Well,  the actual moment everything changed was several months before this, but I can’t even bear to think about that.  It’s not overly important the exact minutes/seconds in which Jill’s life changed forever.  What is important though, it did.

On August 28th, 1978 I was no longer the baby in the family.  I was promoted (or demoted depending on how you think about it) to big sister of a whopping 10 pound baby girl named Kim.  

I didn’t mind the demotion. There may not have been enough room for me to rest on daddy’s chest, but I used this time to practice for when it was my turn.    

Kimmy was my favorite!  I loved Kim almost as much as Kim loved food.  I mean, look, she couldn’t even zip up her pajamas.  Her belly busted the zipper of these poor jammies.   

Hardly able to walk Kimmy caught people off guard with her ability to swim.  Camping at the Chelan State Park she hobbled down to the end of the dock and threw her naked baby off the end.   All the nice people sitting on the dock said “Oh honey.  Here let me get that for you.”  Before they could get their drunk, sunburned asses off the dock, Odd Job jumped off the end and swam to shore. 

Kimmy was great at most things.  I mean, of course she was, she learned from me.  I tried to mentor her the best I could.  I taught her so many valuable lessons in life, like how to cheer and pretend she knew the Pledge of Allegiance.   

I tried teaching her how to fish, but she was never as good of a fisherman as I was.  She was too busy posing and rocking her sweet swimsuit.  

I did impress upon her the importance of sharing our musical talents.    Here we are in the school talent show.  I was playing the piano while we both sang a duet to “We are the World”.   I’m just so very, very sad there was not a video camera to capture our raw talent and the pained faces of our audience.  

Kimmy took that experience, enamored by the spotlight, and continued to share her musical gifts.  She graced our family with flute and piano concerts.  She played her flute while my mom played the piano at the same time.  It would be an inaccurate description to call my mom the accompanist since neither of them were playing on the same sheet music.  Despite the off tune performance, I remember it being exquisite.  The concert was ALMOST a sellout, but our older sister, Debbie, refused to buy a ticket.  She said she was happy standing in back.  I’m guessing she couldn’t swing the 10 cents for a front row seat or five cents for the nosebleed section.

There wasn’t one person who didn’t love Kimmy, and there wasn’t one spotlight Kimmy didn’t love.   In the summer while our family skied at the State Park in Lake Chelan, Kimmy was adamant she didn’t want to ski.  That is, until my mom told her everyone was watching.  Kimmy said, “Fine!  Dad, just take me for a short little loop.”  Our dad set her up in the skis, pulled her out of the water and fought all the boats to make just a short little loop.  Kimmy used this opportunity to hang onto the rope and wave to all of her fans.  She was unwilling to let go until she was sure certain everyone had seen the cute little girl on skis.

Kimmy was a pretty awesome little girl, but as much as I loved her, she wasn’t perfect.  She obviously had a few less than charming moments. 

And I’m guessing this was the time she brought home LICE.   

All in all, she was a really good intern, I mean sister.   She listened.  She followed instructions.  She let me dress us both up like hookers.  

Truthfully, we dressed up this way for Halloween.  She was Cindy Lauper and I was a punk rocker, but we did look a little tawdry.    When we were little and had been caught playing in our mom’s makeup, our dad would facetiously exclaim “Ohhhh honey.  You look JUST like a hooker.”    We wore that compliment proudly.

For years I had convinced Kim…. Dad was the boss of Mom, Mom was the boss of Debbie, Debbie was the boss of Jeff, Jeff was the boss of Jill and Jill was the boss of Kim.  When Kimmy asked me who SHE was the boss of, I told her “Benji and Scooter.”  (Our dogs.) 

In time, unfortunately for me, Kim realized she did not need to live life under my dictatorship.  This was a tough, tough adjustment for me.  I’m guessing this is why I burned her shoulder with a hot curling iron and why I hid nasty stuff inside her Oreos.  But, come on, I was furious she wouldn’t pick up the leaves with her bare hands after I nicely raked them into piles.  She will tell you I purposely raked dog poop into those same piles, but I admit to no such thing.  [cough]

Over the years, as Kimmy and I grew older we walked the line of sister, enemy and friend.   When we fought our dad would say to us “You’re going to be best friends one day.” Disgusted by each other, it was impossible to imagine this being true, especially when she was in my closet 24/7 stealing my clothes...and my UNDERWEAR.

He was right though.   When it was her birthday I took money out of my piggy bank and bought her a stuffed Spuds MacKenzie dog at the local garage sale.  When she was being harassed and bullied by some guys during high school, I shredded them to pieces.  When she left for college, I sat on her bed and cried. 

