Today I finished readingSarah’s Key: A Novel, a book that captures the horror of the Holocaust extremely well. There were times I had to set it down and walk away because the pain and loss were overwhelming. Written by Tatiana de Rosnay, it is the story of a young Jewish girl, her little 4-year-old brother, and a journalist who discovers their story decades later. It is an extremely emotional tribute to all those who suffered and lost their lives during the war. I can’t seem to write anything significant after reading this story. Who am I to comment on such a beautiful book?

We are putting together our first magazine issue of the Women’s Post and ideas on how to design it go back and forth among us. It reminds me of my days in high school, looking out at the future and thinking that I could do anything — ignoring that I would still be the same person inside with all my fears and limitations. We will still be the same thought-provoking, intimate, and decidedly non- conforming publication on the inside — we’ll simply have a better looking shape, size, and cover. We will be the only news magazine for women in Canada. Finally, my dream of putting an intellectual magazine for women among all those ditzy glamour and fashion magazines looks much closer to a reality.

I am starting to doubt myself. Maybe I shouldn’t have been so cocky in sending the copy of our last issue to Phillip Crawley, publisher and CEO of The Globe and Mail, with that sticky-note slapped on the cover thanking him. He may not have known that his lawyer had sent that intimidating letter to me. He is such a gentleman that I just can’t picture him being that aggressive. A gentleman would have handled it quite differently — as I should have. I wish I could be more graceful instead of acting like a pit bull in a dog fight.

The last time I ran into Phillip, he had a twinkle in his eye that love brings a man. I picture him at his kitchen table leaning back and smiling with his eyes shut while his beautiful wife plants 100 gentle kisses on his face. I think he’s the type of man who would savour every single one of them.

The news is filled with doom and gloom over the economy. I’ve never been one to worry much over money, but now, with two young children, it’s surprising how much more important it has become. I’ve even noticed that I am bothered now when I see a business foolishly wasting money. Will I ever get back the artist in me?

Tonight at dinner our 4-year-old asked when he would be a baby again. My husband joked that he’ll be in diapers again when he’s 90, but we wouldn’t be around to change them. Huge tears rolled down my son’s face; the idea that things would never go back, that someday we might not be there, scared him … and it scares me too. I tell myself to embrace change, but am I fooling myself? Life seems so good that I wonder if it truly can get better, or if one day everything will come crumbling down. I kiss my son as he lies in his bed sound asleep; he looks so peaceful and angelic. I want to burn this memory into my mind, keeping it there to draw from should I need it one day.

Sarah Thomson can be reached at


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