I don’t know about anyone else, but I love reading the dedications in books, as well as the author’s acknowledgements. I read every single name, wondering about who those people are in relation to the author. So it’s hardly a surprise that I put the same care into my own dedication and acknowledgements when it came time to write them.
Now, dedication writing is not new to me. I actually have examples of books I wrote when I was younger (maybe fourth or fifth grade) where I included a dedication.
My childhood book on the left, my new release on the left.
As you can see, I dedicated both books to the same person, my cousin. My aunt Lisa, my godmother, and my uncle James lived in St. Louis when my cousin was born. Uncle James was at seminary, studying to be a pastor. I was four when Blythe was born (on my sister’s birthday, no less!) and I turned five a couple of months later. I don’t remember a lot from that long ago, but I do remember being VERY excited about having a baby girl cousin so very near. I was the baby of the family, and maybe having an even younger baby near was exciting. Also I think I just liked babies.
Anyway, I remember growing up with Blythe, especially as uncle James was called to a church in Louisiana, MO, about an hour away from where I lived. I spent a lot of time there, and vice versa. I even remember going there for Thanksgiving and Aunt Lisa pulling out my loose tooth without warning me, because I was nervous about eating turkey with it.
Anyway, back to Blythe. One thing that bonded us closely was our voracious love of books. We spent hours and hours reading together. I remember one summer, visiting our grandparents in Nebraska, reading aloud to her from one of the Dear America books.
Now this is super silly, but when you’re 9 or 10, you think you’re clever. One time when Blythe and the family came to visit, I thought it would be fun to hide in the foyer closet with the light on on read. Of course I showed my reading buddy. That became one of our silly things, where we’d sit in the coat closet and just read our books.
Blythe and I grew up. Aunt and Uncle, Blythe and her little brother Joel moved to Michigan and I stayed here. We didn’t see each other quite as often, but whenever we saw each other it was as if no time passed at all. That’s how it was with all of my age group cousins. When we’d go to Nebraska, we were all buddies playing and running around and having a blast. We had a lot of events where we’d meet up. We have a lot of cousins (My grandparents on that side had 12 children!) so we’d always have a wedding or something to attend. Blythe’s own wedding was SO exciting!
I even made the cake. Well, my dad did the hard work of making the roses, but my mom and I drove the tiers separately, freaking out in Chicago traffic, until we reached Michigan safely, and I did the rest of the finish work. I’m still so proud that I was able to do that.
When our bakery celebrated 100 years in business, Blythe and her husband came down to celebrate with us. Her husband, Chris, helped set up the tents. We went out to get Mexican Food with the family, and I remember Blythe, our other cousin Addy, and I sitting at one end of the table talking about podcasts and everything else and just loving our bond. In many ways we were like sisters.
2020 hit. We all know what happened then. I had returned to college in spring semester of 2019, so I was really struggling with online classes and my own horrible mental health. Since get togethers and travel was limited, the only family I really saw that summer were family members close by and my sister (My dog died right after finals in May, and my mom sent me to visit my sister to help me deal with it).
And then January 2021 rolled around. I remember struggling with the gap before my final semester, working on my senior assignment and not having a great time with my advisor.
I got the phone call while I was sitting in my kitchen. I don’t remember what I was doing. But my mother called me to tell me Blythe was dead. She had been killed in a traffic accident. A semi truck drove in the wrong lane, colliding headlong with my cousin’s car as she waited to turn. Thank God, but she was killed instantly.
Finding out that someone who doesn’t live near you has died is surreal. You can’t go see them to prove one way or another. You have to sit hundreds of miles away, trying to make sense of something that you can’t see for yourself. I had similar feelings when my friend Dani died (also from a car accident, though in her case a deer went through her windshield).
Because we still were in Covid times, I wasn’t able to go to the funeral either. I’m a firm believer that the bereaved need funerals. I understand some people want a celebration of life, or a party, and don’t want people to be sad they’re gone. But we’re going to be sad regardless, and I feel that being given permission to grieve and cry is important.
I have comfort that I will see Blythe again in Heaven when I too have died. But now, years later, there’s still a hole in my heart.
Naturally, I had to dedicate my first book to my cousin, my special Blythe, who spent childhood reading in closets with me, making up silly songs about my brother Paul, and who spent her career teaching children how to talk and chew and who I’ll miss for the rest of my life.
The Solo Geographer 