I know now that I’m not in a nightmare. I’m home. Cradled in the strong, snarled arms of this glorious mess of a family tree. Smack dab in the middle of a story about a long line of lunatics and criminals. Right where I belong.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

In its early days, this work was supported by the Toronto Arts Council, with funding from the City of Toronto. For that, I am deeply grateful.

This book owes its very existence, in part, to a complete stranger. An anonymous woman on a Parents of Multiple Births listserv many years ago responded to my overwhelmed new-twin-mom post with a story about a young woman who died suddenly, just after giving birth. It was intended to give me a glimpse of how fortunate I was, how much worse it could be. Instead, it gave me an existential crisis, a case of hypochondria, and ultimately, the story of Crow. So, random internet lady, wherever you are — thank you. Your message had an impact.

That existential crisis eventually led me to explore Buddhism, as a way to view life and death. I am deeply grateful for the teachings and writings of Pema Chödrön, and the practice of Tonglen, upon which Brother Gyaltso’s “Tree Meditation” in chapter eight is based.

I’d also like to acknowledge that my writing process for Crow had an eclectically kick-ass soundtrack, some of which is evident in the brief lyrical references throughout this book. Such songs include: “Stairway to Heaven” by Led Zepplin; “Me and Bobby McGee” by Kris Kristofferson; “Luckenbach, Texas” by Waylon Jennings; “Mamas, Don’t Let Your Babies Grow Up to Be Cowboys” by Waylon Jennings and Willie Nelson; “The Red-Headed Stranger” and “Blue Eyes Cryin’ in the Rain” by Willie Nelson; “Take Me Home, Country Roads,” “Grandma’s Feather Bed,” and “Matthew” by John Denver; and those songs and artists not quoted but identified by name and song title in the text.

And now, for the people to whom I owe the biggest thanks my heart can muster:

To the team at Goose Lane Editions, especially publisher Susanne Alexander and editor Bethany Gibson, for their steadfast commitment to helping Crow’s voice and story take flight.

To Marjorie Simmins, for her guidance, and for seeing the “embarrassment of riches.”

To Cassandra Yonder, for sharing her insight with me as part of my research, and for her work at www.deathcaring.ca.

To Alex Pearson, for chasing the “Golden Hour” light for my photo.

To Lindsay, for the tea and the intellectual commiseration.

To Lila, for the love, the laughs, and the adventures.

To Jody, for the love, the laughs, the adventures, the body guarding, and the ass-kicking whenever I needed it.

To my brother, Neil, for keeping me grounded . . . or getting me grounded? Probably both.

To my dad, Fraser, for instilling in me a love of outlaw country music and songs that tell stories, for his sense of humour, and for seeing the potential for spontaneous combustion.

To my mother, Valerie, for being both my toughest critic and my biggest fan. For a life and a lineage filled with strength, stories, and weird sayings. For giving me a genuine love of words. Especially the curse-y ones.