HeyJaredOur bodies are gaslighting us
A real-time memoir of parenting in grief while moving to Newfoundland from the US.
- Indexed issues, last 90 days
- 8
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- Sep 19, 2026
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- Jul 3, 2026
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Untranslatable words (opens the original)
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So many languages have a word for homesickness. My favorite is Welsh. Hiraeth is a deep, melancholic yearning for a home, time, or place that is lost, unattainable, or that never even existed. It carries an undertone of grief for a departed era or an idealized past. Sometimes I forget that all phenomena don’t apply equally to everyone. Six months is the average low-point for emotions after an international move. I think I’m hitting mine now…7 months in. Or maybe it’s the time of the year.<a clas
Back from “home” (opens the original)
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We just spent 6 days in North Carolina/Tennessee.<img alt="" class="sizing-normal" height="1941" src="https://substackcdn.com/image/fetch/$s_!QRe2!,w_1456,c_limit,f_auto,q_auto:good,fl_progressive:steep/https%3A%2F%2Fsubstack-post-media.s3.amazonaws.com%2Fpublic%2F
The wave (opens the original)
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I was feeling smug, like the last person standing in a house of sickness. Everyone is sick and almost over it, and you think you’re free and clear. Then the dreaded cough happens. Just when you think you’re safe.<img alt="" class="sizing-normal" height=
A Newfoundland hike (opens the original)
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I’ve been away for a bit. There are many things happening in my life, emotionally and, more tangibly, in the physical world. I started trying to sum them up, but it felt overwhelming to write about it all.Today, Ev, Jim, and I hiked Middle Cove Beach. It was a very foggy, secretive sort of day. Hiking along the clifftops felt like being submerged in a shimmery magic fairy world.Tomorrow, James would be 10 years old. It’s hard to fathom. Always. Our family will be back in Asheville/Greeneville Au
The absence of grief is a gift (opens the original)
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The time of year is here. They say the body keeps the score, and lately, I’ve been tremendously lethargic, no matter how much sleep I do or do not get. I frequently find myself playing the ‘is this perimenopause or cancer?’ game late at night.A few nights ago, into the wee hours, I woke suddenly and a brief litany of photo-like memories flashed through my brain. James: his birth, his illness, his time at home, his death. Hazel: the first, absolutely horrible days of chemotherapy, her broken leg,
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