The First Year
a daily companion for the year you weren't supposed to have
The pages of Margaret Hale's journal, sent one each morning. Answer by replying on your phone, or on the page. Your words become a private record of the year, and no one else reads them.
No one writes back. There is no chatbot. Only the questions, and what you write.
One-time. No subscription. 180 days of pages, and the journal is yours to keep.
Write a line, if you want to.
This is the first page of the book, exactly as it's printed. Every morning brings the next one. Some days you'll write a paragraph, some days a sentence, some days the date and nothing else. All of those count.
What did you almost call him about today? Write it down here. He wouldn't have answered, but you almost did anyway, and that's worth knowing.
This stays on your device. Nothing you type here is sent or saved by us.
If you begin, this can become your first page.
One question a morning. Your year, kept.
Each morning, one page
A single question from the book arrives at the hour you choose, in the book's own words and look.
Reply to write
Tap reply on your phone and write whatever is there. Your words land on that day's page. Or write on the page itself.
Your year, kept
The pages gather into a journal only you can open: the months so far, in your own words, there whenever you want to look back.
The year, as the book walks it.
180 daily pages across six months, because that is how long the worst of it tends to last, and a page at each month's end for looking back. The same kinds of questions keep coming back, because grief comes back.
- Month One
The First Thirty Days
What happened is unbelievable. You will spend much of this month trying to make it believable, and the work will not finish.
- Month Two
The World Expects Something You Cannot Do
The casseroles stopped, but the work didn't. People are starting to ask how you are in a tone that suggests they hope you will say fine.
- Month Three
Some Good Days Appear and You Don't Trust Them
A morning will come this month when you laugh at something. You will catch yourself laughing and feel sick. This is the work; this is normal; this is not a betrayal.
- Month Four
The Routines Are Coming Back, And Some of Them Hurt
Ordinary life is returning to its banks. The Tuesday errand. The morning coffee. The empty chair where he sat. Each return is a small ambush.
- Month Five
Who Am I Without Him
You are not the same person, and you are not yet a different person, and the in-between is the work of this month.
- Month Six
Looking Ahead, Without Pretending
The first year is not over. Half of it is. You are not where you wanted to be by now, and that is also normal.
Nothing here keeps score.
- Pause for a few days, a week, or until you come back. No reminders, no guilt.
- Skip a page that's wrong for the day you're having. Come back to it when you want.
- Choose the hour. Early, late, whenever the house is quiet. Change it any time.
- Start on your own date. Begin at Day 1, or where you are now: the book can count from the day it happened.
- Only the pages. No newsletters or offers are mixed in. Nothing but the morning's page.
- Keep it. Read your year any time, print it at home, or download it. It's yours.
Your words are yours.
Only you read what you write. No one at Better Bot LLC, the small company behind Margaret's books, reads your entries, ever. Nothing you write is shared, sold, or used to train AI.
Your pages are locked (encrypted) before they're saved, and you can download them or delete them all whenever you like.
Anne sent you The First Year
When there's nothing right to say, this is something to give.
You write a note. On the day you choose, it arrives as a card, with the journal inside. They begin when they're ready, at the hour that suits them, and nothing arrives until they do.
What they write is private, even from you. That's part of the gift.
One-time. Or get a link to send yourself, by text or in a card of your own.
What this isn't
Not a chatbot
No AI answers you. No one replies at all. The page just holds what you put on it.
Not therapy
A companion, not a clinician. It doesn't diagnose or fix.
Not religious
Open to any faith, or none. The questions ask; they don't preach.
Not stages
The year you're living, not a map. There's no schedule for grief.
Questions
Is this a subscription?
No. $9 once, for yourself, or $15 once as a gift. Nothing renews.
It's been a while since he died. Is it still for me?
Yes. You can begin at Day 1 whenever you begin, or tell the book the date and start where you are now. The book was written for the first six months, and plenty of people find it more than a year later.
What if I miss days?
Nothing happens. The pages wait. Unanswered pages stay open in your journal, and you can write on any of them later, or never.
Does anyone read my replies?
No. Replies go straight into your journal, encrypted. No person reads them and no AI responds to them. The only emails you'll get are the morning pages.
What happens after the last page?
The emails stop. Your journal stays, for as long as you want it. You can print it at home as a small book, download it, or delete it.
Can I write on my phone?
That's how it's made. Reply to the email the way you'd answer a text, or open the page and write there. There's no app and no password; you sign in with a link sent to your email.
Is it the same as the paperback?
The questions, their order and the month openings are the paperback's, word for word. The paperback is on Amazon if you'd rather hold a book and a pen.
What if it isn't right for me?
Write to margaret@margarethale.org and you'll get your money back, no questions.
“When my mother was widowed, I didn't know how to be useful to her. I wrote The First Year for her.”