I have written in the past about one of my favourite books whose message I admire. I Wish You More was first published in 2015, written by Amy Krouse Rosenthal and with the illustrative magic of Tom Lichtenheld’s creations. It quite simply is a beautiful book, one I read as often as I can, especially to my granddaughter when we have the chance to tuck in together on a stormy night, except now Abby reads to me, which is even better. Some would label the book as being for children, but I think it is a book for everyone. Amy and I share the same birthday, which means absolutely nothing, but I can privately smile to myself as if she and I shared a secret.
Amy wrote thirty-one children’s books, five adult books, videos, TED talks, radio commentary, and many journal contributions before cancer claimed her life on March 13, 2017. She was beloved for all her creations, but perhaps none more so than the essay published in The New York Times ten days before her death. The essay was entitled, “You May Want To Marry My Husband,” in which she wrote of his many wonderful qualities as you might for a dating app, but the essay was more of a love letter of gratitude to her husband Jason Rosenthal. The essay closed with blank space upon which her partner of twenty-six years might write his next love story, a selfless and heartfelt gift to leave someone with whom you would have given anything to have “more” time with, more years of shared fun and laughter, more time to grow old with. The essay is a beautiful expression of love, filled with humour and insight despite her draining energy, with death knocking loudly on her door. Her message to all her readers was to appreciate what you have, to look for the things to celebrate, to honour, to respect. She wanted more time with her husband and her three children, more time with life but she made magic happen in the time she had.
Everything Amy created had a generous serving of love in it. She was, in her own words, “a person who likes to make things” and she did just that. She created a video on YouTube called “17 Things I Made” and at the conclusion of the video she invited viewers to meet her at Millennium Park in Chicago to make “an 18th Thing.”
“I’ll be the one with the yellow umbrella,” Amy told her followers.
On August 8, 2008, at 8:08 p.m., hundreds gathered – the curious, friends, families, tourists, seniors, teenagers came to the park to “make something.” Expecting a handful of people, she quickly asked for volunteers and split the crowd into groups and in less than an hour they came up with wonderful ideas – make a grand entrance with cartwheels and roundoffs; make a friend; make something pretty, with bubbles; make do with what you have, holding up the yellow umbrella alongside little paper drink umbrellas; make someone’s day, with a man giving flowers to a stranger along with a hug; make music, with a small choir singing; make peace, holding up the peace sign; make a splash, as they ran into the pond. It didn’t end there. Amy invited all to make music, short films, videos, art, true stories, made up stories, poems, lists, monologues, photographs, sandcastles.
“Whatever you are making, if it is lovely, send it to us.”
Amy had a charming appreciation for humour. She wrote a book in 1991 entitled The Same Phrase Describes My Marriage and My Breasts: Before the Kids, They Used to be Such a Cute Couple. That should make us all laugh. Her life ended far too early, and she had much more she wanted to do. The legacy she left was the reminder to make more of each day, to laugh more than we get angry, to look for the sunshine more than the storm, to see the best in others more than the flaws, to handle the troubles of others with more kindness than judgment, to shine the light on those moments of wonder more than on those who would do harm, to play with your children/grandchildren more than you sweep up dust bunnies, to spend more time in the park than in shopping malls, to leave the dishes unwashed more than you leave a friend’s call unanswered, to remember the happy times more than the hurts, to express more gratitude than disappointment, and to be more quick to offer help than to turn away. As Amy has said in her book, I say to you all – “I Wish You More,” more wonderful moments, those simple ones that erupt out of nothing that leave you lighter, warmer, happier.
wendistewart@live.ca