While she was away at college, it was the first time in 18 years I was without her.  As sad as I was, I believe this is when she grew as a person and learned the most valuable lessons in life.  She learned how to beer bong AND find her way home afterwards.  She bravely studied in Mexico for six months during college, something her big sister would have never had the courage to do.   While in college she met the man of her dreams, a guy equally as wonderful as her.  It didn’t take them long to decide they wanted to build a life together, and what a wonderful life they’ve built.  

Birdy is quite lucky I like him so much.  Otherwise, he might have found himself huddled in the corner much like those high school boys I ripped apart on the phone.

She has the kindest and most giving heart of anyone I know.  Despite loving the spotlight when she was little, she is incredibly humble.  I’ve told Kimmy over and over again, it’s too bad she didn’t come first because she is the true leader between the two of us.

She’s an amazing wife, mother, daughter, aunt, sister and most of all friend.  The world is blessed to know and love her.  And I’m so unbelievably grateful she forgave me for burning her with the hot curling iron.

But most of all, we are all lucky Mike and Diana got down and dirty one last time.

Happy Birthday to the the most amazing person in the whole wide world!!!

Someone I’m very close to recently asked me if I felt healed.  They were referring to the death of my parents and if I have overcome most of my grief.  I sat quiet for a moment, a little unsure how to answer. 

My wheels were turning as I tried to understand the meaning behind the question and how I could best describe my grief to someone else. 

One of the best analogies I’ve heard when it comes to describing death and loss is, “Losing someone you love is like an amputation.  No matter how well you learn to get around, you will never be the same.  You don’t ‘get over it’, you just adjust.”

Grief becomes a part of you, and you learn how to live with it.  Sometimes you forget its presence as it sits silently in the background waiting.   Then out of nowhere it will rear its ugly head when you are least expecting.  Regardless of whether grief is at the forefront of your mind or silently waiting on the sidelines, you are different because of it. 

Sometimes I feel like I should apologize because I’m not the same person I used to be, and then I feel angry for feeling that way.   One of the most selfish feelings I’ve felt during my darkest days of grief is to wish someone experienced the pain I felt for just one week.  I think, maybe then they will understand. It is a shameful and desperate response to satisfy the desire to be understood.

After my father passed away I sat in my therapist’s office with tears lightly rolling down my face as I talked about all the ways in which I was going to miss my dad.  The tissue in my right hand lightly dabbed at my cheek as each tear fell.  Struggling with the loss of a man I loved deeply, I could not imagine anything feeling more painful than losing him.  That is, until my therapist spoke her next words.  She said to me, “Your life will never be the same.”  The tissue I had been using to lightly wipe the tears away was sucked into my mouth repeatedly as I gasped for air in between sobs.

In those seven words my world turned upside down.   In addition to mourning the loss of my dad, I also had to say goodbye to my former life.  Birthday parties and holidays….changed.  Bear hugs wrapped in the softness of his chest…..gone.  Baseball games, graduation parties, weddings…..absent.  His jokes, laughter and words of comfort….silence.

My life has been forever changed.  It is not what I wanted, but this is my new life.    To honor my life and the lives of those before me, I have accepted this is my reality.  

Time healing all wounds is one of the biggest fallacies there are.  It implies that given enough time the grieving will be back to their ‘normal’ selves.  There is no going back.  There’s only defining a new normal.

Recently I gave a sheet to my husband which included statements about how it feels for the grieving.  Of the 120 statements about grief, there were 20-25 lines with my handwritten stars.  These stars emphasized the statements that spoke specifically to me and my feelings.  

The fact there are 120+ statements on this paper, and no two people will mark the exact same lines tells you a little bit about how vast and variable grief can be.  It is impossible to relate one person’s experience to another.

I cannot relate 100% to my sister, nor she to me.  I can’t even relate the death of each of my parents to one another.  They were different circumstances, different people and I had a unique relationship with each one of them.   To my friend who lost her father a short time ago, we both lost our dads, but her grief will be different than my own.  

It is a complex, double edge sword.  Grief cannot be clearly understood, but this is what I desire the most. I also desire compassion, acknowledgement, reassurance, patience, and love. 

Maybe this is what most people who are grieving want.  However, I cannot speak for everyone as as we are all unique and need to honor our own individual journey.  

I found it helpful to read the 120+ statements about grief.  It was comforting to know my feelings were understood and shared by someone else.  It felt therapeutic to make little stars next to the lines that pertained to me.  It was reassurance that all of my feelings are normal and part of the process.  If you would like a copy of the grief document you can email me at jillperovich@gmail.com and I will gladly send you a copy.  

