Hello beautiful people,

 

Two things can be true.
You can be celebrating one part of your life while grieving another.
A full heart can ache.
Love can feel expansive and unbearably heavy.

 

Around here, we talk a lot about trust, timing, love, and the strange beauty of being human.

 

A few weeks ago, I was floating.

 

More than Millions: Finding the Gold Within was landing in the world in ways I never could have imagined. I did a very soft launch and the book became a #1 new release on Amazon — hitting #1 in Fashion, Jewelry, Small Business and #3 in Women in Business.

Watching new categories pop up felt surreal and wildly fun.

 

And then there were the messages.

Early readers sharing what the book meant to them. The stories that resonated. The parts that cracked something open. So much love for the cover art. People buying copies for friends, daughters, sisters, people they love.

 

I was in a complete love bubble.

After six years, this baby of mine had been birthed into the world.
She was here.

 

And while all of this was happening — while I was celebrating and feeling held by so much love — another part of life was quietly unfolding at the very same time.

 

One moment I was answering texts about #1 new release categories and overall launch excitement… and the next I was sitting beside my dad’s bed holding his hand.

 

 

There is something disorienting and strangely sacred about standing in both places at once. One part of your world opening wide… while another is preparing to let go.

 

A week later, my dad passed away peacefully, surrounded by all of us loving him as he took his last breath.

 

This was my first experience being with someone as they passed. A true gift.

 

My dad.

An intellectual. An incredibly committed doctor. The son of poor Russian immigrants. Self-made in every sense. Charming, deeply ethical, curious, funny, with the kind of laugh that could fill many rooms. His love for his family was larger than life. As my sister said so perfectly, “one of the most decent people ever.”

 

And when he left, I felt gratitude that he was no longer struggling.
And grief so deep it was physical. 

My tears were loud and uncontrollable.

 

And alongside all of it, there was still a space for laughter.

 

My family dynamic on a good day is basically a Seinfeld episode, so our crying was often interrupted by someone saying something inappropriate, absurd, or hysterical. The laughter came almost as often as the tears. 

Laughter that was loud and uncontrollable.

 

Divine.

 

 

That sorrow and gratitude can hold hands.

That endings and beginnings often arrive together.

That life is constantly asking us to let go of one version of ourselves so another can emerge.

That feeling of the mystery of life moving all around us, the arrivals, departures, endings, and beginnings, is a little easier when we trust, and remember that love is the foundation holding us all.

 

I have a sense that many of you know this space too — where joy and heartbreak somehow arrive holding hands.

 

And also… that the universe is kind enough to send laughter in right when we need it most. 

I know my dad would have wanted it that way. 

 

Thanks for being here with me for all of it — the joy, the heartbreak, the unfolding.

 

I’d love to hear from you.
marcia@dogeared.com

love,
mmc