The Journal

Notes between the work

Not every thought belongs in a memoir. Not every photograph tells the whole story. This is where I gather the stories that emerge in between—on caregiving, attention, photography, and the quiet practice of making sense of the world.

A double rainbow against a dark storm sky, arcing down behind green trees and rooftops.

Caregiving — October 31, 2026

The Story of Ann Tecla Gillis

My aunt Ann's emails were almost always about the weather. Reading them after her death, I began to understand what she had been offering all those years.

Read

A rocky shoreline at the waterline, the sea and sky dissolving together into thick white fog.

Writing — September 24, 2026

Fog

A short poem on what it means to dwell in the unfound.

Read

Bare winter trees standing in still floodwater, their trunks doubled in the reflection, two ducks trailing wakes across the surface

Caregiving — September 18, 2026

Daughter

A poem about what becomes of us when a relationship that has always defined us begins to change.

Read

The sun slips behind a ridge of blue foothills at dusk, beneath clouds lit orange and violet, with a wide grassy meadow and a fence line in the foreground.

Caregiving — September 12, 2026

Let the Moment Be Enough

A husband asked me whether a beautiful night out with his wife had caused the hard days that followed. What I told him is something I've been circling for years.

Read

Ti Mougne standing between her father and mother, who are seated in leather armchairs wrapped in cream throws in a sunlit lounge; her mother holds a copy of Held in the Vanishing.

Caregiving — August 29, 2026

Still Here With Me

Dementia has taught me a lot about losing. I'm beginning to think it also has something to teach me about seeing.

Read

A jagged seam of ridged ice splitting the surface of a frozen blue lake

Caregiving — August 28, 2026

Upon First Look

A poem about the moment a familiar face suddenly makes you fear what may be coming.

Read

Writing — August 21, 2026

The Title I Almost Kept

My first working title for Held in the Vanishing was much harder: It's OK to Want Them to Die. It named something true — but the story turned out to be bigger.

Read

A sunset sky burning orange and red from edge to edge, layered clouds curling through the fire in bands of shadow.

Caregiving — August 17, 2026

Back to Triage

My mom needed help. I spent hours trying to reach the people who could help her. Somehow, I kept ending up back at triage.

Read

Ti Mougne, in glasses, signing a copy of Held in the Vanishing at her launch, an Aperol spritz and copies of the memoir on the table before her.

Writing — August 8, 2026

No Longer Mine

At my book launch, surrounded by fifty people I love, I read from the chapter "Still Here With Me" and reflect on letting go of the private words that became Held in the Vanishing.

Read

Sunlight rippling in a lacework of light across shallow water over patterned sand.

Writing — August 6, 2026

Before Sunrise

For reviewers and booksellers, an invitation to request Held in the Vanishing on NetGalley—and a reflection on why I write in the quiet hours before sunrise.

Read

Forested mountains rising above the still, silvery water of Lake Winnipesaukee, their ridgeline softened by a low band of clouds.

Caregiving — July 31, 2026

There Is No Vacation from Caregiving

Three days into a lakeside vacation, a call from my mother's memory care community revealed the quiet truth of caregiving—you can share the tasks, but never fully set down the worry.

Read

A brooding, overcast sky—a dark band of storm clouds giving way to a paler expanse of light below.

Caregiving — July 15, 2026

Another Difficult Decision

A phone call about my father's bone density scan became a reckoning with caregiving's quietest burden—making decisions for those who no longer can.

Read

The cover of Held in the Vanishing — two figures walking a path into the mist.

Writing — July 4, 2026

Held in the Vanishing Has a Release Date

For years it lived only in journals. On August 4, 2026, Held in the Vanishing arrives — a memoir gathered for caregivers everywhere who long to feel seen.

Read

Ti Mougne's father, in a plaid flannel shirt, and her mother press their cheeks together, both smiling warmly.

Caregiving — May 19, 2026

Let His Heart Sing

A late, almost-skipped dinner with my parents became a night of being taught—and seen—by the very people I care for.

Read

Stay connected

When I publish a new journal entry, I'll send it your way—nothing more. You can unsubscribe at any time.

You'll receive a confirmation email before subscribing. Prefer RSS instead? Subscribe here .

Notes between the work

The Story of Ann Tecla Gillis

Fog

Daughter

Let the Moment Be Enough

Still Here With Me

Upon First Look

The Title I Almost Kept

Back to Triage

No Longer Mine

Before Sunrise

There Is No Vacation from Caregiving

Another Difficult Decision

Held in the Vanishing Has a Release Date

Let His Heart Sing

New stories, in your inbox