Many of you wrote after our last newsletter to ask whether we had heard from my family. I wish I had better news to share. Still waiting…
As of today, we still have not been able to reach my mother, my brother, my sister, or their families in Iran. The silence continues, and like so many families around the world during times of war, we are left waiting and hoping for the moment when a message finally comes through.
Your kindness during these past days has meant more than I can express.
Since my last message, some people have chosen to step away because of what I wrote about war and the value of human life. But my belief remains unchanged: every child lost in war is a tragedy. Every civilian life destroyed is a loss that no politics, ideology, or revenge can justify. The people who start wars rarely pay the price. Ordinary families pay…dearly.
Living with metastatic cancer has made it impossible for me to ignore how fragile life truly is. When you face that reality every day, life becomes too precious to treat as expendable.
On the bright side, this week brings three reminders of renewal.
March gives us St. Patrick's Day, a celebration of Irish spirit and resilience. History shows that the Irish—perhaps because they have known suffering themselves—are often among the first to stand up for humanity when it matters.
And just days later comes Eid, another celebration of renewal and gathering, observed by Muslims around the world. Around the same season arrives Norooz, the Persian New Year—the ancient celebration that begins on the first day of spring and welcomes light, renewal, and hope.
Different traditions. Different cultures. The same quiet wish that winter will end and something better will grow.
And speaking of traditions, it seems that every family we know has at least one love story that becomes a little more dramatic every time it's told. The Irish are definitely not exempt!
Jim's family certainly has a few. Here's one…
According to family lore (and by that I mean Jim and I apologize to all the friends who have heard this story before), his great-grandparents first met on St. Patrick's Day on an excursion boat traveling along the Connecticut River back in 1880s.
Andrew Cody was a musician. A horn player. Possibly something of a traveling entertainer who could charm a room full of strangers. Mary Byrne, on the other hand, was a serious young woman. She was out on that excursion boat with her brothers that day. And she was not one to be particularly impressed by musicians with a reputation for hard drinking.
Anyway, exactly how the meeting happened depends on which rendition of the story Jim is telling that day. Here's a brief version of his favorite...
A storm suddenly swept across the river. The boat began rocking wildly. The band and their instruments went sliding across the deck, and passengers took shelter where they could. Bolts of lightning cracked overhead and, at one particularly dramatic moment, Andrew was launched clear across the deck…landing squarely in Mary Byrne's lap (somewhat to the chagrin of her brothers).
But that, according to family legend, is how the romance began.
Whether every detail is historically accurate is still under debate. Even by Jim's mother.
But the Irish have never been overly concerned with letting facts get in the way of a good story.
The same spirit of love that is found in unexpected moments, with fate holding more possibilities than we dare imagine, is at the heart of the book we're sharing today.
Jane Austen Cannot Marry is a time-travel story about agents sent back through history to correct humanity's mistakes. If only it were truly possible.
We wrote the novel three years ago, not long after my metastatic diagnosis. In some ways, I wanted to imagine a world where history might be nudged onto a different and perhaps better path.