With my love and condolences to all the grieving, I hug you in my heart.  You are changed.  You are not alone. You are strong. You are loved.   

I'm having a really hard time putting into words how I feel about the devastation happening over in Chelan.  I'm just so so sad this evening.   In one breath I feel comfort knowing IF our home was to burn down we still have our health and our family.  In the next breath I think of all the sentimental stuff that attaches my siblings and I to our parents.  I really cannot bear the thought of having to say any more goodbyes.

I think of the families who have already lost their homes and how each day when they remember something they lost in the fire, they will grieve.  They will grieve over and over again.  

I am heartbroken over the lives lost yesterday in the fire.  They were young, beautiful lives with the world ahead of them.  They selflessly put themselves in harms way to help a greater good, but now the lives of their families and loved ones are changed forever.  

I wrote this piece about nine month ago.  I was thinking of submitting it to the Chelan Mirror (a local newspaper), but I didn't.  It didn't seem strong enough and I felt it needed more work. Today, however, it seems appropriate to share here.


The sun rises over the hill on a sunny, summer morning and my parents head down to the dock with coffee cups in hand.  They load their skis into the boat and hit the chilly, still waters of Lake Chelan.  The stillness of the water does not wait for late risers.   Only those of us who are awake in the early morning hour will join our parents in the boat.  We take turns jumping into the water with our foot in the ski and rope in hand.

It’s our favorite time of the day.  It holds so much promise for what is to come.

After our morning ski we head back to the house to have breakfast together as a family.  Blueberry French toast or warm cinnamon rolls will be shared on the sundeck by all 19 of us.

The rest of the summer day is spent biking, swimming, fishing, playing games of cribbage and afternoon boat rides.    We never look at our watch.  We don’t need to.  The time of the day is known by the passing of Lady Express and then the grand ‘ole Lady of the Lake.  We jump onto our rafts and ride the waves as each lady passes by.  Just about the time all of us have had our fill of the sun, she disappears behind the hill until her arrival again the next morning.    

Our love affair with Lake Chelan began over 40 years ago when we camped twice a summer at the State Park.  We began our mornings much the same way as we do now, but instead of cinnamon rolls from the oven we cooked our eggs and bacon on a picnic table sitting next to our tents.  Our family loved every minute of our summers in that State Park.  Even when torrential downpours forced us to dig trenches around our tents we cried when it was time to go home. 

One day twenty five years ago, my parents cruised by a narrow piece of land containing nothing more than dirt, sage brush and a ‘for sale’ sign posted in the ground.  The imagination of a school bus driver and a food broker with modest earnings eventually led them to build their family home from the ground up.  Every cement block, wood slat and painted wall was built from their dream and hard work.

Three years ago was the last time our father boarded his boat to drive his high school sweetheart for her morning ski.   Cancer invited itself into our lives and took our beloved dad.  Three years later our 71 year old mother skied Lake Chelan for the last time when cancer struck again.

The story of two high school sweethearts who loved their family and loved Lake Chelan will continue on for generations to come.  Today, as we sit on the sundeck without our beloved parents, we bear witness to the value of beauty, hard work, imagination and the strength of family. 

In honor of Mike and Diana Crosby and their profound love for Lake Chelan.


I'm praying God grants grace, comfort and strength to the families of Chelan, the firefighters and the grieving.

It was 5:36 pm on Friday evening.  My kids, husband, in-laws and I had just arrived at the ocean to celebrate my husband’s birthday.  In the midst of unpacking the car I looked at my phone to see a text from my brother that said,

“This is Jeff on Kathleen’s phone. 

family just left I hope they can get through town looked like war zone

I am staying back to try and protect both houses fire coming down fast behind petersons low battery trying to be smart with usage power out in Chelan Leann has her phone

Please acknowledge receipt of text”

I had not been on social media or listened to the news all day, so I had no awareness of the fires that were raging east of the mountains.  Immediately, I envisioned the fire coming down our hillside and my brother standing outside with garden hoses.  My heart sank picturing our two family homes burning up in flames and my brother in harm’s way.  I told him “Please be safe.  Houses are not worth your life.”

I soon found out our homes were not in immediate danger.  As Mother Nature would have it, the lightening did not strike on our side of the lake.  It struck closer to the town of Chelan and on the other side of the lake near the State Park.  For the moment, our homes were not in harm’s way.   However, anyone who has spent any time in Chelan knows it would be foolish to feel any sense of comfort in that fact.  Winds in Chelan pick up fast and shift without notice.  Our houses stand on the narrowest part of the lake.  If the fire can jump the Columbia River I imagined a fire can jump to where we live.

