Clarice James

Smart, Fun, Relatable Fiction


The second oldest of six children, I grew up on Cape Cod in Massachusetts. I credit my father for showing me the power of dreams and my mother for teaching me the value of working for them.

While I thought it would be nice to be popular, my sister thought it would be popular to be nice. I was never popular; she was always nice. Mainly, my four younger brothers were messy and loud. (They’re never going to read this. Trust me.)

I married right out of high school. Within five years, we’d been blessed with three children: Christopher John, Erin Courtney, and Darby Brendan. They’re still blessing me all these years later.

I managed to squeeze in a few English, writing, and marketing college courses while raising my family— husband included. (You wives know exactly what I mean.)

After 23 years of marriage, I was widowed. Eight years later, I was blessed to remarry (Ralph) David James. “He was a keeper,” as my mother would say. And he was all grown up, I might add.

David and I lived in Southern New Hampshire. Together, we have five grown children and ten grandchildren.

Sadly, on August 18, 2021, two months shy of our 15th wedding anniversary, David succumbed to complications brought on by Acute Myeloid Leukemia. When our pastor visited him in the hospice house, David requested that God Bless the Broken Road by Rascal Flatts be played at his Celebration of Life service, since it was the first song we danced to at our wedding. I put together this collage of our life together to go with it. Even in the tough times, David maintained his sense of humor.

“This is a grief like no other, O Lord, for we were companions in a holy bond, our hearts and lives knit together, sharing purpose and plan, sharing days and nights and dreams, hands clasped in a common pilgrimage. … This is an anguish multiplied by the fact that I have lost the companion I would have shared such sadness with.” (from Every Moment Holy, Volume II by Douglas McKelvey)

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