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.

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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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