroke last week. He's home now, doing improbably well, but I'm discovering anticipatory grief for the first time. Reading this, I'm watching him sleep (long, silly limbs outstretched, teeth visible, tongue out) while blasting Olivia Rodrigo's new album, responding to twenty work emails at once, drinking two beers, and wondering whether I could just keep this busy forever, and never have to figure out what to do with all this survival.
And, yep. It sounded pretty bloody funny in the retelling.
Beanie, reading your words always feels like home. I felt like we were teens in Noosa and you were telling me a story, and once I finished I realized I was just reading it and wasn’t actually right beside you. I can’t wait to talk in depth about all of this! Btw, did you ever find your dad’s phone?
It is funny in the retelling xx
I agree!
Hello Jen! I’m a long time fan, think you’re terrific and just wanted to send you a note of encouragement.
Grief is a weight one carries around, that presses on your heart and head. I feel it in your missives. It takes ages to process.
That said, you’d be a terrible loss to the writing world going into a Masters of Health and becoming an administrator and abandoning your craft- your writing is too good.
Grief subsides, eventually.
I’d love to see the funny you back one day: the one that gives zero fucks, who watches a brawl at an Essendon match at the pub and chants “kiss kiss kiss” with your sister. The one that finds that hat and says “you know I’ll be making love with this on.” The one that writes about sunbaking at Fitzroy pools. The one that takes her bra off under her shirt then pokes her tongue out like her mum… (I said I was a fan!).
Remember your idea of doing a book about someone who wants to become a stand up and researching joke telling? I think there’s key there somewhere, with the grief, the hospitals and dying people, and the search for light. The split level, the light and the dark.
Keep going, don’t give up. You’re a rare talent.
Sending you good thoughts
K.
Love these words. Sensitive, thought provoking, deep, truthful, funny at times,...
and in a way, it’s both (equally) fascinating and extremely weird to read this and immediately feel a sense of home and homecoming
Very tangible too.
I will reread this many times and won’t add too many personal notes
PS — I think I also replied to your previous post… and it’s insanely unusual for me to do so
Thank you for this.
I've worked in human research ethics for about fifteen years, and I noticed something interesting while reading this: many of the brightest people who've come through our office have been studying for a Master of Public Health. I wonder how many of them felt foolish for enrolling. That degree seems to attract a particular kind of thoughtful person.
I'm also one of 'the girls'. I'm a triplet, and we've just turned forty (get fucked). I don't think we'll ever stop being 'the girls' either, which is fine with me.
Our parents made me their enduring power of attorney years ago, and I've never understood why. I always thought I was the least obvious choice. But while reading your piece, and then writing this, I wondered if perhaps they weren't choosing the most financially organised or conventionally responsible person. Maybe they were choosing the person they trusted to carry out what mattered to them.
I guess writing a bunch of words can answer a question you didn't realise you were considering.
I've never cared for a parent at the end of their life, or any person for that matter. But my dog - my very best friend in the world - had what the specialists think was a stroke last week. He's home now, doing improbably well, but I'm discovering anticipatory grief for the first time. Reading this, I'm watching him sleep (long, silly limbs outstretched, teeth visible, tongue out) while blasting Olivia Rodrigo's new album, responding to twenty work emails at once, drinking two beers, and wondering whether I could just keep this busy forever, and never have to figure out what to do with all this survival.
And, yep. It sounded pretty bloody funny in the retelling.
Beanie, reading your words always feels like home. I felt like we were teens in Noosa and you were telling me a story, and once I finished I realized I was just reading it and wasn’t actually right beside you. I can’t wait to talk in depth about all of this! Btw, did you ever find your dad’s phone?