Linda Stuart • Celebrant & Author

Yesterday I heard a song I used to love but had long forgotten about.
And just like that, I was 14-year-old Linda again.

Not so much remembering who she was, but feeling what she felt.
Like I was visiting someone I thought I'd lost.

It was magical.
And it hurt.
I'm not sure why.

Curious... is there a song that takes you back like that?

Here we go again!
Grandbaby Batch #2 arriving in May & June.
Excited and amazed - FOUR babies in 8 months!

A little something I wrote for me and all the Christmas babies.
Sharing it today as I celebrate 60 years.

Christmas Eve Baby - Linda Stuart "She's our Christmas Eve baby," Mum would say with pride as if she had planned the whole thing. She hadn't. But Christmas was her favourite holiday. The house didn't change much. Just the artificial tree in the living room and a few colourful lights strung around the garage. But Mum changed. She cam...

I recently sent my email community a note about love, grief, and the experience of writing my first book, Still His Daughter. If you’re walking a similar path, or would like to read what’s been on my heart lately, you can find my latest update here:

Two years, and a book. Hi, it's Linda. When I last wrote to you, I was 14 months into grief. I told you that grief is where my love for my dad lives. That's still true. What…

I’ve always been terrible with dates. Words I remember, but numbers don’t stick in my brain.

Two years ago today, my dad died, and I think even if I didn’t look at the calendar, my body would just know. It knows not just that it’s October 14, but it remembers exactly how it felt when I said goodbye to him.

I’m spending today at the Wee Stuart Cottage, the tiny place we brought to life as his was ending. The place he had only seen in photos. It’s where I keep his things. His jacket by the door, the tartan blanket and suitcase he brought from Scotland in 1961, his oil paintings and Stuart crystal collection.

I’m wearing his (itchy) beige argyle sweater from Glasgow. I’ll drink tea from his mug with all the Scottish castles on it, and later, I’ll pour some Oban Whisky and watch his memorial video, and sit in the space that holds his treasures but never held him: my treasure.

People say grief fades with time, but I don’t think that’s true. I think it settles. I think it becomes less of a scary stranger and more of a familiar companion. That part may get easier. But what doesn’t get easier is how his absence touches moments I didn’t know would feel so empty without him. And how much further away he feels as time goes by.

But I’m getting so much better at finding him.
And today, I will.

❤️

We’ve officially entered our gramma & grampa era! Welcome to the family, sweet girl. ❤️

I got my first tattoo today.
Father's Day.
Which is kind of funny because my dad was not a fan. He could never understand what could possibly be important enough to tattoo on your body. And for the most part, I agreed with him.
Until now.

I got my first tattoo today.
Father’s Day.
Which is kind of funny because he was not a fan.
He could never understand what could possibly be important enough to tattoo on your body.
And for the most part, I agreed with him.
Until now.

59. The last year of this decade of my life.

A couple of months ago, I dreamt I was flying with my dad. We were soaring through the sky together like superheros - he was happy, smiling, and free.

In the dream, he said, “Linda, I want you to carry the light that was my life, not the weight that was my death.”

Life has been heavy these past few years, so as I step into 59, I’m choosing lightness. Not to erase the heavy things, but just to let them rest for a little while so I can make more space for moments that lift me up - for laughter, for ease and a little more fun.

Here’s to 59 - all wrapped up in his scarf and carrying his light.

https://www.aweber.com/newsletter/awlist5507967/MjU5MTYxNTY=/weight-of-grief-gift-of-legacy.htm

Weight of Grief, Gift of Legacy Would the world hold more love if we gave grief a place to live? Hello, friend It's been a while since I've written, and I'm grateful you're still…