Sadly, the families across the lake were directly in the path of the fire, and unfortunately several homes could not be saved.  Many are still in danger.

I have never met anyone who lives on that side of the lake.  If they walked past me in the grocery store I would look beyond them without any sort of recognition.  But in some strange way I feel like I know them.  We sit on our sundeck and look at their homes perched on the mountainside.  We drive past their docks every day during our morning ski and afternoon boat cruises.  Just like us, they have families and traditions rooted in the love of Lake Chelan.  Yesterday the Seattle times wrote about the Wickenhagen family whose loss over their home, a home that has been in their family for four generations, has left them in a complete state of shock, 

This eerie video was posted on Facebook by Jody Miller.  It captures the remnants of what is left after these homes have burned to the ground. The jet ski and raft floating idly in the water are heartbreaking evidence these families were enjoying their time on the lake until the fire forced them to flee.

A few months back when I cleaned out the contents of my mom’s car I threw everything into a bag, and postponed making the decision of what to toss and what to keep.  Each item I stuffed into that bag told a story, and I knew at some point in time it was a story worth telling.    

My mom’s motto which she repeated quite often, “Hope for the sun, but plan for the rain.”  Prepared.  Always prepared. 

There is only ONE time in my life I can remember her NOT being prepared.  A few years ago my mom, my daughter and I were cross country skiing up in the mountains. Coming down the hill my daughter fell and when I tried to help her up we both tumbled.  One of us landed on my ski causing my binding to break.  Stuck out in the middle of nowhere we weren’t sure what to do, but within a few minutes a group of skiers happened to cross our path.   Luckily, one of the skiers had duct tape in her coat allowing us to tape up my binding so we could continue on our way.  When we cleaned out my mom’s closets a couple months ago we found duct tape in most of her fanny packs and her ski coat pockets.

Back to the contents of my mom’s car:  ordinary, impressive, hilarious, questionable.  Why in the world does someone need white chalk in their car??

The chalk in combination with the two measuring tape reels and the one plastic blue glove make me wonder if she was an undercover CSI agent.  Suppose she came upon a dead body and needed to survey the scene?? 

The disposable camera must have been necessary to document the crime scene.  And if the assailant did happen to come back to the scene she could beat them off with the large wood stick she kept hidden by the driver’s side door. 

I seriously doubt the blue glove and wood stick was indicative of my mom having an OJ Simpson persona, but the electrical tape and Swiss army knife make me wonder. 

Perhaps the blue glove in combination with the CPR Micro Shield Rescue Breather makes more sense.  Maybe she was preparing for the day she witnessed a horrible crash and needed to administer CPR and first aid without getting any blood on her one hand.  She did have Band-Aids in her car, but they appeared to be from the 1970’s.  Not sure they would be effective or sterile at this point in time. 

You know what???  Come to think of it she said she kept the camera in her car in case she was ever in an accident and needed evidence of the accident for insurance purposes.  I doubt that would ever happen though.  She had three sets of eye glasses stashed in various places of her car.  There’s no way she wouldn’t see an approaching vehicle.  With the three pairs of eye glasses, two sets of sun glasses and the windshield defogging cloth her visibility had to be 20/20.

You never know though….her visibility could have been compromised if she was ever stuck in a snow storm.  If she was…no worries.  She had two ice scrapers, two head warmers, a set of chains and a box of kitty litter.  (Kitty litter is used to throw onto the ice if your wheels spin and can’t get traction.)  She also had a stash of dog cookies but unlike the kitty litter, the dog cookies were actually used for her granddogs or ANY dog for that matter.

In the rare case the chains and kitty litter did not work to get her unstuck, she had a miniature pillow and two wool blankets to keep her warm.   She also had her choice of musical entertainment:  Kenny Rogers Love Connections, Dave Brubeck’s Greatest Hits or Tom Petty’s Highway Connection.  But if she wasn’t in the mood for music she could always listen to one of her two audio books: Dan Brown’s Angels and Demons or David Baldacci’s First Family.  

When the tow truck finally arrived she would definitely look presentable having taken great care to comb her hair and apply Chap Stick while looking in the 5x7 mirror she kept tucked away in the glove compartment. 

Also in the glove compartment was a handicap permit.  Handicap permit???  Please.   I have a hard time thinking of her as handicap.  Especially when I find a zip lock bag full of of bungee cords, straps and florescent pink ribbon used to harness her bike onto the back of the car.  Although if I’m wrong about the cords and straps being used for her bike….I must admit my mind goes back to the OJ Simpson theory.

