I curated a truly beautiful book. It unfolded almost on its own — not because of me, but because of the extraordinary community I’m privileged to be part of. The book is Welcome to Death Faire: Love, Loss and Healing in a Small Southern Town.
Thirty-three authors and poets contributed to it. One of the storytellers, a pastor in western North Carolina, took a particular liking to the book and organized an entire weekend of readings in Forest City and Davidson, NC.
I had no idea what I was walking into. It became a beautiful — and at times hilarious — adventure.
Four of us traveled to Forest City, a small town nestled in the foothills of the Blue Ridge and Smoky Mountains. Pat Jobe rallied his community and secured us a reading at the local bookstore, Next Door Used Books. He called in every connection he had — the mayor and his wife, progressive candidates running for office, and even a well-known thespian named Charlotte.
Charlotte joined our reading to my delight. She read Leif Diamant’s nature chapter and then delivered a deeply moving rendition of Karen Howard’s poem about losing her husband. Having recently lost her own, Charlotte’s poignant reading choked me up.
The bookstore was standing room only. The room held a mix of liberals and conservatives. My story — polyamory, scandals, a burlesque show — earned a few side-eyes. Telling the story of losing Zafer to a room of strangers is never easy; sometimes I stumble through it.
Janet Kenworthy shared a hilarious and tender story of burying her mother, Priscilla, who was quite the character. Angie Parrish beautifully recounted the first Death Faire and the ritual of the despacho. Pat Jobe and Gary Phillips, per usual held court with grace and steadiness. These two are best friends and birds of a feather.
And yet, beyond politics or differences, we had profound conversations with people who had lost husbands, children, sisters.
Afterward, Pat’s wife Gabriele hosted a feast for us and friends. Later, we gathered at their home and played a card game late into the night called Rat F&ck. It got raucous. I lost the first round, but had beginner’s luck, won the second round and earned a place in Pat’s meticulous historical record of card game champions. I am honoured to be part of the archives.
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The next day we were on to two more events.
First was The Pines at Davidson, a retirement community on a gray, rainy afternoon. A large conference room had been prepared for us in this 400-resident community. Our book was advertised on their marquee. The organizer greeted us warmly.
A small group gathered. We were told some residents had said, “We’re so close to death — we don’t need to read a book about it.” Fair enough.
But the audience we had was mighty. Sweet Cheeks, a tiny woman, told us stories of sailing the world. Residents shared vulnerable moments from their lives as we shared ours. Janet’s little dog, Chuck, stole hearts. At one point, Gary gently stepped in and told my story of losing Zafer so I wouldn’t have to repeat those words again. I am grateful.
From there, we hurried to the Unitarian Universalist church. We were welcomed with open arms. The congregation understood our stories and our mission immediately. During the talk-back, they offered their own stories of love and loss. Many purchased books.
One man, in tears, told me about losing his wife and gave me a big hug. Another bought a copy for friends who had lost their son to police violence.
I am just beginning to understand the journey of this book — the ripples it is creating. Meeting these people, hearing their stories, witnessing the ways grief connects us — this is an unexpected gift of publishing.
Pat Jobe coached me on marketing and encouraged me to slow down in my speaking and reading. I’m honored by the interest and care he has shown. He is a man making a quiet, profound difference in the lives of those around him.
And the book keeps on giving.
Thank you, Pat Jobe, Gary Phillips, Janet Kenworthy, and Angie Parrish, for an unforgettable weekend.
Next stop, Atlanta, GA. Stay tuned!
tami's great adventure 