It truly is amazing she had any room whatsoever left in her glove compartment after finding the EIGHT receipts dating back to 2012 from Brown Bear Car Wash.  Did she keep the receipts just in case she was dissatisfied with the Beary Good car wash and wanted to dispute the charge??

Of course there was all kinds of regular stuff in her car.  Stuff that most of us seem to carry with us: coupons for Burger King, pens, phone charger, garage openers, umbrellas, gift cards, registration, insurance cards and a plastic Jesus with broken off feet carrying a baby on his shoulder who is sadly missing his head.  

Of all the things I’m throwing away I’m having a hard time giving up Jesus.  There has GOT to be a reason she kept this in her car.  

Our stuff.  Their purpose.  The story.   

What would your car say about you??  Mine would say I was scared of starving.  I don’t have blue gloves, bungee cords or kitty litter….but I do have snacks.  Lots of them.

We can all look backwards and identify moments in time in which our life made a pivotal shift.  The day we met our partner. The day our child was born.  The day the doctor said the word cancer.  But there are other moments in our lives which may not even register as a blip on our radar, yet these moments create a profound shift in the way we think and the way we live.  The moment we learned to let go.  The day we faced our fear and took a step forward. The decision to make ourselves a priority.

This past weekend was full of these kinds of moments.

My sister and I fell upon this event called Wanderlust.  A few months ago a friend, for whom I will forever be grateful, shared a link on my Facebook timeline about paddleboard yoga.  Curious, I signed up for the class and drove up to the lake by myself.  The experience was awesome.   After the class, I was searching through the instructor’s Facebook page to learn more.  I eventually arrived at one particular post that said something to the effect “I bought my Wanderlust ticket, have you?”  Once again my curiosity peaked, so I googled ‘Wanderlust’.  In a split second, I was hooked.  Yoga.  Wellness.  Whistler. Immediately I thought of my sister who practices Saturday yoga with me.  She responded to my email with “Hell yeah!!!  Are you serious??”

We had no idea what to expect.  We purchased our tickets and registered for a variety of classes that seemed somewhat ‘normal’.  The yoga world has a language I’m just becoming familiar with and we tried to stick to the classes that seemed less ‘out there’. 

She and I both had to sacrifice a bit to make the weekend happen.  I was missing a weekend with my kids, which in shared custody land is extremely difficult.  My sister was missing time away from her daughter and husband.  Our families were sacrificing to keep things running smoothly while we were away.  Leaving town I was a little out of sorts and somewhat regretting our decision to go.

All it took was one step in the Wanderlust world to realize we were right where we should be.  I can easily write words to describe the activities and our timeline of events.  But to adequately illustrate the experience is far more challenging.  I can only attempt to do so by describing one particular moment.

It was the last day of our trip and we had just finished a morning hike on the mountain.  We had spent time walking and meditating by a beautiful glacier lake.  Surrounded by the vastness and the strength of the mountain you couldn’t help but feel small and large, powerless and powerful all at the same time.  This hike was about taking in our surroundings and being present in every moment.   Had our trip ended with that experience on the mountain, we would have felt fulfilled and blissful for such an incredible journey.  But as luck and time would allow, we were able to practice one last yoga class before we left to drive home.   

We laid out our mats on the grass in the outdoor Olympic plaza.  The sun was warm and the view was extraordinary.  Seane Corn stood on the stage with musical artist Michael Franti and she began our practice by taking us through a Vinyasa flow.  With every breath in, we absorbed all the amazing things we had taken in that weekend.  As the sequence progressed so did the volume and the beat of the music.  Pretty soon all the yogis in the class were out of flow and dancing on their mats.  Franti asked us to grab both hands of someone standing nearby.  Just like when we were little girls, my sister and I held hands and danced.  I will forever remember the tears running out from underneath our sunglasses while he sang,

“Wo-oh, wo-oh, life is better with you.

 Wo-oh, wo-oh, life is better with you.

 And when I think about the things that we’ve been through,

I know just one thing is true, life is better with you.” 

The pain of the last four years and the grief of what we’d lost streamed down our faces.  But the feelings of pure unadulterated joy and gratitude filled every empty space those tears left. 

This weekend was full of moments difficult to explain, but powerful in their impact.  Moments that recharged my spirit and filled my heart with hope.  Moments that reminded me of all the wonderful things in this world and what is truly important.  Love.  Health.  Nature.  Family.  Joy.  Faith.  Connection.

It is through open minds and curiosity we can let go, and free our hearts to experience beautiful beginnings.